#it makes so much more sense to me they break the mold of the chosen one by being more than one duh

[zoklaperzys]

half the fandom: dany is azor ahai the other half: jon is azor ahai me and mari: the translation of the prophecy got it mixed up and it's actually the princes that were promised, meaning it's two people, azor ahai and the last hero are two people and jon and dany are them as they are the titular characters per george words.

#━━ ✷ 〉 out of character / all i see is snow. #me calling jon theptwp is not wrong neither is people who think it's dany #it makes so much more sense to me they break the mold of the chosen one by being more than one duh #jon being half targ is also important bc eventually dany will need riders for her other two dragons for the long night

[obscure-fanpage]

Predictions for Hazbin Hotel S2

I think this next season, we are hopefully going to get some information on what happened to Eve after Eden. I don't know how much I believe in the Lilith is Eve theory, but that would be interesting if true. I just don't see yet how that would fit into the canon of the Hellaverse.

Based off of the new hotel design, it seems that Lucifer is going to be staying at least part of the time at the hotel to help support Charlie. I also like the idea that Lucifer is going to smother Charlie by trying to be too helpful.

I can also see Lucifer bonding with Vaggie over being cast out from Heaven.

Lillith is definitely coming back to Hell, and from what Lute left us with she is probably going to try and convince Lucifer to shut down the hotel. I think if this is the case he wouldn't because there is now actual proof that the hotel can rehabilitate sinners. As much as I would love to see Lucifer, Lillith, and Charlie make up and be a family again, I just don't see how that can happen in this next season with Lillith abandoning them to stay in heaven for 7 years. I do also think Lucifer knows more about why Lillith left and what she has been up to than what has been shown so far.

In heaven, I think Sera and Emily are actually going to be working with Sir Pentious to figure out how rehabilitation works and how souls are chosen to be sent to heaven. While they investigate, there will likely be a pause on the exterminations.

I like the theory that Emily is going to be cast out like Lucifer and Vaggie, but I don't see this happening. I think it makes the most sense narratively that Charlie has an equal rooting for her in heaven and Emily fits this mold. I think if she were to be cast out, it would be due to Lute rather than the other angels.

I think Lute is going to be planning ways to sabotage the hotel and keep the exterminations happening. Low key, I can also see her starting a rebellion and trying to start a war with hell if this doesn't work.

I think Adam is going to come back as a sinner in hell. I would love to see his dynamic change with everyone at the hotel, especially with Charlie and Alastor.

I have a strong feeling that Alastor did not completely heal after the battle. I think he will be very weak at the beginning of this next season. However, I suspect that by the end of S2 he will be a big bad. I think Alastor can be redeemed, but I think he is going to get a lot worse before he starts getting better.

I'm really excited to see what the V's are going to do after the finale. Part of me thinks they may try to gain more power from Alastor since he is weaker. I also think that Vox and Alastor are going to have their own battle similar to what Vox and Valentino talked about at the start of S1.

I'm really curious as to what the history behind Vox and Alastor is. I think they have a really fun nemesis relationship, that I want to see more of.

I think Angel Dust is going to be the next to be redeemed. He seems to have really changed from the start of the show, and I can definitely see him sacrificing himself for the group.

It seems pretty clear that Huskerdust is going to be a canon ship and I hope to see more of this pairing in the next season.

While I hate Valentino's actions, I do think he is a good character and I hope to see Angel stick up for himself and find a way to break out of his deal.

I think that is all I have for now. I know that there are a ton of side characters that were not introduced in S1 or only had small cameos (ex. Molly), but I don't know if the writers have any plans to add these characters in yet. I'm really excited for more Helluva Boss and Hazbin Hotel content, and I can't wait until S2 is out so I can compare what I think is going to happen.

#hazbin hotel #charlie morningstar #vivziepop #alastor #lucifer morningstar #angel dust #hellaverse

[toast-tales]

Cursed Cravings, Chapter 10: Chosen

In which Christopher and Danny realize that maybe they're not so different after all.

Contains: 1.4k words | Chapter 1 | Read this story on A03!

As the week went on, Danny found herself spending more and more time with Christopher. He’d taken over Sam’s hobby of showing her around the mansion, although the giant was much less concerned with the identity of the paintings and the age of the fruit bowls. Instead, Christopher delighted in doting over the craftsmanship of the house’s architecture—the skill it had taken to carve the elaborate, intricate designs into the molding and balusters, and the details that Danny could see quite well as he lifted her in his palms to show her up close. He practically fawned over every little detail, seeming to be as incredibly well-acquainted with every corner of the mansion as Sam had been, with no detail escaping his interest. 

He explained that the life-size birds Danny had seen carved into the grand stairway at the entrance were something called peacocks. Their long, elaborate tails—almost seeming to be covered in strange eyes—hung low and wrapped delicately around the post at the foot of the stairs.

They had been a symbol of his family for generations, he said—a representation of nobility, beauty, and pride. He recited this with a dignified, but detached air—as if the words didn’t quite go below the surface. And there was none of the enthusiasm he’d displayed earlier when he’d been going on about different types of wood grain.

“Were you…close, with your family?” Danny asked hesitantly, trying to get a read on the solemn expression Christopher wore.

She could see his lips tighten slightly. “No. I was quite young when they passed. And I don’t remember many times I spent with them worth remembering.” He looked down at her and his face broke into a quick, easy smirk—as if it was simply effortless for him to hide what little vulnerability he permitted himself to show behind it, like he’d done it many times before. “I find the family you choose is better company.” 

He paused, a question on his lips he seemed hesitant to ask. “Are you…close with yours, Danny?” 

She was taken aback by it, staring off into the distance as memories of Nathan flooded back to her. Beyond those more pleasant thoughts was nothing but the memory of dark, cold streets and the never-ending feeling of hunger so debilitating that it stretched her skin over her ribs and consumed her from the inside. 

“Nathan’s really the only family I have,” she admitted quietly. “He had a nice family, but I never met them. He took me in when I was younger, when no one else would. I…grew up on my own.”

A sudden sympathy flickered in Christopher’s dark eyes, like a sputtering flame emerging from coals. “You were an orphan?” 

“...yeah,” she mumbled, ashamed as she was to admit it. “So I guess you’re right about choosing family.” 

She sighed heavily, collapsing somewhat into his palms and forgetting that they were the same hands that had grabbed her so callously days before, forgetting that it was him who held her here at all. “I miss him,” she whispered—not quite to Christopher, but he heard her nonetheless.

There was a beat of silence before she heard him speak again. “I’m sorry,” he said, in a hushed whisper. “You’ll see him again soon, I promise.” 

It was confusing for him to apologize when he was the only one keeping her here, as if the chains of some sort of strange aristocratic custom to imprison trespassers were too unyielding for even him to break. He spoke like he was a prisoner somehow too—and while the thought did make her angry, she was almost too confused to be—because his sympathy, as little sense as it made, actually seemed sincere.

Why was he holding her here at all? Today alone—waking up in a comfortable bed, eating good food, being given a tour of a fancy giant mansion like she was some important guest instead of someone held hostage—was completely different than how she’d been treated her first night here. Christopher himself seemed like a new person entirely, and she couldn’t help but wonder which version of him was the real one—the cocky, charismatic bastard or the man with a gentle smile who found a fascination in the details of wooden banisters.

Something wouldn’t sit right with her, no matter how much she tried to ignore the feeling—she swore there must be something she was missing about all this. If the giant had no plans to torment her, or put her to work, what was the point of holding her hostage for a month? Was it really just some strange formality, one in which Christopher’s hands were inexplicably tied by a social convention she wasn’t aware of?

Maybe he’s just lonely.

The passing thought almost irritated her—it would have been a poor excuse to kidnap people if that was the case. Though even if it were true, he would surely never admit to it. 

Infuriating as the idea was that she was just here to be some socially-deprived giant’s emotional support human, she also felt a flicker of sympathy when she remembered that he was literally incapable of leaving this house. I think I’d go crazy. And he’s been here his whole life?

She sighed, swallowing down the last dregs of her anger—for now. Ride it out, she thought morosely. I guess if he just wants company, it’s better than sitting in a cage for entertainment like some goddamned parakeet. 

In the back of her mind, she wondered why she was so quick to disregard her own irritation towards Christopher, and try as she might, she couldn’t skirt around the truth that surfaced.

He’s actually not that bad to hang out with.

It was a bitter pill for her to swallow, especially as far as her pride was involved. She would be the last person to admit she was willing to extend any amount of friendship, no matter how tentative, towards someone who was literally her captor. It was an absurd sentiment from the outside looking in, but as she thought on it further, all of the lines seemed blurred and hazy on what was right and wrong to feel about this enigma of a man who held her so gently in his palms.

She’d certainly met worse people than him, even if none of them had all but forced her to stay in their house for a month. Besides—he’d said Nathan was fine, and he’d even sent him money. Supposedly. If that was true, the only real concern she would have for the next few weeks would be staving off boredom, and she knew there could be worse problems to have. There could certainly be worse places to stay. She wasn’t used to being surrounded with luxury like this, or not having to work from dawn until dusk. Surely it would eventually begin to make her legs and hands itch with the desire to do something, but she realized that maybe…maybe it would be nice to relax for a while, and just take it all in stride like Sam suggested.

Her instincts told her not to trust it, to remain ever suspicious and vigilant and to lash out at anything that could be a danger to her, but it was exhausting to keep that up for long. She wasn’t sure she’d ever be fully relaxed here, but maybe she could let go of at least some of her worries. 

She looked up at Christopher, all of these thoughts of hers hidden behind a twisted sort of smirk of her own. “Hey. You never finished that book the other day. I need to know how the prince went blind.” She jabbed at his palm to accentuate her demand. 

It looked like he’d started to stare off at something as well, her words snapping his gaze back to her as an introspective, slightly melancholy look on his face faded to a lighter grin. “Try not to fall asleep this time, doll.” 

She returned his remark with a playful sneer, but let him carry her to the library, where they spent the remainder of the day finishing the story. Danny didn’t fall asleep this time, even though she found herself somehow incredibly relaxed as she leaned against Christopher’s arm on the table, putting aside all of the pride and hesitation in her mind and letting herself experience the moment for all it was worth. 

In truth, if this was what was to be expected for the rest of her stay…perhaps she wouldn’t mind making a friend like Christopher.

* * * * * * * * * *

Next chapter ->

It's a little strange to do a Beauty and the Beast story without the ballroom scene, isn't it? I think we're a little overdue for it, personally. Next week is Chapter 11: Ad Libitum! Don't miss it! And thank you for reading, as always.

#itwom #itwom au #beauty and the beast au #vore writing #vore stories #gt stories #gt writing #sfw vore #nonsexual vore #gt vore

[macil]

Earth/Human Time

I want to talk about time. Not quite the metaphysical concept of time, but more the Earth-Human sense of time.

We are meant to believe that the world goes through a 24-hour period. This is meant to be "helpful" by breaking down the day into units of measurement to which we can create schedules, coordinate events or meetings, measure phenomenon and so on.

This is a lie.

Time is a prison for your mind. This artificial construct has been gently lowered upon the natural world as a way of holding you hostage. This block of time -- 24 hours -- creates a fixation to which disconnects you from your inner-being and introduces a concept of yesterday & tomorrow which ensures your imprisonment.

Tell me, what does a "second" feel like? A "minute"? An "hour"? Describe how it "feels."

Like a frog being boiled, you become adjusted to how fast or slow time flows based on your own expectation. But practically everyone has their own evidence of this being a lie in their own lives.

When your mind is no longer fixated on time, time becomes fluid. Time can seem to fly or seem to go on forever. Every person has experienced this, whether for good or ill. Whenever you are in "flow", you become a master of time.

You have been indoctrinated into thinking that there is a function outside of you which marches on independent on this "sensation of time" but there isn't. You are the one "making it go fast" or "making it go slow."

Time is relative? Indeed. You have no idea.

When you truly apprehend this, then you understand how pervasive and how sinister the 24-hour lie is. You are like butter scrapped over too much bread, being stretched and stretched and stretched.

But Macil, the natural world follows this "24 hour" period!

You can divide "Now" into as many pieces as you like. Do you think we could reorganize our time-keeping to function on 36 hours? Or 2 hours? Sure we could. It is just a matter of perspective and doing the "verisimilitude" work to put it all together.

You don't think we could create longer or shorter calendars? Of course we could. Human history has all kinds of calendars.

We could organize our perceptions of ourselves and our world however we like. You don't even need to subscribe to subjective idealism to understand this. You can describe the natural world in a totally different system.

But Macil, the seasons! and stuff! ... are still a function of a very long history of expectation and artificial structures put upon consciousness. We still have to accept our "output", but we can never change that output without first taking responsibility for it and understanding how it came about.

The point is that these "structures" are tools to which to mold consciousness, or help facilitate how we interact with our world -- to help create a world we want to exist within. So how is this particular tool -- the 24 hour clock -- molding our consciousness? Is it good? Is it bad?

Does the 24 hour clock increase integrity, or reduce it?

Your consciousness is "always unfolding." The speed at which it unfolds is a function within you -- within all of us.

The question becomes: "Why have we chosen 24 hours?" It doesn't matter whether it is intentional or not, but it is part of that which contains your consciousness to the "Earth/Human" concept.

We don't need to subscribe to sinister conspiracies (although we could and they are possible.) We could simply accept our developing ancestors felt the need to come up with some device to organize the world, without understanding they were imparting limits upon their potential.

So what keeps reinforcing this hideous 24 hour period? Our environment is inundated with clocks and a sense of plodding time. It is at EVERY LEVEL of our existence.

The first thing you see when using a computer or a phone is a clock.

Your car has a clock.

Television is nothing but programs and schedules.

You very likely wake up and go to sleep to an alarm clock.

If you travel anywhere, you are riddled with schedules and places to be and when to be at them.

Your connections to others are probably grossly dependent on "clearing time" or "arranging time." What happened to spontaneity? It is being murdered. "Time" has no room for spontaneity, because then we wouldn't have time!

Calendars are a kind of "fake infinity." They are a fake structure (that limits your mind) that "extrapolates to forever." How many of us plan for things days, weeks, or years in advance? Do you think these are "anchors" that must be fulfilled? Hint: yes, they are.

The worst of all of this is of course the function of time within work. That is the heart of the demon. Your job requires a precise sense of time. Showing up, going home, meetings, tracking, schedules, todos, lists -- it goes on and on.

We could say that work itself is an emergent property of too much time to fill. It is not children becoming adults -- it is adults becoming children. This obsession with production is a devolution.

I call this the "the production demon" -- it is smoothing out consciousness so that it becomes colorless -- existing to service just the production of more time.

Computers are the physical manifestation of excessive time, because computers are the embodiment of the survival-mind -- BINARY -- the over-fixation of detail.

Work itself emerges from the dragging of time. We are experiencing all the "steps inbetween" an intention and manifestation because of our perception -- our expectation -- of time.

In order to fulfill our expectations of time, which we hold within ourselves, consciousness must "fill in the blanks." Instead of "I want a car", you need "enough time" to give a viable verisimilitude / explanation of why the car can't just "appear." So you've externalized your will into "money", "jobs" and a physical world that needs maintenance.

The rabbit hole goes deeper, but this is a good reminder/primer.

What can do about this? We reduce our sense of time whenever possible. We set aside clocks and learn to trust ourselves. We connect with nature. We find natural rhythms. You will experience "divine timing" the more you can do this.

You will not vanish. You will find your true self outside the confines of time.

#time #matrix #esoteric #subjective idealism #spirituality #self mastery #mastery #freedom #work

[mr-poire]

What’s something you don’t want to do in Doctor Who Penultimate? What I mean is, in some stories there's a certain theme that can easily be ruined by certain tropes. So, what are some tropes you absolutely don't want to use?

Another great question, thanks !

No love story for the Doctor for starters. There have been stellar storyline about that in the past but I do prefer an Asexual/Aromantic Doctor, especially at this point in her life. No romantic relationship within the TARDIS Team either, though I'm fine with the companions exploring relationships outside of the crew. I just want all of them to remain friends with no sexual/romantic tensions.

A bit random but I've always been irked by this weird sci-fi trope where there has to be an episode about people being shrunk down/inside a body. I understand the appeal of such stories but I find it way too eerie/horrifying for me, aha !

I don't want to go for a great, big interstellar/multi-dimensional threat or war of any kind either. Doctor Who has had amazing storylines around this as well but I do feel like the Penultimate Doctor would work better with more personal, character-driven stories.

I'd like to avoid stories where the Doctor is put in a leadership position of some kind as well. I mean, she does "lead" her companions in a way and it has worked really well in the past of the show, but I feel likew at this point, the Penultimate Doctor needs to spend some time away from power. Maybe use this trope as some form of temptation but not too much ?

I'd probably avoid any prophecy related story too, unless it were to be linked to some time-travel shenanigans with a bit of a twist. Just, no chosen one or anything.

One thing I would like to try to do would be to add a bit of diversity to the various alien species and societies that exist within the Doctor Who universe. For example, have more peaceful Sontarans, Silurians who want to leave Earth or are only farmers or simple people with their own relationships and humble lives, Autons with a more complex civilization, Ice Warriors more focused on the poetic side of their culture, etc. Try to break the mold of the eternal warrior/enemy of the human race to go into subtler individuals, if it makes any sense.

That's what comes to mind at first but, obviously, even the corniest trope could have its interest if the story were to weave a certain way so I won't commit to anything just yet.

[13uswntimagines]

Breathe Again (Alex x Press!Reader)

Gravity Pt. 2. After the incident, Y/n and Alex have a lot to navigate. This is how they find their way back to some semblance of normal. There's a little bit of angst, a little bit of fluff, and a lot of recovery.

@literaryhedgehog and hope you enjoy our 20,000 words.

TW: Talk of depression, survivor's guilt, almost dying and a few other mentions of homophobia.

Gravity pt. 1

You had always struggled with the idea of normal. It was an intangible concept that made no sense in your world. You had never been normal. Your anatomy. Who you chose to love. How you flew around the world for soccer. Nothing in your life fit into a mold of normalcy.

Until a year ago, you thought normal was an overrated barrier. Only stuffy or intolerant people would be proud to call themselves perfectly normal. It was something you would overcome, thank you very much. Definitely not something you would long for in your bones. Something you would set as your end goal.

Until it was.

This was just another step towards that goal, you reminded yourself. An important step.

You swore at the beginning of your recovery that you weren’t going to talk about the incident. But it felt different when Julie Foudy had asked for an interview for the 1 year anniversary.

You hadn’t recoiled from the request like you did for so many others. You trusted Julie and you felt like it was the right time to uncork that bottle so to speak.

You had to learn how to talk about your past to let it go and move forward.

You shifted uncomfortably in your chair, twiddling your thumbs as Julie bustled to set up the microphones around you. Despite the lengths they had gone through to make you comfortable, you were too nervous to even pick at one of the donuts she had brought with her.

“Alright, we’re all set up. You ready for this?” Julie asked, gently placing a hand on your forearm.

You blinked up from your staring contest with the donut, slightly relieved that her eyes didn’t hold the pity people still often regarded you with.

It’s why you picked her after all. She may have been the one to reach out to you initially, but you had chosen to say yes to Julie. Foudy was upfront with her questions, not harsh, but not trying to get some emotional tearful come-to-Jesus scene either. She just wanted the story. Wanted you to explain what happened the night you were finally going to talk about.

“As I’m ever going to be,” You breathed out.

Alex sent you an encouraging smile, and Charlie gave you a little wave. You couldn’t help but wave back at the toddler, or the way your lips ticked up at her little giggles.

“Just tell me if you need a break, or if you feel uncomfortable alright? This is all on your terms,” Julie said, settling into the chair just opposite of you.

You gave her a tense nod, trapping your lip between your teeth.

“Well then let’s get started.”

*****

Laughter permitted theme song

Your stomach flipped at the familiar theme song. The song you and Charlie had danced to hundreds of times in the kitchen as you various friends and family talked about some of the team’s most hysterical moments.

You almost wished that’s what she wanted to talk about.

“So this episode is going to be a little more serious than our normal content, but I think we should start by setting the scene. Go ahead Y/n,” Julie said, her smile evident in her tone, and you shifted again in your chair.

The entire room was set up to make you feel comfortable. The blinds were closed tightly and the lights were low. Alex and Charlie were set up on the far side, munching on the donuts you knew Julie brought to try and ease your nerves.

“Well, we’re in the team hotel and you brought Vegan Donuts,” You said calmly, picking at the item. Despite Alex’s protests, you were adamantly not vegan, but you appreciated the thought. You shot Julie a wry smile. “Which are pretty good, but not as good as the regular kind.”

Her thoughtfulness is why you agreed to this, and her understanding of boundaries.

“They were requested I believe,” Julie said, raising an eyebrow at you. She wouldn’t outright say who requested them. She wouldn’t be the one to out your relationship.

You shrugged “I can’t believe you didn’t spring for the cronuts you got Alex last time,”

“They don’t have a Dave’s in ——“

“Excuses, excuses,” you laughed, and Julie joined in, getting into the comfortable flow of banter. “We got some good ones last time we were here. I wish I could remember the name of the place.”

“Voodoo baby,” Alex said, nodding as she remembered the pastries. Charlie had insisted on getting a bear claw because auntie Sydney had watched Brave with her, and she thought it would make her turn into a bear. It hadn’t, but you had a wonderful time finishing up the almond and chocolate pastry for her.

You frowned, distinctly remembering following that bearclaw with a butterbeer. “I thought that one was the one by Universal?”

“I’m pretty sure it’s a chain,” Julie added, eyes watching the whishfull look that took over your features, and the sad smile forming on your lips.

“I think that was the only good part about that trip. The donuts,” You mumbled.

That morning had been tense. You and Alex had shared a room for the first time in forever, and it ended in a passive aggressive argument.

Most of the conversations you had at that point in your relationship had ended in arguments. At least the two of you could pull it together long enough to feed Charlie breakfast without incident.

“How does it feel to be back here?” Julie asked sensing the shift in tone and subject.

She wouldn’t force you to talk about it, but she would take the cues you were giving her. She would only push as far as you let her.

“A little bit crazy. Like, it’s been such a long road,”

*****

6 Weeks

Alex’s fingers tapped idly against the steering wheel, her eyes flickering to the glass doors that were becoming increasingly more familiar with each passing week.

It was frustrating. She had never considered herself an impatient person, but each week the minutes ticked by and she felt herself growing insane sitting here, watching those doors. Growing insane because she was regulated to the car while you were in physical therapy. She so badly wanted to help you, but you just wouldn’t let her. You wouldn’t talk about it, and she was getting fed up with each little “I’m fine” you gave her.

It didn’t take a genius to know that you weren’t fine. Not at all.

She let out a loud puff of air, her grip tightening on the wheel. She didn’t know what was worse, you ignoring her completely, or being there but not being there. It was scary how you would just sit and stare sometimes.

How you shied away from her and Charlie like you never had before.

She glanced up in the mirror, rolling her eyes as you struggled through the glass doors, your sling getting caught on the handle and the steps seeming taking every ounce of your strength to navigate. The way the nurses hovered around you would be funny, if your inability to admit you needed help wasn’t so frustrating.

Alex turned the engine back on so the AC would start running, and hopped out of the car, getting over to the passenger side right as you reached the car.

“Hey stranger,” Alex said, pecking your lips and opening your car door for you.

You huffed, turning your head away and shuffling your feet in front of you, placing the sling between the two of you. “I could have opened it,” you said, wincing as you ducked down into the car, taking a few extra seconds to settle yourself into a comfortable position.

Alex sighed as you awkwardly reached for the seat belt with your non-dominant hand. Your fingers could barely reach the metal, and the way you grit your teeth told her that the position you were contorting yourself into was not good for you.

“I know, but I wanted to be a gentlewoman,” Alex said, grabbing the seatbelt and reaching over you to click it into place, and placing another kiss on your lips as she pulled away.

As she walked around to get into her side of the car, Alex tried not to be offended by the fact that you had turned out of the kiss, so she had grazed the edge of your lips where they met your cheek.

She shook her head, sliding back into the drivers seat. It was normal for you to be more distant after therapy. It would just take you some time.

Alex would have been worried about how quiet you were, the silence broken only by the clicking of the blinker, or how you seemed to stare listlessly out the window as she drove.

It wasn’t the comfortable silence the two of you were accustomed to either.

“How was your appointment?” Alex asked, careful to keep her voice light.

“Pretty good. Did the treadmill today,” you said, voice devoid of emotion.

“That’s exciting,”

“I only got like a quarter mile,” You mumbled, scratching the back of your neck, remembering the days you would run 13 miles in a clip just to get out of your head.

“Hey, that’s still progress,” Alex said, reaching across the central console to grab your uninjured hand.

You let her intertwine your fingers, but she frowned when they remained limp in her grasp. How she longed for the days you would tighten around her fingers and bring it to your lips.

“Horrible progress. I could be outpaced by a 2 year old,” You scoffed.

She wiggled your hand, until you looked her way. “Babe, you’ve gotta give yourself some slack. It’s only been 6 weeks,” she said softly.

She didn’t say that you had only just gotten back on solid foods. That you had only just started walking without the stupid cane.

“I can’t even keep up with Charlie, what is she going to tell all her friends? My mom was great but now she can’t take more than three steps without wheezing and needs help to pick up a fucking spoon?”

Alex paused, thinking over her next words. This was the most you had opened up since you came home from the hospital, and she didn’t want to have you claiming up again.

She was thankful for the red light, as she wiggled your hand again until your eyes met hers. “I think Charlie is happy that she doesn’t have to visit you in the ‘mean building’ anymore. I think she tells her friends that you can eat chocolate chip pancakes with her again, and that you give the best snuggles. You’ll get the rest. You’ve just got to be patient,”

“You just don’t get it,” you scoffed loudly, halfway attempting to untangle your fingers

But Alex didn’t let you. She wouldn’t let you slip away.

“Then help me get it,” Alex said, a hint of the frustration she had been trying so hard to hide slipping into her voice.

You opened your mouth then shut it, not sure what to say. You tried again. “I, I just.” You closed your mouth again. How could you put into words a feeling that you didn’t even fully understand yourself? When it wasn’t rational to feel like you were falling apart, not because you had almost lost your life, but because you had lost muscle in your biceps. And calves. And probably everywhere else too, but it was hard to tell when you lost so much weight from just not being able to have solid food for six weeks.

It’s not that you weren’t grateful to be… but you had always been in good shape. You had worked hard to maintain your health all your life, even with the different hormone swings and medications you had taken. It was something that you had genuinely taken pride in.

It wasn’t that your six-pack had defined you. But without the ability to, fuck, even run a quarter mile without collapsing in a puddle of sweat, you weren’t even sure who you were. What you were supposed to do with your life.

“It doesn’t matter,” You said finally, closing your eyes tightly. None of it mattered anymore.

“It does. Tell me so I can understand,” Alex pleaded, and you knew she was near tears.

It made you hate yourself that much more.

“Just drop it. It’s not worth it,” You huffed bitterly.

Her fingers caught your chin before you could turn back towards the window, and gently forced you to look at her. “You’re always worth it,”

****

9 weeks after

You didn’t want to be here, enough said. You didn’t want to be within 100 yards of the practice field. You didn’t want to be on stupid metal bench on the sideline. You didn’t want to be around the team.

You weren’t sure if that was because you knew you would never get to play again (whatever your PT might try to say to the contrary), or because of how fucked they looked on the field. They just weren’t clicking.

Sophia and Morgan were trying to stretch the defence, but in doing so they put themselves out of position, forcing Tobin and Christen to hold onto the ball for too long. Your eye twitched as you watched them run through a build up again. It was a mess.

One you doubted Vlatko understood how to fix considering he kept praising them for drawing defenders. Sure it was good in theory, but the pocket kept closing around them before they could make it effective.

Each blow of his whistle rasped on your already worn nerves. You didn’t want to be here. It was bad enough just watching instead of being out there. You didn’t want to be here to watch the thing you loved go to shit.

“If you keep frowning like that you’re going to get premature wrinkles,” Lindsey said, plopping down on the bench beside you, squirting you lightly with the squeeze bottle.

You glared at the woman. It wasn’t her fault you didn’t see her coming, so it wasn’t her fault you had flinched and twinged your shoulder when she suddenly appeared in your peripheral vision. But you had flinched, and it hurt, and you couldn’t even respond by flicking her head like you normally would, because that would hurt too. So instead you wiped your face and flicked the water droplets at her, internally cursing the asswipe that shot your shoulder. “I think wrinkles are the least of my worries, when I’ve got a scar the length of a stiletto across my abdomen that’ll never go away.” It would never look the way it was. You would never be the way you were.

“Weren’t you the one who told me that ladies love scars?” Lindsey said, wiggling her shoulders suggestively.

“It’s not the same kind of scar,” You mumbled, shaking your head. It didn’t make you more badass. It was just a reminder that you were the one who got lucky. 1 of 40 that got to walk away only mildly scathed.

“Okay, Harry Potter,” Lindsey said, squirting you again. She wasn’t here for this mopey bullshit. They told her not to push (Alex begged her not to make it worse), but maybe a little nudge was what you needed. You always did respond better to challenges than soft critiques. You ripped the stupid bottle out of her grasp, but didn’t spray her back like your old self would.

No, you set it down on the bench beside you without a word. Lindsey frowned. Not even a quippy comeback. This was going to be harder than she thought.

“What do you think of the 4-4-2 lineup?” She asked, tilting with her chin towards the group of ragged looking youngins heading your way.

“It’s new, and pulling you guys all out of position,” You shrugged half-tossing the water bottle to Sophia. You blatantly ignored the sting that ran through your shoulder at the move. It was mostly healed and you figured the only way to make the pain go away was to use it after all.

Sophia caught the sloppy pass with ease, squirting the liquid into her mouth as she approached. “Becky and Abby keep closing the gap. Im not sure how to slip it,” She said in between sips.

You bit your lip, eyeing the group of defenders on the other side of the pitch. They were good, but making mistakes trying to contain Tobin on the left. “It’s because you keep going center. I’d slip to the left towards Kelley and wait for the cross or through because they keep collapsing the pocket.”

“Why not right?” Sophia asked, still breathing heavily (taking Lindsey’s cue to keep you talking).

“Because Morgan is already pulling Chrystal to the right. You want to split them wide and give Rose or Christen space to come forward,” You explained, kind of wishing you had a dry erase board to better describe it. Your hand gestures to illustrate your point felt kind of goofy, even if it was settling to talk about something other than therapy, or the incident. Almost like you could step out of your head for a second. “It’s not the answer for every play, but with the way Abby and Becky are playing right now it’s the better move to try and pull Kelley wide and overload Abby.” It would be more effective than trying to outpace them.

A ripple of agreement made its way through the growing group of youngins, being careful to not crowd you too closely, but still pacing in tightly to hear what you had to say.

Morgan groaned and rubbed her eyes. “Why didn’t Vlatko just say that?” It was so much easier when you described what they needed to do, so much more direct than Vlatko’s half directions.

“Because he’s too obsessed with Lynn’s zoomies to think of much else,” You scoffed, considering it wasn’t doing the team much good anyway. Maybe a small part of you wouldn’t ever forgive him for playing an alternate at the Olympics instead of the people named to the actual roster…. You also wouldn’t forgive him for his half assed response to questions around team security and his refusal to add more to it.

Sensing your drifting, Lindsey nudged your side. Catching on, Morgan asked “But what if the wing pocket closes too?”

As you started talking strategy again, Lindsey looked up to see Alex watching the interaction. Alex seemed frozen in the process of opening her water bottle, distracted from the task by watching you, a mix of fear and hope on her face. Lindsey met Alex’s eyes with a nod.

Alex could relax for now, it was Lindsey’s turn to stand vigil. They were a team, and they would all have a hand in helping you recover.

****

Alex took a long sip of her water, watching as the youngins all crowded around you. You looked more relaxed than she had seen you since you came home from the hospital, in your element using your hands to describe what they needed to do.

She wouldn’t lie, it hurt a little to see you so animated when she had been trying, and failing, to engage you in conversation for weeks. Not to mention you had fought her tooth and nail against even being brought to this practice in the first place! It was only practice negotiating with your daughter at bath time that kept her from giving in to your stubbornness and letting you stay home, but of course just like your daughter once you were actually doing the thing you argued so much against, you were perfectly content.

Maybe content was the wrong word.

She could still see the squint of your eyes, and how you shied away from contact. Whatever it was you were talking about was better than letting you focus on whatever self-destruct plan was forming in your head.

You could push her away as much as you wanted, but she wouldn’t let you destroy yourself. Not after everything you had been through.

“She looks a little better,” Christen said, beginning to rub circles on your girlfriend's upper back.

Alex sighed into the touch that reminded her so much of you (old you).

“A little. Getting the sling off helped some,” She hummed.

You had been more active with Charlie since the sling came off too, even if it was just in the small ways like helping to feed her breakfast in the morning. It was a step, and recovery was all about little steps in the right direction.

“Maybe being around the youngins will help too,” Christen suggested, hopefully looking at all the team babies gathered around you. Or sprawling on the grass close enough to listen to you, in Mal and Rose’s case.

No one would deny that you lit up a bit at getting to talk strategy, no matter how loathe you were to admit it.

“It’s good for her to get out of the house,” Alex said, unconsciously mirroring one of your doctors.

The one you hated because she always gave you homework you didn’t want to do. Homework Alex hadn’t let you wiggle out of this week.

“How have you been?” Tobin asked softly, taking up your girlfriend's other side seemingly out of nowhere.

“It’s just… hard.” Alex sighed. “There are moments where she’s so much like her old self, and then in the next she’s so…distant. And she won’t let me help her.”

She knew you needed time to process, and support to figure out how to deal with everything that happened, but it was difficult not to get frustrated. She was a fixer, but she couldn’t fix this. You were both fighters and it was heartbreaking to watch you seemingly lose all the fire she had fallen in love with.

“No Al. How have you been?” Tobin asked more firmly, emphasizing the you.

Alex was silent for a moment, her mind blank with the enormity of wordless feeling. “I just feel… helpless. I’m watching her slip away, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.” Alex’s voice broke and she looked up, blinking away the tears that had suddenly appeared unbidden.

Christen set down her water bottle and pulled Alex into a hug, rubbing her hands gently on her back. After a moment Alex squeezed back and made to let go, but Christen continued holding on, swaying from side to side until Alex leaned into her and buried her face in her shoulder.

“You’re doing the best you can, and that’s all anyone can ask.” Christen whispered, petting Alex’s hair and finally pulling back. “You’re going to therapy and making sure Y/n is too. It will help, it’s just going to take some time to see it. ”

“I know. I just… I love her and it hurts to see her like this,” Alex sniffled, brushing a finger under her eyes to stop some of the tears.

“I know. It hurts us too,” Tobin added, hugging Alex’s other side.

If Alex was going to always make sure someone was taking care of you, the least they could do was make sure she was taken care of too.

*****

“If he subs in Sonnett, you’ll probably be better off shifting to a 5-4-1,” You said, thinking of Vlatkos typical stance on Sonnett. She could be a midfielder (a damn good one too) and fill in for JJ in most cases, but he was too stuck on regulating her to the back line.

“Even if he sticks her in midfield?” Mal asked, finishing up a daisy chain and crowning Rose with it.

“It just kind of depends…” you started, looking up from Mal’s spot on the grass to see Alex. Alex was crying with Christen.

It didn’t take a genius to guess the cause. A pit formed in your stomach.

“Depends on what?”

“Um, on who shifts,” you said, watching as Tobin stroked Alex’s hair. This was your fault. She was trying so hard to make sure you were alright, but half the time you couldn’t pull yourself out of your head long enough to return the favor. It was another thing to add to the list of things you had fucked up.

The only thing you had managed to do right was take that bullet for her, and instead it scarred her for life. Sure she didn’t get shot herself, but watching you refuse to beg for your life with a gun held to your head had almost the same effect.

You knew that because she could talk about it. And every time she told you she understood, understood anything, it was another knife to your heart. You didn’t want to hold back (you didn’t intentionally internalize), but you just couldn’t seem to let her see your most vulnerable parts the way she was willing to show you hers. No matter how hard you tried.

Watching her wilt each day that passed where her efforts went seemingly unanswered hurt, but you couldn’t seem to stop. You didn’t know how to Tell her about the emotions and thoughts that flittered unendingly through your brain. How you wished sometimes that you had chosen to follow your mother down the hospital hallway when you had the chance.

She would never tell you that you were a burden more than a partner, but she didn’t have to. You already knew it deep within your soul. Could feel it in the scar tissue surrounding your collarbone.

You were brought back to reality by Vlatko calling for practice to restart. Lindsey bumped her hip against yours playfully and got up as most of the youngins groaned and took off back toward the field. You watched them, waving away the thanks they tossed over their shoulders as they went. However, a small group of girls stayed, shifting around in front of your bench.

“Thank you,” Morgan said, looking down at her hands which were twisting around the edge of her jersey.

“It’s just simple positioning,” You mumbled with a halfhearted shrug, scratching the back of your neck.

Sophia’s voice was almost a whisper. “No, Y/n, we just. Thank you for sa-…”

“Don’t thank me,” You cut her off, unable to stand how anxious her voice was. How similar it sounded to Alex when she pleaded with you to tell her how to help.

“But-..”

“No. Don’t thank me,” You voice was deadly calm, leaving no room for argument.

You didn’t deserve their thanks. Not when 39 people lost their lives. Not when you were actively hurting the people you loved the most.

You weren’t a hero. You were a pathetic excuse for a normal person at best.

*****

Present time

“So your recovery. A lot of athletes struggle to relax and heal from injuries, but you had a few more than most get during a typical season.” Julie said sympathetically.

“Definitely, you should hear me complain about my shoulder.” You nodded, smiling a bit at Alex’s eye roll, and resisting the urge to run your fingers over the thick line on your shoulder. (Truth be told the complications with being shot in the abdomen were much more severe, but nothing bad annoyed you more than the shoulder restrictions). “But I think in our case, we had to deal with the mental stuff as much as we did the physical stuff,”

“That can almost be more challenging,” Julie said, leaning forward at the change in topic. Mental health was a big issue at the moment, and she hadn’t expected you to be open about your struggles with it.

“Yeah. It’s really hard to fix something that you can’t physically see, or sometimes even adequately describe,” your hands moved as you tried to explain. You had struggled so hard with putting your feelings into words, something Alex could understand too. Couples counseling wasn’t the magic wand everyone claimed it was-- no one had mentioned the amount of homework they had prescribed to help you get more in sync.

“And having the right mental state, it’s an aspect of being an athlete that is often overlooked by the general public,” Julie nodded

“I think we try to downplay its impact because it’s been drilled into our society that admitting we have a problem is weakness. So instead we bury it down, and it just festers and gets worse. Like an untreated infection,” you looked over at Alex, who smiled wryly at you. “And it works for the most part with anxiety about tournaments or trades,”

“But it didn’t work this time,” Julie said, prompting you.

“No. The longer I ignored it, the more everything seemed to fall apart,” You wiggled your fingers, almost like sand was slipping through your hands. You had almost lost your two favorite girls, you had pushed them to the brink.

But Christen hadn’t let you push her away too. She made you face your inner self, despite how afraid you were of what you would find.

“And why do you think you ignored it for so long? You didn’t think you needed help?”

You bit your lip, contemplating your next words. Once they left your lips you would never get them back.

“It wasn't that I didn’t think I needed help. It was just that I had to learn how to accept it,”

****

3 and a Half Months

“Do you want to look at jeans? It looks like American Eagle is having a sale,” Christen said. She peered into the shop window, trying to see behind the display items and the sale sign blocking the view of the rest of the store.

You shrugged halfheartedly. “If you want.”

You were never really big into shopping, but Alex had insisted that you needed to get out of the house.

Christen had suggested going shopping, since maybe a new wardrobe would help brighten your mood, but so far the only nice part was watching your sister ogle her girlfriend.

It almost made you miss those moments with your own partner.

“I don’t really need any right now… Okay, next store. I think I see a Ghirardelli chocolate shop. Want to go there? Or we could go to Ross’ they might have one of the weird jerseys you're into,” Christen suggested. “Or we could go to a cute clothes store. If we find some heels big enough you could finally be taller than Tobin, or you could make Alex’s jaw drop with a little black dress,”

The thought of trying on clothing sent an unpleasant shiver down your spine. You didn’t want to accidentally look in the mirror and see the new, thick lines on your skin. Or risk your sister seeing them.

It was bad enough you couldn’t hide them from Alex.

“When have I ever worn dresses or heels?” You scoffed.

“When have you ever not changed out of the same pair of sweatpants 5 days in a row? I thought maybe you were trying new things this week,” Tobin joked, poking you mischievously from your other side.

Christen sent her girlfriend a look that could scour milk, before turning back to you. “Well if you don’t like anything I’ve suggested you could always give an option yourself.” She turned and walked over to a sign with the map of the outlet mall. “We could go to the Baby Gap. See if they have anything for Charlie?”

You rolled the idea around in your head for a second. Charlie was easy to shop for. She was safe. It meant you didn’t have to try anything on.

She was still obsessed with Paw Patrol so as long as you stuck to the theme, she should love whatever you picked.

“Yeah. Charlie needs new pajamas anyway.”

“Great! It’s this way, I think,” Christen said. She started walking and slowed down so you could join her. “Where is Charlie, by the way. I expected her and Alex to come with you when you said you’d meet us here.”

“Um, I think Alex took her to the beach. It was one of her little daycare friends’ birthday or something,” You mumbled, awkwardly scratching the back of the neck.

You knew you wouldn’t have been able to handle the noise of the kids screaming. And Alex just couldn’t seem to understand that you couldn’t explain why it bothered you sometimes.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Christen said, “We could have rescheduled if you wanted to go to that.”

“To a two year old’s birthday party?” Tobin snorted. “I don’t think you’re missing out on much.”

You shrugged again. “I wanted to see you guys more anyway.”

You left out the part where Alex kicked you out of the house for the day. The fight hadn’t been bad, but it most definitely wasn’t a shining example of communication.

“Oh, okay.” Christen bit her lip slightly, she could always tell when you weren’t giving her the whole truth.

“I’m sure Al is just excited you’re out of the house,” Tobin added, throwing an arm over your shoulder.

Your tense didn’t go unnoticed, nor did the way you tried to subtly remove the appendage.

“I don’t think anything I do can make Alex excited anymore. She yelled at me because I brought Charlie cereal the other day,” You scoffed.

“I’m sure there’s more to that story,” Tobin smirked, elbowing you lightly.

It didn’t matter that it was less than an hour before dinner. Your daughter had been crying for cereal and it was a small bowl. It definitely didn’t deserve the reaction you had gotten.

You were trying and she couldn’t even acknowledge that.

Just like she couldn't understand why you suddenly didn’t want to be completely public with your relationship. She was pushing you and you didn’t know how to respond.

“She got mad the other day because I didn’t want to hold her hand at Whole Foods. I literally don’t think I can win either way. I try and I get shot down. I don’t try and I get in trouble for it,” You said softly, your hand tugging at the hair in the back of your neck.

“Those are like 2 completely different scenarios,” Tobin said, “And neither one of them feels like you’re telling the lead up to the event.” You rolled her eyes at her, but mirrored her grin.

“You two just need to communicate better.” Christen said, breaking your silence. “Maybe you need, like, a date night so you can open up and reconnect again,” Christen said.

Her voice was unnaturally light, as though she were making a throwaway comment. You stopped and looked at her. “What do you mean reconnect?” Christen froze for a second, then tried to pass it off as stopping to look at a display rack outside a clothing boutique. It didn’t work. You planted yourself in front of her. “Did she tell you something?”

“She may have mentioned that you’ve been a bit closed off since the incident, but that it was expected considering…-“

“Considering what?” You asked incredulously, squinting your eyes at your slightly older sister. “That I'm fucked up in so many other ways?”

“I think she meant that you’ve both been through some traumatic stuff and everyone knew processing it all might be a challenge,” Tobin said, stepping between the two of you, her hands raised in a pacifying motion.

“Oh no, you don’t get to change the subject. Considering what, Christen? What has she been telling you? That I’m tough to get along with? That I’m apparently ashamed of her and Charlie? Let’s hear what specifically you have been hearing about me.”

“Well, the being ashamed of her and Charlie is a new one,” Tobin said

“Stay out of this,” you said, not even turning to look at her. “Considering what? Christen?”

“Calm down Y/n people are starting to look,” Christen hissed.

The comment only made you angrier. You stood to your full height, gritting your teeth. “Answer the fucking question Christen.”

“It was expected considering the things that man said. Considering that he dragged you out in front of the world fully intent on making you beg for your life and then taking it. Considering how difficult it is for you to ever admit you need help,” Christen tried to explain, her hands moving rapidly to try and get you to understand.

“Is that what you two are always whispering about? How difficult I am?” You scoffed, turning away and running both hands through your hair, tugging at the root and closing your eyes tightly.

You shook off the hand on your shoulder, ignoring the broken plea “Y/n-”

“You know, I should have just fucking died. It would have made life easier for everyone,”

“No, Y/n don’t say that,” Christen said, looking down at her hands.

“That’s what you’re all thinking isn’t it? How much easier life would be without me--” You roared, wheeling around to face your sister.

“Would you shut the fuck up and listen for a second?” Christen yelled, whirling around to glare at you. You saw that her face was red and her cheeks were already starting to get puffy, the way they always did when she cried. “You don’t get to say that. For starters it’s not true. None of our lives would have been easier if you had died, so try and get that fact through your dense head. It would have been more difficult, actually, because there would have been a fuck ton of paperwork since you didn’t have a will. We would have had to get some lawyers to try and figure out your shit and life insurance money or whatever and it would have been awful. And dad and I would have had to decide everything ourselves and it would be a nightmare because everyone knows you and mom are the decision makers in our family.” Christen’s voice broke and she swiped angrily at her cheeks. “And they’d probably name a memorial or stadium or something after you and your heroism, and I wouldn’t have been allowed to be angry at you and the dumbest fucking decision you’ve ever made in your life because you would be dead, you bitch.” She gave a small sob and turned away from you slightly, as though trying to hide the fact that she was wiping her nose on her sleeve.

You sighed. You wanted to say that at least you wouldn’t have been around to watch it, but your experience told you otherwise. You remembered how painful it was to watch them cry and to not be able to comfort them. You remembered that your mom had to watch you struggle every single day.

But sometimes, just sometimes, you liked to think that you would have preferred it to this. To knowing you were drifting away, and being unable to stop it. Like a surfboard caught in the current being dragged out to sea.

Sometimes you just wanted it all to stop.

“Yeah. Love you too. If you want to be angry with me now, I promise not to die in the next five minutes.”

“Fine. And get me some fucking ice cream, I’m still mad at you.” Christen said hiccuping once and swiping at her face with her sleeves. Now that she was facing you, you realized it was one of Tobin’s sweatshirts. She turned, mumbling “I’ll see you at Gap,” before walking quickly away into the heart of the shopping center.

“For the record, I’m really glad you didn’t die,” Tobin said seriously, grabbing your hand tightly, before chasing off after your sister.

You threw your head back with a “fuck,” tugging on your hair.

Why did you have to fuck everything up?

****

4 months

You glared at the drab blue wall, adamantly not looking at your therapist, or at Alex. You didn’t care if your pout or crossed arms made you look childish. Therapy was hard enough as it was, and adding Alex into the mix just made it that much more difficult.

You could be honest with the lady you had never met. You paid her not to run for the hills with some of the things that passed through your brain. But Alex. Alex had the full ability to leave and take Charlie with her when she found out just how fucked up you were.

“I don’t know why you want me to say it out loud,” You huffed.

“We’ve talked about this,” Your therapist (Clarke) said in a voice that reminded you of the one Alex used with Charlie.

You worried your lip between your teeth. You and Clarke had talked about this at length, as had you and her wife Lexa (your trauma therapist).

With Alex baring her soul, it was important for you to show her you were trying. And while you had made great leaps, admitting feelings out loud was so difficult. Especially to Alex.

“I know,” You mumbled.

Alex scoffed next to you. “So you’re fine with me bearing my soul, and not sharing yours with me?”

Your lips formed a thin line. You knew it wasn’t ok, but that didn’t change how you struggled to find the words to explain what you felt.

Clarke cleared her throat. “Let’s not try to assign guilt to sharing emotions right now. Alex, it sounds like you feel like there is an unequal emotional investment in your relationship. Y/n, I would like to hear your perspective. Do you feel like there is equal communication in your relationship?”

“No,” you said softly, finally looking at Alex’s slightly glassy eyes.

It made you hate yourself that much more. You couldn’t be what she needed.

“Then why--” Alex started.

“Alex,” Clarke gently cut her off. “You will have a turn to talk in a minute. It is currently Y/n’s turn. She has been working to put her feelings into words for a while now, it might take her time to compose her thoughts. Okay, Y/n. Explain what you mean.” Clarke waved her hand, gesturing for you to continue.

You sighed, scrubbing your hands over your face. “I know it’s not fair for Alex to share and for me to not. I know it’s not fair to expect her to know what I need when I won’t tell her. I know. But when I actually try to speak, I just. I can’t. It’s too hard. Knowing and doing.. They’re different.”

“Why do you think it’s hard for you to share your emotions?” Clarke asked softly.

You glared at her. She knew why. The two of you had spoken about it at length. But Alex didn’t, you reminded yourself. You opened and closed your mouth several times, trying to figure out how to say it. “I-…”

You paused, the words seemingly getting caught in your throat. Alex’s hand found your arm, her thumb rubbing soothing circles into your skin, all agitation seemingly faded.

You gulped. You could do this. You had to.

“We almost died. I didn’t expect to walk out of that stadium. I wasn’t supposed to walk out of that stadium,” You choked out.

When you left the locker room, a little part of yourself knew you weren’t supposed to come back. When he let Alex go, you didn’t expect to ever be able to tell her you loved her again. When he dragged you out in front of them all, you didn’t expect your life to continue.

Sometimes a small part of you didn’t believe it did. Or that it should have.

But how did you tell the person you held most dear that you didn’t think you should have lived while 39 others didn’t?

“You did walk out of that stadium. You both did,” Clarke said, leaning forward in her chair. “But I’m interested in your word choice. Supposed to.”

You felt Alex watching you as you stared intently at your nails. You rubbed the ridges on your index finger with a thumb nail, the sense of the smooth yet bumpy texture alleviating some of the charged atmosphere of their observation.

You heard the unasked question, the request for you to explain more. God how you hated Clarke’s prodding sometimes. You decided to avoid the question by going back to Alex’s initial complaint.

“I know I should share more. It’s just, some of the thoughts that run through my brain are… intense. They’re not normal person thoughts. I know that they’ll upset her and I don’t want to hurt her anymore than I already have.” Your voice finally broke and hot tears burned a trail down your cheeks.

You moved a hand up to swipe away at your cheeks but Alex’s hands stopped yours. She gently held your face in her hands and smoothed away the tears with the tips of her thumbs. You looked into her eyes, which held none of the anger of earlier, but instead a sort of melancholy love.

“I think it hurts me more when you won’t talk to me,” She said, half a smile on her face as you brought one of your hands up to hold the back of hers. Her hands were still on your face. If it weren’t for the feeling of your heart pounding in your throat, you would have thought it had stopped.

“Why is that Alex?” Clarke asked. Alex glanced her way briefly before all her attention was back on you.

“I know you’re struggling, and you’ve always been right there to help me when I’m struggling. I love you so much for it, but it's hard when you won’t let me help you too,” Alex said, finally removing her hands from your cheeks. You caught them with yours, and gave them a squeeze.

“I’m sorry,” you said. “But I don’t even know how to classify and deal with the shit in my head,” You said, willing Alex to understand. It wasn’t that you wanted to hold back, but if you didn’t know what she could do to help… “ how can I force you to be miserable with me when I have an unsolvable problem?”

“Like what?” Clarke asked thoughtfully.

“Like the fact that if I sleep in the same room as her, she can’t get a full night’s sleep because I’ll wake up screaming every four hours?” You knew it bothered her that you had stopped sleeping in the same room, but if you could avoid interrupting her sleep-

“If you didn’t then I would get far enough in my dream to watch you get shot over and over again, so that’s really no problem,” Alex said.

You looked at her, shocked that she had hid it from you. It was your job to help her with nightmares, you had always held her and talked her through the dreams that plagued her at night. But looking into her face, you both started laughing. The irony of the situation was overwhelming and you collapsed into her, forehead touching her shoulder as you both cackled about the role reversals that this session had revealed.

When you could both breathe without beginning to laugh hysterically again, Alex touched her forehead to yours. You leaned against her, running a hand up to ruffle the tips of her hair.

“Babe we’re a team,” Alex said her voice low, but still amused. “I need to know what our opposition is so we can strategize and score. And so we can communicate that some problems aren’t as bad as you think they are.”

You smiled into her hand. “Promise me you won’t leave when you realize how messed up I am? I don’t know how to be normal anymore.”

”Neither do I, but we can work on our new normal together,” Alex said, leaning back and meeting your eyes. On her lips you saw her small nervous smile. Like the one she had the first time she asked you to dinner. Or the first time you were alone in a hotel room, and she suggested skipping your gym day for a different form of exercise. Or when she had told you that you would be welcoming a mini version of yourself into the world.

“Excellent work today, the both of you,” Clarke said, and you jumped slightly, remembering that the two of you weren’t alone. “Our time is almost up for this session but I think the two of you might benefit from some list making. First, the things the two of you are comfortable with. The things you like to do, or would like to do. The second, a list of things that make you nervous to try. Things that would need to be talked about first. And the third, absolute limits. The things that you have no interest in pursuing. It would help you set your goals I think.”

You shot her a half glare. God, you fucking hated homework.

“Either that, Y/n, or we can revisit the topic of how you felt like you weren’t supposed to walk out of the stadium. I noticed you changed the subject earlier, but if you prefer…”

“No, I think your wife picks that part of my brain apart enough, thank you,” you said quickly. “List making sounds great.”

*****

Present time

“It sounds like the two of you had some hard work to do,” Julie said softly, a sympathetic smile gracing her lips.

You looked over at Alex, gently bouncing Charlie in the corner. It wasn’t something you considered easy. You weren’t fighting a battle with a right answer. You had been struggling with a monster you couldn’t see. You couldn’t touch him, but you had no doubt he was there.

“There were definitely some times when I was in a bit of a dark place,” you agreed, “and I was really lucky that I had people around me who were not only patient enough to stick by me through those times, but also cared enough to call me on my bullshit and prod me into doing the work that recovery takes. You know, they say time will heal everything, but that's just blatant oversimplification.”

“Oh absolutely,” Julie agreed.

You shifted into your seat, running a hand through your curls (a nervous habit you would never break) “I mean. They don’t talk about how much time you have to spend walking through those moments and working through the things you don’t want to think about. How much time you spend looking at yourself and finding things you can be positive about amongst all the flaws.”

“No they don’t. Which creates the sort of environment where someone does take time to do that kind of work, and people don’t understand it. So thank you, to you and all the other athletes and public figures who are taking the time to be vocal and educate our society about mental health.”

The hand in your hair tugged harder at the strands. You still didn’t like it when people tried to paint you as an advocate. As some champion for the cause. You were just a person trying to find your way back to something that resembled normal.

“I think that people also don’t understand that there is no magic wand you can wave to make it all better. Sure, antidepressants or anti-anxiety medications help, and sometimes they do help a lot, but they’re not an end all be all. You still find moments and situations that show you just how far you still have to come,” you said.

“That sounds like a story there,” Julie said, leaning forward in her chair. “Care to tell us about it?”

“Well for starters, we learned our new least favorite holiday.”

******

7 months

You could feel the eyes watching you. It was a little hard to ignore, even after 7 months. You knew, and hated, how much Alex worried, but at a big ‘family’ get together, the whole room seemed to be waiting for you to have a breakdown. It was just a bit unnerving (especially when you were already on edge to begin with).

You shouldn’t be on edge. It was a normal get together. Something that the team did every year for the 4th of July in the days leading up to it. You were safe, surrounded by the people you loved the most.

You rubbed at the back of your neck, trying to flatten the hairs standing on end.

It was just so loud. You sat back into one of the lawn chairs, taking a big sip of your drink, and watching as a bunch of the youngins kicked a ball around with the kids. Your fingers flexed at a particular squeal, trying to prevent the images from flooding through your brain.

“If you hold that bottle any tighter, your fingers are going to fall off,” Tobin’s voice appeared like a tether, grounding you to the moment.

You rolled your shoulders, trying to shake the feelings swirling in the pit of your stomach. “It’s weird being around so many people.”

Tobin shrugged, side-eyeing you. “It’s not really different from practice.”

“It’s more… open,” You mumbled, awkwardly rubbing the back of your neck.

Open wasn’t the right word, and both of you knew that. It was one thing to be around the team, but another to be around the team and their families.

You had never been the most social person on the planet. The fact that you were sitting in a chair not talking to anybody but Tobin was a fairly normal party experience for you. Still, this party felt like it was on a different level. One that only you hadn’t been given the cheat codes to.

Your fingers clenched at another particularly loud scream, and you gulped. Trying to push down the images, the feeling of him breathing down your neck, and the Yelp that followed the gunshot. You scanned the party. Alex was off mingling with your sisters and the various partners of your teammates like nothing was wrong.

“We all feel it too, you know,” Tobin said softly, tapping your hand.

Your eyes tightened and you opened and closed your mouth several times. You knew they all dealt with the fallout too, but sometimes you just felt so much like an outsider.

But before you could get the words out, you saw something flying towards you out of the corner of your eye.

You caught the ball just before it smacked into your face, glancing up at the little feet approaching you. You couldn’t help but smile at Charlie’s little toddler waddle.

“Careful darling. You gotta give me a heads up when you send a ball my way,” You said, holding your hands out to your toddler, and passing the ball to your sister-in-law.

She smiled impishly at you, grabbing your hands and letting you pull her into a hug “Sorry Mama,” she mumbled into your chest.

“It’s alright baby,” You said soothingly, running your fingers through her hair.

It was honestly so comforting to have her in your arms, feeling her safe in front of you. You knew your crazy mood swings had to be confusing for her, but you really did try to keep life as normal as possible for her. Physical contact was still difficult for you, but you made an exception with Charlie. She didn’t ask about the new bumps on your skin.

She didn’t stare at them, or give you pity eyes when she saw them.

Charlie tolerated you holding her still for a few minutes before she really began to fidget. She had definitely inherited your inability to sit still. “Go play?” She asked suddenly, reaching for the ball in Tobin’s arms.

You kissed her forehead and carefully released her, carefully holding her hands as she got down to make sure she didn’t stumble.

“Yeah kiddo, go have fun,” you said, winking at her.

“You come play with us,” She said, tugging your hand.

“You know I don’t play anymore baby. Why don’t you ask Mommy and Aunt Chris?” You explained softly.

“Want Youuu!” She whined, throwing her head back and attempting to yank you to your feet.

You sighed, shaking your head. “No kiddo, not today.”

“But Mama!” She stomped her foot emphatically. You saw Tobin covering her mouth in your peripheral vision, doing her best to hide her grin at what she too clearly thought was an adorable display of temper.

“No.” You said more firmly, giving your daughter the patented ‘mom’ look (which wasn’t as good as Alex’s but it was pretty close). “Go ask Mommy or Aunt Christen.”

Charlie dropped your hands with a pout. “You no fun anymore,”

“You know,” Tobin said, taking a sip of her drink, “it’s not that big a deal if you wanted to go play a game with the kiddos. It hardly counts as soccer, the rules they’re following.”

“I don’t play soccer anymore,” you said stiffly. “End of conversation.”

“I’m just saying, Y/n. You don’t have to play professionally to play soccer. A pick up game with your kid is not gonna hurt anyone, and you might even enjoy it. You went through a lot your last game, but it doesn’t have to be your last. You should at least consider going out on your own terms.”

You were about to respond to her. You had a response prepared. But all thoughts left your head as

BOOM. EEEEEeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee BOOM

Pop, pop, pop

“I think I need to go get a refill.”

*****

“What do you think they’re talking about?” Christen whispered, leaning over conspiratorially towards Alex. “Y/n looks so serious.”

“Maybe Tobin is asking for her blessing,” Alex said, wiggling her eyebrows.

“Don't joke with me like that. You know I’ve been dropping hints for months,” Christen said, slapping your girlfriend's shoulder.

“You know there’s nothing stopping you from asking first,” Alex said, trying not to laugh and looking back at you and Tobin.

“Perry already told me she was making a plan. Tobin never plans,” Christen mumbled.

“I know, you want her to have a chance to make it special,” Alex said, nodding, her heart melting just a bit at how carefully you were holding your daughter, and how you were letting her hold you.

Despite the strides you had made, you were still incredibly jumpy with physical contact. You barely tolerated hugs (or hand holding if you were anywhere near public sight).

It was nice to see you making an exception for your daughter. She just wished you would make an exception for her too. Hell, she wished you would acknowledge her in public at all.

“Little Miss looks like she’s about to have a serious meltdown,” Christen said, following Alex’s gaze. “Do you need to go handle that?”

Alex shook her head, as you leaned down so you were eye to eye with the toddler. “Looks like she’s got it.”

Even with your mood swings, you had never dropped the ball with Charlie. You got a little more stern than you had before, but nothing that made Alex worry.

“Well, if you’re sure.” Christen shrugged. “I know she wants to make it special, so I’m not going to ruin it for her. But if there was some chance you maybe heard something and wanted to give me a hint about what she was planning so I could get my nails done ahead of time, I wouldn’t mind.”

“I doubt Tobin would tell me over Y/n, but…” Alex jumped slightly and looked up at the first fireworks going off. The sun hadn’t even gone down yet and the actual 4th was still a few days out, but apparently Christen’s neighbors hadn’t gotten the message. “If it’s your nails you’re worried about… what’s going on?”

“Should we follow her?” Christen watched as you all but sprinted into the house, turning to look at Alex, then her girlfriend.

Tobin was out of her chair nearly as quick as you were, and already approaching the pair.

“I’ll-”

“I’m on my way inside anyway,” Sophia said, standing up from the chair she was sitting in a few feet away from Alex’s feet. Alex saw Christen blush slightly, wondering how much of their earlier conversation might have carried over to the youngin. “I’ll see if she’s alright while I’m there.”

“It’s fine Soph. I can handle it,” Alex said, already starting to stand from her chair.

“No, really. I’m already going in to get some more ice. And,” Sophia paused. “This many people is a bit overwhelming. Y/n and I will be fine. Inside.”

“If you’re sure,” Alex said, squinting at the youngin and her fidgeting fingers, trying to place the nervousness she could feel pouring off the woman.

Sophia smiled and saluted. “Absolutely.” Then she turned and walked towards the house.

*****

Your fingers gripped the white marble countertop so tightly that they were turning pale. Your mouth tasted metallic.

Another bang sounded from just behind the sliding glass doors. You bit your tongue harder. You weren’t actually smelling smoke in the air. The pain in your tongue battled with your memories. You could feel his arm loosen around your neck, the warm liquid hit your back as you fell, and his dead weight on top of you as you both hit the ground.

“Fuck,” you breathed out as the noises rang through your head. Another bang, and more cheers, echoing Alex’s and Christen’s screams that night as you fell.

You jumped slightly at the sound of the ice machine on the fridge beside you. Then a glass appeared in front of you and your hand reached up automatically to grab it. The cold from the glass burned into your skin, drawing you away from the heat of your memory.

“I thought this might help,” Sophia said, nodding at the glass and popping an ice cube straight into her mouth.

“Thanks,” you said, smiling warily at her. You placed the cool glass against your neck, gasping slightly as it touched your racing pulse. It reminded you that you weren’t in that moment, with him breathing down your neck. You were here, in your sister's house, surrounded by friends.

“Fhe cowd is wewy cawmem” Sophia said around her ice cube.

“Hmm, have you been spending too much time with Sonnett?” You mumbled, tipping the glass and catching an ice cube on your tongue.

The cold was almost like Lidocaine, numbing everywhere it touched as it seeped into your nerves. It slowed your brain and helped to clear the last vestiges of that night from your immediate thoughts.

Sophia leaned over and took the ice cube out of her mouth, dropping it in the sink. “Okay, MOM. I said the cold is weirdly calming.” She grinned at you, holding her own cup of ice against her cheek.

“Don’t let Charlie hear you say that. She doesn’t like to share,” You smirked, tipping your glass towards the young forward, just thinking about the tantrums your daughter had thrown when Emily kept calling you Mama Duck at camp because all of the youngins were following you around.

“I could tell. She’s kind of a ball hog, though she’s got a good pass when she remembers to.”

“She gets all her talent from Alex, trust me,” you snorted, swirling your ice cubes around.

“You inspired a lot of kids to play soccer when you were younger,” Sophia said, looking into her glass as she twirled her stack of ice with a finger. “Don’t sell yourself short.”

You gulped, swallowing down your retort and shoving another ice cube in your mouth instead.

You didn’t want to be a role model, or someone for people to look up to. How could you when you hadn’t even acknowledged people bleeding out in the hallway in your haste to get to Alex. How could you be when you couldn’t even hold yourself together long enough to enjoy a family barbecue.

“I know it’s probably not comforting, but I’m glad I’m not the only one who couldn’t sit through the fireworks,” Sophia said, opening the freezer and rummaging around. “Some of the other youngins thought to bring earplugs, but it’s not even the fourth yet so I didn’t expect them. Oooh, ice cream sandwiches.”

“We forgot that the ordinance allows idiots to try and blow themselves up 3 days before and after the 4th, so we weren’t prepared either. But even with ear plugs the actual day is going to suck,” You said with a shrug, trying to pretend it didn’t bother you. “Hand me an ice pop would ya? I don’t want Tobin to be upset we’re eating the only processed crap Christen let’s her bring in the house.”

“Cherry, grape, or orange?”

You scrunched your nose and shook your head. Sophia had a lot to learn about digging through freezers if she was going to make it on the team.

“The mango ones she hides under the gross lemon ices,” You said with a wave of your hand. Your sister always held the good goods under the foods she knew you hated when you were younger.

“Yaasss!” Sophia dug deeper into the freezer more and extracted two mango ice pops. She handed one to you and then bumped the freezer closed with her hip, opening her own. “And tell me about it. I live walking distance from a park where they hold a giant fireworks display every year. I might die if I had to listen, that’s why some of us are planning a camping trip. Want me to throw your wrapper away for you?”

“Which some of you?” You asked suspiciously, handing your wrapper to the younger girl.

You knew they were all chomping at the bit to ‘thank’ you for whatever (despite your adamant stance that no thanks was needed), but you didn’t want to be involved in a pitty trip.

“I forget whether it was my idea or Morgan’s idea first, but some others heard about it and wanted to come along. Thus far I think we’ve got me, Abby, Mal, Rose, Morgan, Emily, Lindsey, Midge, Sam and Kristie. Lindsey did some research on the closest camping sites we could go to that would be far away enough that we didn’t hear the city fireworks, and found one in a wilderness area or national forest or something.” Sophia smiled wickedly and bit into her ice pop. “Bastards can’t set off their noisy fucking fire hazards near protected forest.”

“You know, Charlie’s never been camping. Someone’s going to have to teach her to make the perfect s’more,” You said, your lips ticking up. The forest with no loud booms did sound like a fantastic way to spend the holiday.

****

Present

“It had to be strange for you to want nothing to do with soccer,” Julie smirked, sharing a look with Alex.

You laughed. “I just told you that I had to practically hide in a freezer to get away from some fireworks, and THAT’S what you took away from that story?”

Julie shrugged, more for your benefit than the audience listening at home. “You also told me that fireworks were your first thought when the incident started, so I wasn't surprised. So many vets and survivors also have similar responses. But for someone of your caliber, I kinda expected you to find comfort in soccer. It seemed like you might after the story of your tactics talk with the youngsters at practice.”

“Yeah, I see what you mean,” you nodded thoughtfully. “I think, at least once I got to the point where I had recovered enough to THEORETICALLY play, it felt like there was a lot of pressure. Like every time I got near a ball there were imaginary eyes boring into me and waiting for me to lose control.”

“Charlie seemed like she was pretty insistent to get you to play with her,” Julie said with a wry smile.

“And in the end, Charlie was the one I started playing for,” you said, wiggling your fingers at the toddler squirming in Alex’s arms. “At least until I realized I wanted to play for myself.”

****

7.5 months

When you were little, you were obsessed with the little thumping sound your foot made when it came into contact with the ball. You spent hours mastering those sounds, and your ball control was impeccable as a result (even better than Tobin’s if you did say so yourself).

You always relished in that control. When everything was going wrong in your life, the one king you could dictate was where that ball went.

Maybe that’s why you were itching to pick it up again. Or maybe it was just that you were happy to relax for once and enjoy that the forest was quiet enough for you to actually hear the ball.

The woods just… absorbed the noise of your teammates chatting, and the other national park patrons milling about. The trees made you feel safe (even if that was seemingly ridiculous). No one would break the serenity to try and harm you here.

You shifted a bit in your chair as Emily, Sophia and Morgan very carefully juggled the ball around your giggling toddler.

They were pretty good. Not as good as you or Tobin, but not as bad as some of your other friends.

“No emmy. Do the around the world,” Charlie directed, clapping her hands gleefully at the ball tricks.

You saw Emily grimace and glance around the camp, scanning. There were situations where Sonnet was willing to do skills she hadn’t perfected yet, but around your toddler who didn’t know to duck away from the ball yet was not one of them.

“I’m not sure I can do that one short stack. We might have to ask Aunt Tobin,” Her eyes held yours for an extra second before she continued looking around the treeline.

“Mama can do it better than Aunt Toby,” Charlie said, grabbing the ball and walking towards you.

“Which is why I was going to give Aunt Tobin a chance to practice,” Emily said, catching up to Charlie and trying to redirect her away from your orbit, “besides, your mama still has half her drink left, so we don’t want to bother her while her hands are full.”

You sighed, Tobin’s reminder from Christen’s party ringing in your head.

You wanted to do this on your own terms.

“It’s alright, I’ll do it,” you said, sticking your drink in the arm-chair’s cup holder and standing up. You walked forward to take the ball from your gleeful child before you could think about it. “Take a step back while I warm up though, okay? Mama might need a second to find her footing."

You twirled the ball in your hands, focusing on the dappled light that shone on it through the trees from the setting sun. You dropped it onto the ground at your feet, taking a deep breath.

You flicked the ball with your foot, almost making it balance on the toe box of your shoe, but grimincing when it rolled off instead.

“What, are you losing your touch in your old age?” Sophia snickered.

“Watch it pipsqueak,” You huffed, trying to act angry at her even as a grin flicked across your face. Honestly, her teasing was more motivating than any words of encouragement would have been, nothing like a bit of competition to get you fired up. You shook your head and again flicked the ball, but caught it this time.

Something in your chest relaxed as you began to successfully juggle the ball. It wasn’t anything fancy, hell you probably wouldn’t have even bothered with the moves a year ago, but it was a start.

“Yay Mama!” Charlie cheered. Emily was holding your wiggling toddler a few meters away, clearly trying to make sure she didn’t get in the way of the ball. “Now do the around the world! Please!!!!!”

“Yeah y/n maybe you can teach Em while you’re at it,” Morgan said, taking a sip of her beer. Emily elbowed her in the side, and she sputtered as she spilled a sip of the lager on herself.

“She’s hopeless, even Tobin gave up,” Lindsey snorted, shaking her head. That was an understatement. Emily had pushed the normally chill midfield so far she yelled at the poor girl.

“Y/n are you going to do the dumb trick or not?” Emily asked, glaring daggers at Lindsey.

You shrugged, bouncing the ball off your knee a few times easily. You had the mechanics, it should be fine.

You bit your lip, catching the ball off your knee and sending it up again. You felt like the collective intake of breath the youngins took as you circled your calf around it before catching it on your toe box yet again.

“Yes Y/n!”

“Nice!”

But no cheer was louder than your daughter’s “yay Mama!”

“Again, again!” She clapped, drawing a smile from your lips. Your chest puffed up just a bit. You were proud you could get her to smile again.

You flicked the ball up, catching it on your nose before dropping it yet again. You kicked it between your feet a few times, prepping to juggle, before suddenly a foot darted between yours to stop the ball and flick it away.

“You’re losing your touch grandma,” Morgan said giggling, as you battled to keep control of the ball. You almost got it back from her and she quickly kicked it towards Sophia.

You raced off to get it, almost gaining possession after an ill fated elastico from Sophia, but Emily toed it away before you could.

“You guys don’t play fair,” You grumbled, your smile never leaving your face. “It’s 3 on one,”

“Come on mama, get it,” Charlie clapped, running off towards Emily.

“More like 4 on 1 and a half,” Lindsey smirked, stepping in and taking possession from her girlfriend.

“You guys are trying to kill me.”

*****

“Just pretend like you’re not watching,” Alex hissed under her breath, watching you out of the corner of her eye. Christen and Tobin ignored her, cheering with the rest of the camp as you juggled the ball around the world. Alex smiled at the grin on your face, relaxing as you continued your dance with the soccer ball. It was good to see you so happy.

“She’s still got it,” Christen said, “As though it hasn’t been more than a week since she touched a ball.” Your sister shook her head, amazed and proud at the skill in your muscle memory. “Absolutely ridiculous. Has she been better about touch and stuff?”

“With Charlie yeah,” Alex turned and watched you chase after Sophia. Charlie was ecstatic, so you must have been having fun. Charlie reflected your mood like a mirror. “She’s been way more involved with Charlie at home too,”

“Is this the first time she’s played soccer with Charlie again?” Tobin asked, sipping her drink.

“Yeah,” Alex nodded, biting her lip. You had practically banished all the balls from your house after the incident.

“Well whoever asked her to do a trick was absolutely brilliant,” Christen said. “You know she can’t resist showing off for Charlie, especially on a skill she worked so hard to perfect.” Christen cupped her hands around her mouth. “Come on Emily, kick her butt!” You turned and stuck out your tongue at her before chasing after Emily and the stolen ball.

“I think it was Charlie. I swear, all she has to do is bat her eyes and Y/n melts,” Alex laughed as Lindsey and Emily double teamed you to keep you from finally getting the ball from Sophia.

“Mommy, come on, Mama needs your help!” Charlie ran over and grabbed Alex’s hand. “Aunt Emmy wont play fair!”

“She won’t?! You guys need back up huh?” Alex grinned leaning down just a bit.

“Yes, right now! You need to play on Mama’s team so it will be fair!” Charlie said bouncing as she dragged a laughing Alex towards your scrimmage. Tobin and Christen watched as Alex ran over and surprised Lindsey by kicking the ball from behind her over to you. Charlie laughed and clapped as you and Alex passed the ball back and forth, keeping it away from your four teammates.

“I couldn’t have planned this better if I tried,” Christen whispered. Your smile at Alex reminded her of how you were before your mom died. So relaxed, and free of the sadness of her death and of the weight of unexpected motherhood on your shoulders. Charlie was one of the lights of your life, but Christen could still remember you crying into a vodka soda in her living room before she was born, berating yourself for not wearing protection, worrying about whether you would need a lawyer to fight for custody if your relationship with Alex ever fell apart.

“They’re gonna be alright I think,” Tobin said, wrapping her arm around Christen’s shoulder and leaning her head against Christen’s.

Christen swore she heard your mom's chuckle by her other ear and a warm hand brush her free one. “Yeah, they’ll figure it out.”

****

The campfire flickered, moths and other bugs flitting above it in the darkness. You watched it from your place in the circle, listening to the sounds of the crickets and Alex helping Charlie brush her teeth in the background.

Your teammates were sitting at their own spots around the fire (assigned pretty forcefully by your daughter during desert). Tobin leaned against Christen, wrapped in her arms as they whispered to each other. Sophia and Morgan were debating making another smore (once Charlie couldn’t see and protest the two smores each rule), and Emily and Lindsey were playing what seemed to be a very competitive card game on the ground.

“Okay I’m done Mama,” Charlie said, appearing on your right and climbing up into your lap.

You wrapped your arms around her, squeezing her tightly before kissing her on her head and releasing her. “I think it’s bedtime for little lady bugs,” you said, gesturing at the tent where Alex was waiting to tuck Charlie in.

“Story first,” She demanded, cuddling deeper into your chest, and rubbing her head on your shoulder.

“Yeah, story time Y/n” Emily said with a smirk, tossing a marshmallow at you.

You batted it away, smiling as Alex came over and sat down next to you with a sigh. Now that Aunt Emmy agreed you should tell a story there would be no end to it unless you told one. “Which story does my lady bug want to hear? The one of the brave knights defeating the orange dragons and saving the princess?”

“The one with the sun and the moon,” Charlie said, grabbing your arms and wrapping them around her. Story times were a very serious affair, and everything had to be just so. Specifically, she needed to be in a hug the whole time.

“Ah yes,” you smiled. You looked up at the stars, some barely visible through the gaps in the tree canopy. The moon shone in a silver crescent, a cheshire cat grinning down at you as you began your story. You looked back at the outline of the fire. “A long long time ago-”

“Before the dinosaurs?” Charlie and Emily said simultaneously. Around you conversation dimmed, and you saw the youngins scooch closer to you to listen.

“In a time way before the dinosaurs,” You said dramatically, drawing out the “waaaaaay'' and eliciting a giggle from everyone listening.

Your voice turned serious again, easily hushing the crowd as you continued. “The sun shone so bright above the sky. The people loved her so much. They loved to dance and play under her warmth.”

“They played soccer?”

“Some of them,” you said, smiling at your daughter, who knew the story as well as you did, but always begged you to tell it.

“Only the cool ones.”

You raised your eyebrows at the blond defender as your daughter pouted at the interruption. Only she was allowed to interrupt your stories.

“The sun would look down and see them, and realize how lonely she was high up in the sky. She wondered if she would ever find someone who wanted to play with her too.”

“What bout the moon,” Charlie asked.

“Well the moon was always gorgeous. She would rise when the sun got tired, with a necklace of her stars. People loved her so much that they stayed up to watch her and her friends. The sun longed to meet the moon, but all she could get were brief glances. The moon was unreachable, but the sun tried. She stayed up as long as she could to see the moon and her beauty, but she knew that she was too bright. She had to set in order for people to see the moon’s radiance.”

“The sun loved the moon,” Charlie asked, looking up at you with wide eyes.

“So, so, so much,” You nodded, kissing your daughter's forehead.

“One night the moon stopped the sun before she could set. She was sad that they could never be together. But the sun said that she would grow cold and dark every day if that’s what it took for the moon to truly shine.”

“Did they get to live happily ever after?” Emily interrupted this time, her voice slightly wet. She always teared up at the story, no matter how many hundreds of times you had told it.

“Yeah they did. The moon reminded the sun that she was a reflection of the sun's brightness. The only way they could light up the sky was by working together,” Alex said, reaching up to squeeze Charlie’s dangling foot, to Charlie’s squealing delight.

You blinked up, your eyes locking with Alex and latching onto her words. She was the moon standing out despite being amongst millions of stars. It was hard to remember that you could shine bright too sometimes.

“Now I think it’s bedtime little one,” Alex said, standing and reaching down to pick Charlie up. Charlie settled happily onto her hip, satisfied enough by the story to not protest. “Want to give mama a kiss before you go?”

“Night, night mama,” Alex helped Charlie lean down and give you a kiss on the cheek. You accepted it, and gave her a loud kiss back on the forehead. Then you hesitated, and pulled Alex down as well. You saw her eyes widen before her lips gently touched yours. It wasn’t your first kiss since the incident, but it was the first in front of anyone but your toddler.

It was nice. Her lips were slightly sweet from the chocolate and sticky from the marshmallow, with just a hint of her beer in the background. It reminded you of your first kiss, sweetened by Cotton candy and funnel cakes all those years ago. Your fingers hooked in her belt loops holding her closer to you for an extra second. The extra second you would always savor.

The wolf whistles and Charlie’s squeal of “gross mama” were drowned out by Alex’s little hum. You couldn’t help but smirk a bit. You still had that spark even after all this time.

Then she stood, glowing red in the firelight, and whispered “I’ll see you in a bit,” before she carried Charlie to the tent.

*****

Alex Morgan was the most gorgeous woman you had ever seen. There was never any question about that. It didn’t matter if she was dressed to the nines for a night out, or covered in sweat with no makeup on.

You always knew she was beautiful, but sitting here with the glow of the fire, she was absolutely stunning.

You felt a bit like a teenager, stealing glances around each sip of your beer.

The youngins had opted for some more smores, and were now in their tents winding down from their sugar crashes. Tobin and Christen were walking hand and hand somewhere in the treeline, probably looking for a nice place for some alone time. You heard the whisper of a podcast playing from Emily and Lindsey’s tent, as they had apparently settled their argument about whether to listen to Welcome to Night Vale or Nothing Much Happens before falling asleep. Sitting here by the crackling of the embers with Alex, you felt completely alone. You reached out and Alex’s hand naturally wound itself around yours.

“So, do you want to talk about that kiss earlier?” Alex, said, the smile on her face illuminated in the glow of the fire.

“It was nice. I like kissing you. You know that,” You said with a half shrug, taking a sip of your beer.

“I like kissing you too.”

You nodded, way too seriously and smirked at her “It’d be kinda bad if you didn’t. Might make this whole thing super awkward,”

“Yeah, sharing a tent might get a little uncomfortable,” Alex said dryly. “But, I liked that you kissed me in front of them. I mean, not in a weird way, but, you know. I thought it might mean, you might want us to be official?”

“I thought having a kid together made us kinda tied for life,” You chuckled, shifting a little bit uncomfortably in your chair.

“Always and forever,” Alex said, smiling at you, “And I know I didn’t want to be public before, but I’m ready. I’m ready to marry you and be out, to everyone.”

“I think you’ve had too many of these,” You mumbled, flicking the half full beer in Alex’s hand. “Why don’t we just put off this conversation until tomorrow. You know, when we’re both more clear headed.”

��Because tomorrow we will have a toddler to overhear us, not to mention several gossip mongers we call teammates. And I really didn’t think it would need to be a conversation. You wanted us to be official for years. Isn’t that what we were fighting about before we went on a break last, um. You know, the last time we were on a break,” Alex mumbled.

You smiled grimly. “I think we were fighting because Arsenal offered me a contract and you wanted to keep Charlie in Orlando with you.”

“Oh,” Alex said lamely. “I thought there was more to it than that.”

“You took Charlie to Tottenham for 3 months without me, and I understood that. I just wanted you to understand that I wanted time with her too,” you said softly, squeezing Alex’s hand. “I’m her parent too.”

“Yes, I know,” Alex said, squeezing your hand, “I never meant to make you feel that you weren’t. I think at the time I was just caught up in the logistics. Sharing her with you seemed the same as coming out, since people would notice if I was flying my toddler to London.” Alex took a deep breath and moved to sit in front of you, holding your gaze. “But I’m not scared of coming out anymore. And I want you to know that. I want to come out, I want to marry you. I want to update my facebook status, as though that isn’t something people stopped doing in middle school!”

You gulped. That wasn’t something you were ready for. You didn’t know if you would ever be ready for it.

“Thank you,” you said softly. “I know I should be really happy about that, because I love you. But no. Beyond the team I don’t want to be public.”

Alex frowned. She sat back on her heels, but didn’t let go of your hand. “But why? It’s not because. You’re not ashamed of us, are you?”

“What? No! That’s not-“ You sputtered, practically spitting out your beer. “That doesn’t have anything to do with it.”

Alex smiled at the shock on your face. If ever there was confirmation that she was wrong that was it. “Can you tell me why then?” She asked gently.

You lifted her hand and kissed it. “I promise I will someday, if you are willing to wait for me to find the words.”

Alex nodded, accepting the communication technique Clarke had implemented in your relationship. You would open up to her, you just needed time to find the courage, or to put words to the feelings first.

“I love you,” You said earnestly.

“I love you too,” Alex said, leaning forward to kiss you slowly. “Come one, let’s get some sleep. Lindsey set an alarm for a sunrise hike.”

“Ugh. Not one of those again. I thought the disaster in Hawaii was enough,” You sighed dramatically into the kiss, and Alex laughed again. The tension between you two disappearing as quickly as it had come.

*****

9 months

You looked up at the walls of the stadium, trying to remember how to step forward. The door was only meters away, you had been through it hundreds of times, but your feet weren’t moving. Today just felt different.

“Y/n?” Tobin said, walking quickly up from behind you. You groaned internally. Of all the people to see you hesitate, the one who had your significant other on speed dial would not have been top of the list. You were fine, you didn’t even feel nervous. You weren’t nervous. “Are you okay? Should I call Alex?”

“I’m fine,” you said quickly, adjusting the strap on your bag. “Just taking it in.”

“You’ve been ‘taking in’ that door for 10 minutes,” Tobin snorted, shaking her head.

“It’s my first full field practice for Portland in months, can’t I savor the moment?”

“Alex said to call her if you started being weird, even if you said you were fine,”Tobin mumbled, shifting her shoulder strap. Both your girlfriend and her own had made her swear to keep an eye on you when they went back to their respective clubs, and she didn’t know how comfortable she was hiding that you were practicing with the Thorns again.

“Can you wait until after Y/n and I have had a chance to take in the stadium, Heath? It’s supposed to be a quiet ritual.” You turned to look at Sinc, hiding your quizzical expression from Tobin.

“Whatever you two say,” Tobin mumbled, deciding that this fight wasn’t worth it. You were an adult that could make your own decisions.

You both waited for Tobin to be safely inside the stadium before Christine nudged your side. “Alright kid, spill.”

You smiled at her, then turned back to look at the doors to the tunnel. A tunnel to the locker rooms and under the stadium, one almost identical to the last one you had been in. Over 9 months ago. You exhaled “I just. This is the first step. It’s one I have to make, I want to make.”

“You’re rambling,” Christine said, elbowing you again.

“You’re mean,” you made a face at her but couldn’t help grinning.

“I can always call Alex and let her hash this out with you,” She shrugged, flinching away when you sent a particularly hard slap to her stomach.

“You do that and I will climb the wall of this stadium so I can get onto the field and kick your ass in drills.”

“You know, Jessie had a panic attack at the first Team Canada practice back. She couldn’t go near the tunnel,” Sinc said softly, her voice reminiscent of the tone everyone used with Charlie when she was at practice with you. “She got changed at the hotel and came in through the front door.”

“And what about you, oh fearless Captain Canada?” You asked, raising an eyebrow and shifting the strap of your bag on your shoulder. “Locker rooms are no sweat for you?”

Sinc cleared her throat, suddenly finding a crack in the pavement very interesting. “I think I stand with most of the Canadian side when I say that the showers give us the most anxiety. We could hear it all in there you know. I still hear the echoes of it at night.”

You bit your lip, not sure if you had crossed a line. “Oh. That must make the end of practices fun.”

“Oh ya betcha, the bus reeks. But it’s what we have to do to feel comfortable.” She shrugged, and you couldn’t help the next thought that went through your head. If only Alex had ended up with them instead of in the showers across the hall.

But then the entire Canadian side would probably be a lot lighter. His number would have definitely been bigger, and you didn’t doubt he would have made them all pay for your defiance.

You shook your head as though it would clear your thoughts and turned back to the door. If you just took five steps...

“What are you two sad saps staring at? The door totally isn’t that interesting,” Your head snapped around to meet Kling’s jubilant smile. It was almost infectious.

“Oh, I’m just nervous about going into the stadium and Y/n is keeping me company,” Sinc said, smiling wryly at you.

Klings head tilted to the side, reminding you a bit of an over curious puppy, her eyes bouncing rapidly between you and Christine.

Sinc looked back at the stadium, and held her keys tightly. You noticed she had a tiny can of pepper spray that you had never noticed before. “I don’t know if I’ll ever play another game where there’s not at least a part of me worried that someone in the audience has darker intentions.”

“First, it’s a boring practice. I’m pretty sure all we’ll be doing is the beep test and some shitty drills,” Klings said, throwing her arms over the two of your shoulders. You wiggled out from underneath her, trying to hold in your cringe at the sudden contact.

“And second?” You asked, rolling your eyes with a grin.

“The USSF doesn’t give enough fucks to get us actual grass. No one cares enough about the NWSL for an asshole to come play shoot ’em up at one of our practices in lieu of a political statement.”

You snorted while Christine doubled over laughing. “You’re the worst.”

“Love you too, babes!” Kling blew kisses over her shoulder as she walked into the stadium.

Christine shook her head, still smiling. She straightened and adjusted her bag on her shoulder before striding forward and pulling open the door. Then she turned to look back at you. “You ready?”

You took a deep breath and nodded, walking forward into the stadium. “As I’m ever gonna be,”

*****

Ten months

You wanted this night to be absolutely perfect. It was your anniversary and this year needed to be more special than ever. Alex deserved to be wowed after everything the two of you had been through this year.

So you had pulled out all the stops.

Charlie was at Krashlyns house for the night. You had gone to get food from her favorite restaurant, and split dessert from the cheesecake factory. Candles lit your dinner, the light sparkling in her eyes as she looked at you over the rim of her wine glass. The two of you had talked and laughed and it felt reminiscent of a time before the incident.

“After you m’lady,” You smiled, pulling open the front door for Alex with a little bow. She giggled, tilting your chin up with gentle fingers and placing a very sweet kiss on your lips.

“Such the gentlewoman,” she said, her breath fanning across your lips. “I had fun tonight,”

You smirked, pulling her in for another kiss. Gentlewoman was not exactly the term you’d use, knowing your next plan for the night. “I’m glad. You deserve a little fun.”

She giggled at your little eyebrow wiggle, smiling against your lips.

It was nice to feel this carefree again.

You pecked her lips one more time before pulling away and gesturing her through the door.

“You just want me to go first so you can stare at my ass,” Alex said, swatting your side gently with her purse before walking though.

When she noticed you hesitate in the hallway behind her she turned around, walking back to you and closing the front door. “Hey, what’s wrong?” Her hands cupped your cheeks, pulling your lip from between your teeth gently with her thumb.

“I thought maybe we could cap it off with a bath? We used to love those,” You murmured softly, a light blush covering your cheeks.

Alex didn’t think her smile could get any wider. She had forgotten what it looked like for you to be this kind of nervous.

“I think that sounds perfect,” she breathed out, pecking your lips again.

You chased her lips as she pulled away, your blush deepening when her fingers tangled in the baby hairs at the back of your neck. She pushed you backwards, pinning you against the doorframe.

But it didn’t bother you. You didn’t feel the uncomfortable tingle at the back of your neck that had followed you since the incident.

You were too wrapped up in Alex and meeting her tongue with yours, and how warm and comfortable you felt. How safe she made you feel.

She pulled away again, tracing her thumb over your lips (wiping away a smudge of her lipstick). “The bath?” She asked.

You nodded, your mouth still hung slightly open and your cheeks a light shade of pink.

How she had missed seeing you like this, and you trusting her to see you like this.

Her fingers traced down your arm to grasp your hand tightly and pulled you into the house.

The stroll to the master bathroom was slow, and deliberate. Filled with smiles and stolen kisses.

God you felt like a teenager, so addicted to Alex.

You couldn’t even make it up the stairs without pulling her back in for a kiss. It felt good to let yourself indulge in your feelings for her, to allow yourself to just be.

But when you finally got to the bathroom your nerves returned. You awkwardly turned on the water, before looking back at your girlfriend.

Your hands clenched and unclenched at your sides. You weren’t sure how you were supposed to proceed. You two hadn’t been this intimate in nearly 10 months. It was another layer of vulnerability that you didn’t know how to initiate.

But Alex’s warm hands on your cheeks and soft voice kept you grounded.

“It’s ok Y/n,” She said.

And you knew that she was giving you permission, either to continue or to not.

Your fingers found her hips and slipped under the hem of her shirt, running circles on the warm skin of her sides. “You’re sure?” You asked, your eyes flickering up to meet hers.

“With you, always,” She murmured, helping you take off her shirt.

The little knot in your chest loosened a little at the act, and you felt your confidence grow as each garment came off.

This wasn’t new to you, and despite the pause in your physical relationship, you knew this side to Alex like the back of your hand. You knew where to press and where to run your fingers to get her to relax, just like she knew how to turn you into putty in her hands.

You felt completely at ease by the time she was bare in front of you. She hooked a finger under your chin and pulled you up for a steamy but sweet kiss.

“Are you going to let me help undress you too?” Alex asked against your lips, her voice earnest.

You gave her a very short nod, closing your eyes tightly. How would she react when she saw the scars? Sure you had gained some muscle back, but you were nowhere near where you had been before the incident.

“Hey, look at me,” Alex said, a finger running across your cheek. Your eyes blinked open to meet worried blue. “Are you sure? We don’t have to do this,” She said, and you knew that if you said the words it would all stop. You wouldn’t have to take the next steps, you wouldn’t have to expose yourself.

But you wanted to.

“I want to. I’m just. Nervous,” Your voice shook a little at the admission.

Alex held your hips, running her thumbs in little circles at your waist. “I’ll be gentle, I promise,” she whispered against your lips.

“I trust you,” You breathed out. And Alex searched your eyes for something you couldn’t place.

Once she found whatever she was looking for, she very slowly and carefully began to undress you.

You hissed when she accidentally brushed one of the thick scars on your thigh where they had put a central line in.

She paused, looking up at you for permission to continue. Sure she had seen the new lines that littered your skin, but you had never allowed her to touch them. It was as if letting her touch them was admitting you were broken, and that terrified you.

But you wanted to give her that.

You wanted to let her see your vulnerability. You wanted to share that part of you with her.

You nodded. “You can touch them, if you want.”

Alex kept eye contact with you as she slowly pressed into the scar. A shiver ran down your spine when her lips joined her hands, both taking off your pants and pressing little kisses into the line.

She followed the same process as each of your scars was revealed.

By the time she was finished you felt like you could melt into the cracks of the tile, with heat emanating from the crisscrossed lines across your body where she had kissed you. Stepping into the warm water only aided in that feeling.

“Let me just get some lavender oil,” She said.

Your eyes were glued to her form. God how did you get so lucky?

You remembered the first time the two of you had ever done this. How absolutely enamored your 18 year old self was. It was absolutely amazing that those feelings hadn’t really changed. Hell, they had only intensified.

“What?”

You blushed a bit at being caught staring. Your finger tapped erratically on the side of the tub.

“Remember the first time we did this?” You asked, cracking a whishful smile.

Alex let out a laugh at the memory, placing a few drops of oil into the water. “Yeah, you were so nervous you tripped over the side and almost face planted in the water,”

You giggled too. You had almost broken your nose that night, but it was all worth it. It had ended well anyway.

Alex paused at the edge of the tub, hesitating again. “Can I?” She asked, gesturing towards your lap.

It was normal for her to sit facing you when the two of you were in the tub. But she didn’t want to cross a line you weren’t ready to cross.

“Yeah,” You hummed, leaning back to allow her to sit.

She stepped gracefully into the water, leaning against your arms that naturally rose up to envelop her. You leaned into her head, closing your eyes for a moment to just sense her. The smell of her damp hair, even as she soaked in lavender. The feeling of her muscular shoulder on your arm. Her smooth ankle rubbing like a cricket against yours. Her.

“I’m not ashamed. I think you know that, but I felt like I had to say it out loud,” You said softly, running gentle circles on the smooth skin of Alex's back.

You felt her sudden intake of breath at the change in subject, but now felt like a good time to have this conversation. You were both open and relaxed and ready to listen.

She pulled back, but not out of your arms.

“Ashamed of what?” She asked, brushing a curl from your face.

“I’m not ashamed of you and Charlie,” You said gazing into her eyes.

“But you still don’t want to marry me?” Alex tilted her head sideways, but she sounded less hurt and more curious.

“I do. It’s just,” you paused, biting your lips and trying to gather the last bit of courage to finally explain. “The only reason you got to walk out of that stadium was because he didn’t know that we were together. If we get married and go public, you lose that option with the next crazy who shows up.”

“Babe,” Alex said, her voice barely above a whisper.

“I would never forgive myself if anything happened to you and Charlie,” You breathed out, squeezing your eyes shut.

Alex cupped your cheeks, rubbing her thumbs under your eyes to wipe away your tears. “Babe, we’ve talked about this. We’re a team. You don’t have to carry the weight of it all on your shoulders.”

“It’s just…You’re the sun and I’m the moon. I would die every night if I had to in order to let you spread your light,” You recited.

She shook her head, with a small smile (cursing the story you had always been obsessed with just a bit). “You’re the moon and I’m the starrs. We light up the night sky together.”

You rolled your eyes, her amusement infectious. “I want to be out with you, but I’m afraid I won’t be able to protect you,” You said earnestly, kissing each of her hands and leaning into them.

“Babe, we protect each other. And we both protect Charlie. How about we take small steps. We don’t have to do a big announcement. We can be like Chris and Tobs, and just be,” She said, in the voice she always used to explain difficult things to Charlie (like how she couldn’t pull Blue’s tail).

“Small steps?” You asked, gently pulling Alex in for a kiss.

“Small steps,” She confirmed, finally closing the distance.

The kiss was slow and langued, expressing all the emotions that you couldn’t put into words.

“Hey, how would you feel if one of those steps included me on the field?” You asked suddenly, a much envious grin on your lips.

“Like playing?”

“Maybe…” You smirked, and Alex raised an eyebrow at you. You never just ‘maybe’ did things. “Possibly trying for an Olympic spot?” you said, more like a question than a sure fire plan.

The smile that broke across Alex’s face was absolutely blinding.

Soccer wasn’t just your career, it was a passion the two of you could share. There was nothing quite like embracing after a big goal or a big win. It wasn’t something you wanted to completely give up on her.

“I think I would love that,” Alex said, her eyes darting across your face and lower. And as both of your gazes strayed from each other's faces you were reminded of another passion you both shared.

******

Present time

“And here you are. Fresh off a successful beginning of the season with the Portland Thorns,” Julie said.

“Yes! Thank god they took me from North Carolina,” You laughed softly, ignoring Alex’s eye roll.

At least you were in the same time zones when you played for North Carolina.

“No offense to any North Carolina fans watching, of course,” Julie said, leaning into a microphone with a grin, “But I think I can say on behalf of all Thorns fans that we are very lucky you decided to play soccer again. You scored, what, three of the goals last game?”

“Four and an offside,” Alex said from the corner.

“Four and an offside, not to mention assisting in most of the other goals that game.”

“It was against Kansas City, it doesn’t really count,” You shrugged.

“I think Rachel Corsie might disagree with you there,” Julie said, smiling at you, “But if Kansas doesn’t count, let's talk Olympics. The camps for the olympic roster are coming up. How are you feeling about competing? Are you competing?”

“You know, for a long time I gave up on being USWNT quality. I let that dream go a year ago. And now, I think I’m just starting to realize that I might not have to,” you said, looking at Alex and Charlie. “But I don’t think that whether I compete with the national team again is the important thing to focus on. That’s all everyone has been asking since my name appeared on the camp call up sheet, but by focusing on me, and my relatively unimportant decision in the grand scheme of things, we’re overlooking the people who should be remembered this week. For this camp. For this game.”

Julie stayed silent, nodding at you to continue. You swallowed. “There were 39 people who never got to walk out of that stadium. Who paid the price for our society’s acceptance of homophobia with their lives. We should be focusing on honoring them and their families.”

“Thank you Y/n. Listeners, let’s have a moment of silence in honor of these players, fans, coaching staff, and other team faculty who died at the game last year.” You saw Julie close her eyes, and you watched Charlie bounce on Alex’s legs as the silence filled the room.

Julie opened her eyes and leaned back into the microphone. “All of the jerseys on the field tonight will be signed and auctioned off with all proceeds going to the Trevor project. Thank you everyone for listening, and thank you for joining us today Y/n.”

“Happy to be here Julie.”

*****

You looked up at the bright blue sky as you sat down in the stadium. It was perfect weather, with a cool summer breeze in the air. You smiled at the roar of the crowd filling the stadium, Charlie bouncing on your lap in front of you. Families weren’t usually allowed in the Camp section, but Charlie was given an exception (she was a staple at camp with you and Alex after all).

On the field in front of you, team Canada was filing into line, raising their arms to acknowledge the cheers of the crowd. Charlie stood on your legs and started cheering “Yay aunt Sincy!” and you held her hands and cheered for Christine with her.

Then the announcer started calling your teammates onto the field. “This year’s starting lineup. Number 1, Alyssa Naeher, Number 3, Sam Mewis…”

Like Team Canada, your teammates had specially designed pride jerseys. Like last year, the numbers were rainbows, but one of this year’s new additions were black sleeves. Dark black sleeves with 39 stars in a large variety of colors. The captains’ armbands were also black, with a little rainbow band of 39 names circling the center.

It was the perfect memorial. The best way to make sure that the right people were remembered, and you were so proud that US Soccer and The Canadian Soccer Association had okayed the way the teams wanted to honor the anniversary.

They had agreed to the jersey designs, as well as to the minute of silence the teams were going to have before kickoff. Both teams would meet in the center of the stadium to hold hands and remember their mutual losses. And the anthems of both teams would be played tonight, no matter who won or lost.

But the biggest surprise was the one you were the most nervous about.

To someone who didn’t know soccer, they wouldn’t think twice about the little swap. They wouldn’t question why a USWNT vet suddenly decided to switch numbers. They wouldn’t connect the dots to your barely concealed announcement.

But the fans would know. They would understand exactly what the message you were sending them was as Alex walked out into the light of the stadium wearing your number instead of her own (which was left empty because you may or may not have laid claim to it). She raised a hand as the announcer called her, “Number 18, Alex Morgan.”

Tobin patted her back as she joined the line, her eyes finding yours in the crowd.

“Yay, Mommy!” Charlie yelled, standing on her seat and waving frantically to Alex.

She waved back, and then met your eyes, both of you smiling. In that moment it was just the two of you in the stadium, and you took a deep breath, finally able to breathe again.

#uswnt x reader #uswnt imagine #uswnt imagines #literalhedgehog #alex morgan imagine #alex morgan x reader

[jaeminscoffee]

Colours | X. Dj

Pairing» Xiaojun x f!Reader

Genre» Angst, Fluff, Smut (suggestive)

Warning(s)» Friends to lovers trope, Xiaojun kinda loses his temper but that subdues, heavy makeout session, groping, public sex, fingering, implied sex towards the ending (open imagination since the request was kinda vague), steamy, our boi dejun get's flustered by Y/n's bubbly personality. I think that's about it. Lmao not proof read, so it will contain a hell lot of mistakes.

Wc; type» 2.06k ; oneshot

Red.

All Xiaojun could see is Red. 

To have the person who dragged him all the way to some stupid reunion party against his will to abandon him in the first five minutes with the pathetic excuse of "I'll go grab us some drinks" only to never return back to his aid had Xiaojun boil with anger. 

To have you smiling and laughing, clinging and grasping at a man he's never seen before is Infuriating. 

To see you so smitten by a guy other than Xiaojun had him seeing crimson with comically visible smoke coming out of his ears, arms shaking, jaw set rigid with palms growing moist from all the clenching and unclenching. 

Xiaojun felt yellow. 

He felt insecure at how the man before you just seemed to be much to your taste. 

He felt unsure of whether or not he should risk walking up to you and talk the talk he'd wanted to let out since the day you stood up for the lad. And inevitably, and much to his pleasure, stood by him in the process till date. 

He felt that maybe, just maybe, he's not worthy of having a girl as astounding as you. And all that sliver of hope he'd held onto only seemed to be slipping away from his grasp. 

Xiaojun felt blue. 

The dreading feeling that he'd lose all that the two of you built until where your relationship stands today with a single mistake bubbles inside of him. 

Watching you from afar with a man potentially your dream guy just made him feel blue. Numb, and as though a part of him was slowly chipping away. 

The immense feeling of sheer sadness had him want to turn on his heels and back out to what he thinks "get out of your way" and to prevent further breakage of his heart. 

Until he saw red again. 

Watching you throw yourself at this stranger, arms tightly wrapped around the bastard's waist, hips joint, with his hands running through the soft curls of your tresses, "who does he think he is?" 

How entitled must this man think he is to expand the white between the two of you? You and Xiaojun were meant to be and he'd only flick your head and call you stupid if you ever said otherwise. 

Eyebrows furrowing as Xiaojun followed each of your actions. How your chin tucks and you hide your face in this 'dream bastard's' chest, arms idly resting on his torso, your hair covering your face from all the moving around. He kept watching you;

Until your gaze met. 

Time seemed to stand still, in a much cliché fashion. Seeing the expressionless look on his face seemed to have clicked the power on button somewhere in your head.

You'd unintentionally abandoned the man you promised you wouldn't. 

Almost as though Xiaojun could see the wheels turning inside your head, he sneers at you, immediately turning around to walk into a corner the moment he saw you approaching him through the crowd filled with hookers, stoners, and people too bored for their own good. 

"Jun, wait up!" 

He could hear your shrill voice call out to him the moment he rounded a turn. He didn't turn, however, mind clouded red, crimson and ebony with jealousy, envy and all mixed emotions, he felt dizzy. 

You catching up to him only seemed to worsen his dizziness, "Jun! I-i'm so sorry i forgot about you, it's just my b-" 

"Forgot about me, huh?" Xiaojun's voice comes gruff, hoarse from the inadequate usage. He doesn't bother turning around to look at you, wouldn't have done much anyways, the lighting of the area so dim, he can barely make out your silhouette. 

Besides, his vision is clouded with black, wouldn't have done much anyways. 

"No no, not forget forget about you! I just got caught up with my b-" 

"boyfriend? Y/n, are you oblivious to not know how  I feel? Am I vague? Oh I'm sorry, am I not obvious enough?" Through the darkness, you could see Xiaojun's shoulder shake, his tone strained, his head hung low, avoiding your gaze the closer you got. "Jun, what are you talking about?" 

You seemed to be feeling grey, confused. 

"Your boyfriend, Y/n." 

"Jun, boyfriend-!" "I like you damn it!" you flinch as he abruptly turns around, the red building inside him so rapidly that it inevitably ends up exploding.

"You know I like you, no, I love you. Why else would you have been waltzing around acting like a pliant, docile girlfriend?" The grey intensifies within you the faster Xiaojun talks quick strides towards you. 

Your silence and the unconscious stepping back seemed to plant a seed of yellow within him again. "You led me on. You seemingly ignored my feelings. Because you obviously know I like you, don't you?" The red appears again, mixing with the intense yellow, blending into a terrific orange as Xiaojun closes the space between the two of you with newfound confidence. 

"You like me.." you whisper, your palms pressing onto the greasy wall behind you where Xiaojun had you cornered, your eyes shaking in ecstasy. He likes you, no. He loves you.

"You need to a whole 'nother level of airhead if you think i view you merely as a friend-" Somewhere in your head, you know he's talking to you, but his voice seems to numb out in the beautiful crimson that's taking over your heart, with a slight mix of elegant yellow and purple so faint it could come off as violet. "You like me!" you look up at him. 

"-Yes, Y/n, keep up god damn! But do you care? Of course not! You go get yourself a boyfriend while i wallow in self pity-" 

"Oh god you like me!" you bounce with all the vibrant colors swirling inside you, your arms lifting up to wrap around the lads neck, who jumps at the unexpected action, looking down at you with a mixture of confusion and slight fury.

"Does it matter, Y/n? Your boyfriend's probably looking for you now-" 

"Jun, what are you talking about? I don't have a boyfriend!" you pull him down to be leveled with you, looking him intensely in the eye as you watch the familiar grey dominate his irises. 

"Th-Then, that man you were all over..? You cannot possibly tell me he's not your boyfriend" he seems to be fighting to hold onto the red fury as it slowly turns into a rosy flush. "The man I was all over..?" you question seemingly to yourself, as the wheels turn  in your head once again until the entire process comes to an abrupt halt at the realization hitting you. 

"Jun, that's my brother! My cousin!" 

The look on the lad's face is so incredulous that you break out into a cheshire grin, "you were jealous of my brother?" you giggle, as you playfully punch at his chest which deflates as he radiates bright crimson, skin heated. 

"o-okay brother. brother, alright. Though, I still don't stand a chance, do i?" Xiaojun questions, stammering with embarrassment while being overcome with a sudden sense of blue. Sure you didn't have a boyfriend, doesn't change the fact that you're way out of his league. 

You stare into his eyes, hoping that would somehow convey the answer to his question, but the more you just look at him, the more the light in his eyes seems to dim out. 

Offering him a soft smile, which he doesn't seem to notice, you catch him off guard when you lift his head up, tilting it while pressing your lips onto his ever so gently. Providing a soft peck as you sigh in ecstasy. 

You let your lips linger a little longer, silently pouring out your heart into the soft action of affection before hesitantly pulling away. 

"Does that answer your question?" your gentle voice pulls Xiaojun out of his haze. 

You kissed him. You like him. He stands a chance with you. 

That seems to snap the last bit of self restraint in him as he captures your lips once again with much fervor. Molding his lips with yours, all signs of softness thrown out of the window as his hands circle your hips, pulling you flush against him. 

The feeling of your heat encircling him makes him groan into the kiss, making a wave of shock run through your spine. The hairs on your hand standing proud as you play with the hair at the back of his neck, pulling at it. 

Biting down on your lips, Xiaojun positively earns a moan from you. He takes the opportunity to slip his tongue into yours, easily dominating your tongue as you slowly, subconsciously start grinding against him, making him squeeze tight at your hips. 

"I.. Love you.. Jun" you say in between the kiss as his hands travel further south, groping at your ass, pulling you in, supporting your grinds on his crotch.

"Fuck.." he sighs at the words, slithering wet kisses from your lips to the edge of your lips, moving onto the jaw before choosing to nip at the skin, "say it again, doll" he rasps onto your neck, while his hands sneakily makes its way under the flimsy material of your skirt, thumbing at your growing wetness while staring intently at you, silently asking for the green flag to proceed.

"I.. I love you. I love you, Xiaojun!" you nod at him while pouring all your adoration onto the lad, you'd waited too long for the two of you to take it slow from now on forth. 

Xiaojun moves your panties to the side, immediately finding the bundle of nerves, pressing nimbly onto your clit, basking in your little whimpers and shakes. 

He wastes no time to draw figure eights onto the sensitive bud, cooing at you while marking his territory on your neck, your jaw, the naked skin of your shoulders and collarbone, exposed by the off shoulder top you'd chosen for the evening. 

"I love you, too, princess. You've no idea how long I've waited for this moment." he moans onto your neck while sliding in a slender digit into your wet cavern. 

You grow frantic, soaking in all the emotions Xiaojun is pouring onto you with his actions and words, being pulled close to your high, embarrassing faster than you'd appreciate.

"You've no idea how many times I'm imagined taking you until all you can remember is my name, not even yours" he starts moving his digits after fitting in another one of his long fingers, the slick pouring out of your cunt pooling onto his palms as your moans come out as squeals. Your brain is hazing with a pleasant pink, blue and red. All of the emotions overwhelming you.

"You look gorgeous, doll face" he kisses softly at the side of your lips when you start clenching around his fingers, the knot in your stomach threatening to snap.

"J-Jun.." you sigh, face flush with content, legs shaking, your form only being held up by his strong grip, his intense gaze making you feel so small, so vulnerable, all the tell-tale signs of your orgasm nearing you present as he accelerates his fingers, clearly catching onto the fact that you'd come undone any second. 

"You gonna come for me, pretty? Am I making you feel good?" he grunts while nibbling at the lobe of your ears, digits moving so fast inside your calls that you can hear the squelching obscene voices of your walls over the loud music playing in the background, his palm constantly rubbing against your clit. 

"Feel's so g-good, Jun.." You grip onto his forearm to keep you grounded as your orgasm washes over you. Your jaw slacks as you convulse around his fingers. Xiaojun cooing praises into your ears as he helps you ride out your orgasm, pulling you into a kiss as you push his fingers away when he slowly drives you into overstimulation. 

"Fuck, you're perfect." he stares at you with adoration while you catch your breath. Forcing yourself to step out of your daze. You smile shyly until it turns into a sly smirk as you move your hands to grab at his painfully evident dent, slowly rasping out as you move closer to him,

"Your place or mine?" 

The red never felt so satisfying to Xiaojun until now. 

#nct smut #wayv smut #xiaojun #xiaojun smut #nct ff #nct au #nct fluff #wayv #wayv ff #wayv au #xiaojun ff #nct angst #xiaojun oneshot #xiaojun x you #xiaojun x reader #wayv oneshot #xiao dejun ff #xiaojun fanfic #dejun smut #wayv fanfic #nct #nct x reader #nct preferences #nct imagines #wayv imagines #nct scenarios #wayv scenarios #nct preference

[howelljenkins]

As a muslim Iraqi American with a significant tumblr following, I feel as though I should let it be known exactly where I stand when it comes to Riordan’s statement about Samirah. I have copied and pasted it down below and my reaction to it will be written down below. This will be the first time I have read it. If you want to engage with me or tell me that I’m wrong, I expect you to be a muslim, hijabi, Iraqi American, and from Baghdad. If you are not, I suggest you sit down and keep quiet because you are not the authority on the way I should be represented.

Like many of my characters, Samirah was inspired by former students of mine. Over the course of my middle school teaching career, I worked with dozens of Muslim students and their families, representing the expanse of the Muslim world and both Shia and Sunni traditions. One of my most poignant memories about the September 11, 2001, attack of the World Trade Center was when a Muslima student burst into tears when she heard the news – not just because it was horrific, but also because she knew what it meant for her, her family, her faith. She had unwillingly become an ambassador to everyone she knew who, would have questions about how this attack happened and why the perpetrators called themselves “Muslim.” Her life had just become exponentially more difficult because of factors completely beyond her control. It was not right. It was not fair. And I wasn’t sure how to comfort or support her.

Starting off your statement with one of the most traumatic events in history for muslim Americans is already one of the most predictably bad moves he could pull. By starting off this way, you are acknowledging the fact that a) this t*rrorist attack is still the first thing you think of when you think of muslims and b) that those muslim students who you had prior to 9/11 occupied so little space in your mind that it took a national disaster for you to start to even try to empathize with them.

During the following years, I tried to be especially attuned to the needs of my Muslim students. I dealt with 9/11 the same way I deal with most things: by reading and learning more. When I taught world religions in social studies, I would talk to my Muslim students about Islam to make sure I was representing their experience correctly. They taught me quite a bit, which eventually contributed to my depiction of Samirah al-Abbas. As always, though, where I have made mistakes in my understanding, those mistakes are wholly on me.

As always, you have chosen to use “I based this character off my students” in order to justify the way they are written. News flash: you taught middle school children. Children who are already scrutinized and alienated and desperate to fit in. Of course their words shouldn’t be enough for you to decide you are representing them correctly, because they are still coming to terms with their identities and they are doing this in an environment where they are desperate to find the approval of white Americans. I know that as a child I would often tweak the way I explained my culture and religion to my teachers in order to gain their approval and avoid ruffling any feathers. They told you what they thought you’d want to hear because you are their teacher and hold a position of power over them and they both want your approval and want to avoid saying the wrong thing and having that hang over their heads every time they enter your classroom.

What did I read for research? I have read five different English interpretations of the Qur’an. (I understand the message is inseparable from the original Arabic, so it cannot be considered ‘translated’). I have read the entirety of the Sahih Bukhari and Sahih Muslim hadith collections. I’ve read three biographies of Prophet Muhammed (peace be upon him) and well over a dozen books about the history of Islam and modern Islam. I took a six-week course in Arabic. (I was not very good at it, but I found it fascinating). I fasted the month of Ramadan in solidarity with my students. I even memorized some of the surahs in Arabic because I found the poetry beautiful. (They’re a little rusty now, I’ll admit, but I can still recite al-Fātihah from memory.) I also read some anti-Islamic screeds written in the aftermath of 9/11 so I would understand what those commenters were saying about the religion, and indirectly, about my students. I get mad when people attack my students.

And yet here you are actively avoiding the criticism from those of us who could very well have been the children sitting in your classroom. 

The Quran is so deep and complex that its meanings are still being discovered to this day. Yes, reading these old scripts is a must for writing muslim characters, but you cannot claim to understand them without also holding active discussions with current scholars on how the Quran’s teachings apply today.

When preparing to write Samirah’s background, I drew on all of this, but also read many stories on Iraqi traditions and customs in particular and the experiences of immigrant families who came to the U.S. I figured out how Samirah’s history would intertwine with the Norse world through the medieval writer Ahmad ibn Fadhlan, her distant ancestor and one of the first outsiders to describe the Vikings in writing.  I knew Samirah would be a ferocious brave fighter who always stood for what was right. She would be an excellent student who had dreams of being an aviator. She would have a complicated personal situation to wrestle with, in that she’s a practicing Muslim who finds out Valhalla is a real place. Odin and Thor and Loki are still around. How do you reconcile that with your faith? Not only that, but her mom had a romance with Loki, who is her dad. Yikes.

First of all, writing this paragraph in the same tone you use to emulate a 12 year old is already disrespectful. “Yikes” is correct. You have committed serious transgressions and can’t even commit to acting serious and writing like the almost 60 year old man that you are. Tone tells the reader a lot, and your tone is telling me that you are explaining your mistakes the same way you tell your little stories: childishly and jokingly. 

Stories are not enough. They are not and never will be. Stories cannot even begin to pierce the rich culture and history and customs of Iraq. Iraq itself is not even homogenous enough for you to rely on these “Iraqi” stories. Someone’s story from Najaf is completely unique from someone from Baghdad or Nasriyyah or Basrah or Mosul. Add that to the fact that these stories are written with a certain audience in mind and you realize that there’s no way they can tell the whole story because at their core they are catering to a specific audience.

Yes, those are good, but they are meaningless without you consulting an actual Baghdadi and asking specific questions. You made conclusions and assumptions based on these stories when the obvious way to go was to consult someone from Baghdad every step of the writing process. Instead, you chose to trust the conclusions that you (a white man) drew from a handful of stories. Who are you to convey a muslim’s internal struggle when you did not even do the bare minimum and have an actual muslim read over your words?

Thankfully, the feedback from Muslim readers over the years to Samirah al-Abbas has been overwhelmingly positive. I have gotten so many letters and messages online from young fans, talking about how much it meant to them to see a hijabi character portrayed in a positive light in a ‘mainstream’ novel.

Yeah. Because we’re desperate, and half of them are children still developing their sense of self and critical reading skills. A starving man will thank you for moldy bread but that does not negate the mold. 

Some readers had questions, sure! The big mistake I will totally own, and which I have apologized for many times, was my statement that during the fasting hours of Ramadan, bathing (i.e. total immersion in water) was to be avoided. This was advice I had read on a Shia website when I myself was preparing to fast Ramadan. It is advice I followed for the entire month. Whoops! The intent behind that advice, as I understood it, was that if you totally immersed yourself during daylight hours, you might inadvertently get some water between your lips and invalidate your fast. But, as I have since learned, that was simply one teacher’s personal opinion, not a widespread practice. We have corrected this detail (which involved the deletion of one line) in future editions, but as I mentioned in my last post, you will still find it in copies since the vast majority of books are from the first printing.

This is actually really embarrassing for you and speaks to your lack of research and reading comprehension. It is true that for shia, immersion breaks one’s fast. If you had bothered to actually ask questions and use common sense, you would realize that this is referring to actions like swimming, where one’s whole body is underwater, rather than bathing. Did you not question the fact that the same religion that encourages the cleansing of oneself five times a day banned bathing during the holiest month? Yes, it was one teacher’s opinion, but you literally did not even take the time to fully understand that opinion before chucking it into your book.

Another question was about Samirah’s wearing of the hijab. To some readers, she seemed cavalier about when she would take it off and how she would wear it. It’s not my place to be prescriptive about proper hijab-wearing. As any Muslim knows, the custom and practice varies greatly from one country to another, and from one individual to another. I can, however, describe what I have seen in the U.S., and Samirah’s wearing of the hijab reflects the practice of some of my own students, so it seemed to be within the realm of reason for a third-generation Iraqi-American Muslima. Samirah would wear hijab most of the time — in public, at school, at mosque. She would probably but not always wear it in Valhalla, as she views this as her home, and the fallen warriors as her own kin. This is described in the Magnus Chase books. I also admit I just loved the idea of a Muslima whose hijab is a magic item that can camouflage her in times of need.

Before I get into this paragraph, Samirah is second generation. Her grandparents immigrated from Iraq. Her mother was first gen.

Once again, you turn to what you have seen from your students, who are literal children. They are in middle school while Samirah is in high school, so they are very obviously at different stages of development, both emotional and religious. If you had bothered to talk to adults who had gone through these stages, you would understand that often times young girls have stages where they “practice” hijab or wear it “part time”, very often in middle school. However, both her age and the way in which you described Samirah lead the reader to believe that she is a “full timer,” so you playing willy nilly with her scarf as a white man is gross.

For someone who claims to have read all of these religious texts, it’s funny that you choose to overlook the fact that “kin” is very specifically described. Muslims do not go around deciding who they consider “kin” or “family” to take off their hijab in front of. There is no excuse for including this in her character, especially since you claim to have carefully read the Quran and ahadith.

You have no place to “just love” any magical extension of the hijab until you approach it with respect. Point blank period. Especially when you have ascribed it a magical property that justifies her taking it on and off like it’s no big deal, especially when current media portrayals of hijab almost always revolve around it being removed. You are adding to the harmful portrayal and using your “fun little magic camoflauge” to excuse it.

As for her betrothal to Amir Fadhlan, only recently have I gotten any questions about this. My understanding from my readings, and from what I have been told by Muslims I know, is that arranged marriages are still quite common in many Muslim countries (not just Muslim countries, of course) and that these matches are sometimes negotiated by the families when the bride-to-be and groom-to-be are quite young. Prior to writing Magnus Chase, one of the complaints I often heard or read from Muslims is how Westerners tend to judge this custom and look down on it because it does not accord with Western ideas. Of course, arranged marriages carry the potential for abuse, especially if there is an age differential or the woman is not consulted. Child marriages are a huge problem. The arrangement of betrothals years in advance of the marriage, however, is an ancient custom in many cultures, and those people I know who were married in this way have shared with me how glad they were to have done it and how they believe the practice is unfairly villainized. My idea with Samirah was to flip the stereotype of the terrible abusive arranged match on its head, and show how it was possible that two people who actually love each other dearly might find happiness through this traditional custom when they have families that listen to their concerns and honor their wishes, and want them to be happy. Amir and Samirah are very distant cousins, yes. This, too, is hardly unusual in many cultures. They will not actually marry until they are both adults. But they have been betrothed since childhood, and respect and love each other. If that were not the case, my sense is that Samirah would only have to say something to her grandparents, and the match would be cancelled. Again, most of the comments I have received from Muslim readers have been to thank me for presenting traditional customs in a positive rather than a negative light, not judging them by Western standards. In no way do I condone child marriage, and that (to my mind) is not anywhere implied in the Magnus Chase books.

I simply can’t even begin to explain everything that is wrong with this paragraph. Here is a good post about how her getting engaged at 12 is absolutely wrong religiously and would not happen. Add that on to the fact that Samirah herself is second-generation (although Riordan calls her third generation in this post) and this practice isn’t super common even in first generation people (and for those that it DOES apply to, it is when they are old enough to be married and not literal children). 

As a white man you can’t flip the stereotype. You can’t. Even with tons of research you cannot assume the authority to “flip” a stereotype that does not affect you because you will never come close to truly understanding it inside and out. Instead of flipping a stereotype, Rick fed into it and provided more fodder to the flames and added on to it to make it even worse.

I would be uncomfortable with a white author writing about arranged marriages in brown tradition no matter the context, but for him to offhandedly include it in a children’s book where it is badly explained and barely touched on is inexcusable. Your target audience is children who will no doubt overlook your clumsy attempt at flipping stereotypes.

It does not matter what your mind thinks you are implying. Rick Riordan is not your target audience, children are. So you cannot brush this away by stating that you did not see the harm done by your writing. You are almost 60 years old. Maybe you can read in between your lines, but I guarantee your target audience largely cannot.

Finally, recently someone on Twitter decided to screenshot a passage out-of-context from Ship of the Deadwhere Magnus hears Samirah use the phrase “Allahu Akbar,” and the only context he has ever heard it in before was in news reports when some Western reporter would be talking about a terrorist attack. Here is the passage in full:

Samirah: “My dad may have power over me because he’s my dad. But he’s not the biggest power. Allahu akbar.”

I knew that term, but I’d never heard Sam use it before. I’ll admit it gave me an instinctive jolt in the gut. The news media loved to talk about how terrorists would say that right before they did something horrible and blew people up. I wasn’t going to mention that to Sam. I imagined she was painfully aware.

She couldn’t walk the streets of Boston in her hijab most days without somebody screaming at her to go home, and (if she was in a bad mood) she’d scream back, “I’m from Dorchester!”

“Yeah,” I said. “That means God is great, right?”

Sam shook her head. “That’s a slightly inaccurate translation. It means God is greater.”

“Than what?”

“Everything. The whole point of saying it is to remind yourself that God is greater than whatever you are facing—your fears, your problems, your thirst, your hunger, your anger.

337-338

To me, this is Samirah educating Magnus, and through him the readers, about what this phrase actually means and the religious significance it carries. I think the expression is beautiful and profound. However, like a lot of Americans, Magnus has grown up only hearing about it in a negative context from the news. For him to think: “I had never heard that phrase, and it carried absolutely no negative connotations!” would be silly and unrealistic. This is a teachable moment between two characters, two friends who respect each other despite how different they are. Magnus learns something beautiful and true about Samirah’s religion, and hopefully so do the readers. If that strikes you as Islamophobic in its full context, or if Samirah seems like a hurtful stereotype . . . all I can say is I strongly disagree.

I will give you some credit here in that I mostly agree with this scene. The phrase does carry negative connotations with many white people and I do not fault you for explaining it the way you did. However, don’t try to sneak in that last sentence like we won’t notice. You have no place to decide whether or not Samirah’s character as a whole is harmful and stereotypical. 

It is 2 am and that is all I have the willpower to address. This is messy and this is long and this is not well worded, but this had to be addressed. I do not speak for every muslim, both world wide and within this online community, but these were my raw reactions to his statement. I have been working on and will continue to work on a masterpost of Samirah Al-Abbas as I work through the books, but for now, let it be known that Riordan has bastardized my identity and continues to excuse himself and profit off of enforcing harmful stereotypes. Good night.

#* #og #rr crit #samirah al abbas #rick riordan

[canary3d-obsessed]

Restless Rewatch: The Untamed, Episode 24 part two

(Masterpost) (Pinboard)

Warning: Spoilers for All 50 Episodes!

Arguing

After enjoying a tense  afternoon with Lan Xichen, Wei Wuxian comes home to enjoy a tense evening with Jiang Cheng. He pauses in the doorway as he takes in Jiang Cheng’s mood and decides which metaphorical mask he will put on to interact with his shidi. As someone who grew up with explosive people, I find this routine very familiar. 

Wei Wuxian is always carefully playing a role as he interacts with the people in his life. Clearly he has read the classic sociology text The Presentation of Self in Everyday Life and is using it as a how-to guide. We see him do this same calculation over and over, in which he reacts internally to a situation, comes to a decision about what persona to inhabit, and then dons that persona. It’s a typical abuse survival tactic and...it is exhausting. 

This is why I think his leaving to be alone for a while in Episode 50 is a good thing. Being alone isn’t better than being with someone else, usually, but for Wei Wuxian, who is (by Episode 50) assured of love but not sure where he belongs in his own life, being by himself for a while is going to be the best thing for him. He can learn how to just be a person, instead of constantly trying to mold himself to fit everyone around him. 

For the current tense situation, Jiang Cheng is polishing his sword, which, incidentally, is slang (in English, not necessarily in Chinese) for masturbating. Which makes their conversation about how frequently it needs doing kind of a hoot. “One time a month should do,” per Wei Wuxian. 

Jiang Cheng yells at Wei Wuxian--fairly, really--for being drunk all the time and not working on clan tasks. Then he responds to a hug attempt by shoving Wei Wuxian and knocking him down. JC asks WW if he’s too drunk to manage his spiritual power. Now, we know that he doesn’t have any spiritual power to manage, and that’s the main point of this interaction. But it also shows us something else about their dynamic. 

This was just a quick hit, and when it takes WWX out, JC asks why he isn’t responding with spiritual power.  Which means that apparently *every* time Jiang Cheng gives Wei Wuxian a shove or a shoulder check, or strikes him--like he’s been doing constantly since Episode 3--he’s putting spiritual power behind it. That’s...really harsh. 

Jiang Cheng wants Wei Wuxian to fight back, and Wei Wuxian can’t; this is a big part of why their relationship breaks down. Casual blows loaded with spiritual power are part of their vocabulary, and Wei Wuxian can’t speak that language any more, even for basic defense. He’s literally not safe having simple interactions with Jiang Cheng now, because he’s secretly disabled, and Jiang Cheng is casually injuring him whenever he gets too close. 

(more after the cut!)

This time Wei Wuxian has had enough, and raises Chenqing to Jiang Cheng, who immediately backs off. Jiang Cheng has seen that thing in action, not just on the battlefield, but in a small room full of whatever remained of Wen Chao when they were done with him. He takes this as a serious threat, and backs off, disturbed and puzzled and hurt.

Jiang Cheng thinks the change in Wei Wuxian is coming from apathy, not from disability, and so he misunderstands it over and over.  Think of a friend saying “whatever, I’m sick of arguing with you, do what you want.”  Jiang Cheng is very ready to feel rejected, and not at all ready to look at Wei Wuxian’s behavior and try to actually understand it. 

Crying Over You

Wei Wuxian bails and goes to see Jiang Yanli in the ancestral hall, where she is polishing a name plaque. I turned the gamma way up to see whose it is and...I dunno. This character might be 江 (Jiang), I guess?

Jiang Yanli is the only one of the trio who knows how to mourn properly, in that she is taking some time to sit and be sad. Mourning the dead--both ritually and just in the emotional sense--is as important a part of reclaiming Lotus Pier as the training of disciples and having good times on the lake.

She asks him about his fight with Jiang Cheng and he says he’s used to fighting with him. Jiang Yanli asks him if he’s tired of living there, and Wei Wuxian deflects and deflects, saying “it’s my home, where else would I go?” and that if Jiang Fengmian hadn’t adopted him he would still be begging in the streets. He says “no matter what happens, I won’t leave Lotus Pier,” which is not an answer to her question.

It’s also not true. Like so many of his promises, it’s an expression of his wishes, with no space for the surprises real life is made of. He promises her that he won’t be reckless again, and asks her not to be mad at him. She says she can’t be mad at him, and then they share a flashback about Jiang Fengmian finding him on the street. This is a story, not a memory; Wei Wuxian can’t remember but he remembers her telling him about it. Jiang Yanli wasn’t there, in the moment. So this is her telling the story as it was told to her, probably by Jiang Fengmian. 

Flashback Time

In the flashback, picky salad-hating Wei Ying is out on the street, looking for food in a cartload of pretty okay scraps. I mean, yeah, skip the tomatoes, but most of the greens look fine.  

He’s found and fed by Jiang Fengmian, who recognizes him and decides to take him in. 

Within a couple of episodes, we will see Wei Wuxian paying this favor forward, saving someone he finds starving on the street. Just like Jiang Fengmian, he's going to upset and disrupt his family in order to help someone for whom he feels a deep connection.

During this flashback we get a look at Jiang Fengmian’s sword, and it is a beauty. 

What is Love

As the flashback ends, Wei Wuxian is smiling, hearing Jiang Yanli tell this touching story of starvation and orphanhood. She tells him he was born with a smiling face, and that he never minds much about sorrowful things; no matter how bad the situation is, he is always happy. Way to reinforce that metaphorical mask he’s wearing over his deep, deep despair, sis!

They talk a bit about Jiang Cheng’s bad temper.  Then Jiang Yanli says now that her parents are gone, they three are the closest in the world, and he responds by putting his head down on her knee and theatrically saying he’s hungry. But he’s crying for real, and so is she.

Then he decides to ask her why people fall in love, basically, and claims that he does not have anyone in his heart. He says there’s no need to like a person that much, that it’s like “haltering your own neck,” according to Netflix. Let’s have a look at that figurative language for a second, and what’s missing from the Neflix translation. 

What he says is (as near as my qhanzi.com skills can make out) “這不就是自己給自己脖子上套犁拴韁吗” which Google tells me means "Isn't this just putting a plow on my neck with a rein?" The part of the image that’s missing from Netflix subs is the plow, and the hard labor and animal servitude involved in pulling a plow. This isn’t a pro-romance image.

He’s clearly thinking about Lan Wangji when he lies about having no-one in his heart, but right now the yoke that he wants to escape has nothing to do with Lan Wangji. The person he’s harnessed to in a team, the person who he labors with, the person he wants to escape, is Jiang Cheng.  What’s chafing his neck is the promise he made, to stay and serve as one half of a pair, when he can no longer pull his weight. 

Busted

Speaking of Jiang Cheng, he is hanging around outside the shrine, listening to the conversation. Wei Wuxian busts him, pointing out not that eavesdropping is bad, but that it’s bad for grownups. Jiang Cheng points out that he’s the master of Lotus Pier so he’s allowed to go anywhere he wants.

(I love how he looks framed by this giant lotus behind him)

We Wuxian has another of those moments where he assesses the best approach to Jiang Cheng before responding. 

Then he picks a fake fight with him about soup.  Yanli comes out and tells them both to grow up, saying that JC is losing his demeanor as clan leader. He jokingly fixes his already-perfect robe ad they all have a chuckle.

Then Jiang Cheng reminds Wei Wuxian of his promise for the millionth time, and Jiang Yanli goes to make soup for the millionth time. As soon as the boys see that she’s gone, the smiles drop right off of their faces. They’re both performing their typical relationship dynamic for Jiang Yanli.

Being Reasonable

The brothers repair to the main hall, and stand behind the lotus throne looking out of this complicated wall/doorway thingy, while they talk about Jiang Yanli and Jin Zixuan. 

Jiang Cheng is being mature and sensible here, trying to give Jiang Yanli what she wants and also explaining very, very basic political stuff to Wei Wuxian, who is too caught up in his hate boner for JZX to want to think about the bigger picture. He also thinks that Jin Guangyao is a nicer person, but Jiang Cheng says that nice doesn’t matter.  

Wei Wuxian is getting a full head of steam going about what a jerk JZX is, when Jiang Cheng makes him actually stop and think, by pointing out that it’s not for them to forgive or not forgive Jin Zixuan’s past behavior; it’s up to Yanli.

Wei Wuxian sees the reasoning in this, and starts to say he can’t understand why Yanli chose to like this person, but then he stops himself and goes through a rapid series of thoughtful, uncomfortable expressions. 

Perhaps he’s realizing that he himself has chosen to like an infamously stuck-up, fancy cultivator, albeit one with no soup-related character deficits.

Library Time

The stuck-up cultivator in question is currently in the Cloud Recesses library, where he has snuck into the forbidden books room, against his uncle’s express command, for the purpose of helping Wei Wuxian. The forbidden books room is an entire basement floor of the library; it probably has more books than the not-forbidden part of the library, since the main floor needs space for the restrooms, circulation desk, and copy machines.

(Did OP photoshop the Wangxian-in-the-Library porn picture onto Lan Wangjis’ book? She did.)

A couple of other Lans come along and see the main door unlocked. The lock is a big fish that probably uses magic for locking; it definitely doesn’t use a key. One of them steps in the doorway, glances back and forth without walking through, and does not check the secret door to the forbidden vault. Gosh, how did Su She and/or Jin Guangyao  ever manage to steal secrets from this highly secure location, wow.

Lan Wangji hears the Lan disciple on guard duty say “don’t tell Hanguang Jun about this!’ and has a series of microexpressions that might indicate some kind of feeling about simultaneously being a rule breaker and a rule enforcer.  

Boat Time

We end with an idyllic scene on the lake in Lotus pier, where a new batch of disciples is harvesting lotuses and learning the opposite of boat safety. 

Jiang Yanli and Wei Wuxian are having a good time, and seem utterly carefree; both of them are good at living in the moment, or faking it. 

Wei Wuxian thinks, in voiceover, that it seems that it’s not so hard to go back to the old days. Uh...ok.

Except he’s hiding a massive secret and these replacement kids are not the same juniors he used to hang out with, and he can’t actually teach them cultivation, since he has no socially-acceptable magic power, and everything is about to go to shit in the next episode. But you gotta take your joy where you can, I guess. 

Note: There are a lot of questionable effects in The Untamed, but there are also beautiful scenes like this one, which looks like a Maxfield Parrish painting. Compare with the BTS below and you can see what a good job the VFX team did in bringing this lake to life. 

#the untamed #cql #wei wuxian #jiang cheng #the untamed gifs #restless rewatch the untamed #canary3d-original #my gifs

[remsmoonlight]

— title : candy coated promises

— word count : 2.6k words

— pairing : daryl dixon x reader

— summary : a chance conversation between you and daryl leaves you realising just how much of a sponge daryl’s mind is when he comes back from a run with an unexpected gift.

— warnings : mentions of alcohol, light mentions of deaths of loved ones

“ Daryl x reader. Daryl comes back from a run and has found readers fave chocolate and keeps it hidden all day until they have watch together then surprises them with it and gets a big awkward hug from them, making him blush like a tomato on the outside and feeling happy on the inside. “

            ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*   requests are open ! / requested by @phoenixblack89  *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

A rugged backpack is slung lazily over the shoulder of Daryl after a successful run , as relaxed as Daryl could find himself those days, the stress and alertness still molded every inch of his body as if they’d been there since day one. Perhaps they have been, he contemplates. After all, growing up, his life had not been a beautiful, tangled mess of fairytales and light, rather it had been the inspiration for nightmares. Still, he doesn’t dwell on that life unless he has to, the world has chosen to live a different life and that does not hold space for past memories.

For him? The past can be a painful reminder of a way of living that has long since been deceased — focusing on what once was is the best way to take away the focus of living in the present.

Only a few days had been spent at the prison, the majority of the time had been spent making it somewhat fit for purpose, despite no life being there to tend to its upkeep. They’d been burning through what little the group had of their stockpile of supplies, preferring to stay inside the barbed wire fences. To enjoy the moment, how little it may be. He couldn’t remember the last time they’d been able to just rest without the need to tread into a dangerous path .. perhaps it had been at the farm? It feels like it has been a lifetime since they’d had somewhere to regroup, to rebuild their strength to its optimum.

Being cooped up with his group, as much as he thought of them as family, he had slowly began to feel suffocated by the prison’s metal gates — even in the apocalypse do they still do their job well, even a day away has given him the much needed space his soul craved to breathe. Respite that had sorely been needed.

Daryl’s mind wanders off to a conversation had a few months prior, something so insignificant to you yet it stuck to his mind like glue.

“ If I knew the world was gonna end and we’d spend the rest of our lives trying not to get eaten by walkers, I’d have stocked up on my favourite things. “

The hunter turns his eyes to you strangely, almost in confusion as it inks itself into his features as he continues to stare at you. You understand why he’s so confused, it had rather come out of the blue since you had been enjoying the company of the other — a language without words that you are fluent in when the other is around.

“ Huh? “

“ Well, “ you begin, your eyes widen momentarily as you shift to face him, your knees complaining silently at the movement. “ Life is difficult as it is, but you know what makes it a little less hard? “

“ Booze? “ he guesses immediately, his shoulders shrugging with little liveliness.

“ Okay — ! You got me there .. technically ? “ you pause, your brows furrowing as if to allow your mind to thoroughly work through that answer. Your mind retreats back to the days where you spent nights where you should have been studying, to parties where the alcohol appeared to flow without a limited supply.  “ But, your favourite things make this nonsense easier. “

“ Same shit. “

“ You’re no fun today. “ You complain hopelessly, a wispy sigh dancing off silently in the summer’s breeze never to be seen again. Again, you shift your position and allow your chin to rest on your knees.

Night shift of being on watch had been left to the two of you, if anything you enjoy taking the night watches. Your heart takes comfort in a certain tranquility the night brings, leaving time for you to gather your thoughts and to reflect on the day and everything it had brought. The empty space the farm brought only adds to the charm.

Many of those watches had been accompanied by Daryl, in the beginning he’d seen you as nothing more than a nuisance who couldn’t keep quiet. Of course, with the movement of time brings change. You’d found a wavelength where there was less and less venom sent your way. Edges that had spent more time bathed in a haunting concoction of hatred and hurt began to dissolve little by little as he spent more time above air, an understanding had been reached.

“ Ain’t much to be laughin; ‘bout now. “

“ Hm, I suppose you’re right. “ You nod to yourself, your eyes scan the endless horizon of the farm, following the eerie trail the moonlight leaves as it grazes the Earth below. “ Still, I would kill for my favourite chocolate bar. I’d stock up on them if I ever get the chance. “

“ Yeah? Wha’s that? “ He questions you lazily, carrying on the conversation while turning to face you momentarily.

You tell him the brand, going into specific detail as you try to replicate the taste on your tongue from nothing, itching for a momentary break in a world painted red with the blood of the living and the dead. It’s a silly belief, yet anything that helps you to build a fog of a perfect illusion for no matter how long is worth it, the human brain can only take so much darkness surrounding it before it takes a hold that feels as if it will never succumb to the light.

“ Keep y’eye out. Y’might get lucky one day. “

“ Luck is a rare thing to have nowadays, Daryl. “ you whisper, more to yourself than the man who sits by your side. A twinge of pain buried deep within the arms of your words, though not hidden enough as Daryl spots it swiftly. “ It’s becoming rarer each day. “

“ Guess y’gotta make y’own luck then. “ He offers lightly, unknown that his mind has already stored the information away.

He’d developed a fondness of you, his original opinion had been turned on its head and he hated to see even the slightest hint of suffering penciled into your features — unspoken, he’d decided, even in this world, you were made to smile. He’d seen the light and joy that you brought to others, it’s only right that you should experience the same. Even over the smaller things, which is why he would promise to himself he would be on the lookout for the very chocolate you have your heart set on experiencing once again.

Heavy thuds punish the gravel beneath him as he treks back to their new home, observing the complete transformation in their expressions. Even after going through a lifetime’s worth of trauma with these people, realising people who are genuinely glad about his presence returning, even happy to have him there, is still something that he’s to get used to. Every time he finds himself faced with this situation, Daryl recognises the uncomfortable prickling sensation that begins in his fingers and inches outwards, under the veil of self preservation. But Daryl knows better. He has been the fool to such emotions before and that has only left him lost in a sea of silent distress, powerless. No longer does he listen to that mischievous voice in the back of his head that gorges greedily on his self sabotage.

Searching for your whereabouts had been the original plan on his mind, but he’s quick to rid that thought from his mind. Unable to bring himself to just be ready for the surprise on your face.. Or lack of. The conversation had been so long ago that he wonders if it had been no more than a passing wish, left forgotten as a passing fancy that holds more weight to him than you.

The day romantically dances with the dusk that slowly rolls the night on, stars shining so bright without the bright glare humanity brought with it.

“ You’re on watch tonight, they’re already up there. “ Rick informs Daryl with a pat on the back, of course, the smirk that paints his mouth so gleefully is hidden in his retreat.

Steps to the peak point of the guard tower felt as if they have shrunk, the distance feels lesser than normal, he notes to himself. Better now than never, he silently remarks. The confectionary lays safely tucked away in his side pocket, he’d have physically clipped his ear himself had he forgotten to bring it, he’s warmly thankful of his memory in this case.

“ Daryl! “

Closing the door with a lone click the noise alerts you to the presence that joins yours in the darkness. It feels like months since you’d laid your eyes on him, when in reality it had been little over a day. But when you spend twenty four hours with people you now call your family, even the hours you do not see them, time flows at a hauntingly slow pace. Had you your way, you would turn those hours into minutes.

“ When did you get back? “ You ask with a beam, your eyes more colourful than ever.

“ A few hours back. Got ‘nough supplies till a group can go out. “ Daryl answers simply, moving to lean against the railing of the guard tower.

“ You know, you could have taken one of us along. “ You offer, hoping the need is left out of your voice.

Uttered only to Maggie, you’d divulged your fear of losing people. The fear of never seeing those you’ve grown close to clouds your senses, the beating of your heart unable to rest until they are in your line of sight — a thought that if you go with them, you can do something constantly swirls in your vision. Of course, you know that won’t always be the case, but it’s all you can think of when your family temporarily misses a few members.

Winter had brought many challenges, and there had been times when you’d see them come back with scrapes and bruises that would leave your heart aching.

“ Nah, needed to do this by myself. “

“ You sick of us already, Dixon? “ There's a coating of humour as you question him, a smile accompanies your word hand in hand to assure him there’s nothing but humour.  “ I’m telling you now, you’re never allowed to be sick of me at least. “

“ You’d be the first person I’d have’ta get out of my hair. “ He answers back with a gruff, his hand reaches up to ruffle your hair slightly.

“ Don’t be so mean. “ You whine, pushing his hand back with a short burst of laughter with a richness that could rival the purest of golden honey.

A silence overtakes the two of you after the rare display of playfulness that you know most would not associate with the rough looking hunter of the group. It’s in these moments you find yourself looking up and feeling your heart full to the brim with an intense amount of gratitude, that he’s comfortable enough around you to allow you to peek into a different side of the man. This is not something you will ever take for granted.

“ You come back with much today? Or did it look like vultures have hit the spots? “

“ Wasn’t too bad. “ Daryl responds, shaking his head as he speaks. “ We got enough for a while, till we can get a group out. “

“ Hopefully we can make a home out of this place, I don’t think I can take any more of this moving about. “ You confide weakly, your nails pick at each other as you remember the time between the farm and the prison.

Daryl agrees with a huff, the winter had been hard on everyone in the group. The more he studies everyone in the group, the more differences he can see between them and those who had been on the farm. No one is the same as the people they were months prior. Daryl argues that is for the better, a certain amount of ruthlessness is now a tool required to breathe for an extra day in this world.

“ Ain’t my idea of home, but beggars can’t be choosers now. “

“ If we weren’t, I’m sure we’d all be in one of those huge mansions now. “ you sigh heavily, yearning for all the comforts you had come accustomed to. They are long gone now.

“ Y’know, I came back with sumn’ for ‘ya. “ Daryl starts, rugged fingertips descend to reach into his pocket, touching the plastic wrapper that protects the sweet treat. “ ‘Don’t know if y’want it though. “

Your eyes light up at the possibility of a gift, they rival the stir of the stars in the night sky that illuminate the darkness with their might. They may as well cower from the blinding shine as they witness the colourful wrapper come into your view, the audible crinkle brings out a quiet giggle with the grace of a ballet dancer as it twirls away into the air.

“ This is for me? “ You confirm, your hand hesitantly reaches towards his as if waiting for him to tell you that he is playing a silly joke on you.

Only that doesn’t occur.

“ Yeah.. I remembered a while back y’said that ‘ya wanted one. “ Daryl explains as he hands you the chocolate bar, the other hand reaching back to rake his nails against the back of his neck — almost as a distraction technique. “ Thought y’might’a forgot. “

Your teeth plunge deeply into our bottom lip, attempting to quell the grin that is moments from overtaking your features. Even if he’d been unsuccessful in apprehending the chocolate, even the thought that he remembers such a trivial conversation is enough to send a burst of adoration further than any galaxy reached by the heart of a dying star.

“ Daryl.. “ A whisper is spoken as you begin, turning  your sight upwards to meet the man. “ You didn’t have to. “

“ Wasn’t any trouble. “

“ Thank you. “ Gratitude is expressed, you speak with a warmth in your words as you do. “ I mean it. “

Daryl doesn’t speak, it’s not a case of having nothing to say, but rather what he should say. His actions are not done with the intent of receiving appreciation, he does it because he wants to and in his mind, is what’s right. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, unable to take in the intensity of the affection sent his way.

The attention of the hunter is lifted back into reality as he feels a weight against his, arms tangle themselves behind his back and strands from a headful of hair tickle his nose as he realises you’re currently hugging him. The change is slow as he tentatively relaxes into the action, it’s so faint the two of you barely realise it’s happening until a weight sits lightly on each side of your body. He has never realised until now how much he has needed human contact that comes with no ties until now, a connection that doesn’t hinge on the deal of giving and taking as a nothing more than a cold transaction. A content breath of air slowly tiptoes away into the weak breeze that blows through the prison at a leisurely pace, of course, the air does nothing to suppress the heat that burns the cheeks of the man.

“ ‘S nothin’. “

“ Daryl, even if you came back with nothing, you still had the thought there. “ You stress from your position, your grip tightening on the man. “ You wanna share this with me, or what? “

As the night marches on, you wonder if the chocolate could ever be sweeter than one Daryl Dixon. Though, in your heart, you know that may be a fight easily lost against him.

#daryl dixon imagine #daryl dixon x reader #the walking dead imagine #daryl x reader #daryl imagine

[n0wornever]

Healing - Luke Patterson x Reader

i love your writing so so so much, it literally makes my day a lot better when i see you have post a new imagine:)♡♡ could you do maybe one with luke (if you feel comfortable of course, if you don’t its 100% okay:) ) where the reader is plus size?? thank you so much!!

Omg I love you, thank you so much sweet thing! I have a difficult time with these storylines bc as a plus sized girl myself, I feel like they can be too corny if done wrong. I hope I did your request justice.

Also, hank you to purple anon for the nudge on this idea! 💜(lyrics are from Who You Are by Jessie J)

“Y/N, you finally wore that top we picked out!” Julie said, flashing her friend a smile as she walked toward her locker.

The girl nodded. It had taken a moment in the mirror this morning for her to fully wrap her mind around the idea of wearing the garment out of the safety of her home. The little yellow crop top was dainty and frilly, everything she loved but it fell a little higher than most of the shirts she owned. She never really exposed her stomach like this, even a few inches of skin, but after she curled her hair and pulled on her favorite pair of jeans... she knew as she admired the full outfit in the mirror that she’d regret it if she didn’t take the leap.

“Yeah, I’m actually feeling pretty good about it.” 

Julie’s smile widened as Y/N closed her locker and fell to her side. As they walked down the hallway, Julie jabbed her friend’s side with her elbow to get her attention again. 

“Are you ready for today’s performance?” 

Y/N nodded, chewing on the inside of her cheek. Today was the day that they performed their songwriting final in front of the whole class. She had worked really hard on her piece over the past few weeks. Y/N paused as the reached the door, fidgeting with her hands. Julie gaze dropped to her fingers for a moment before returning to her face. She paused the movements by grabbing the girl’s hands into hers.

“You’re going to kill it okay?” Julie reminded her, swaying their hands side to side.

Y/N let a small grin slide onto her cheek as she looked at the curly-haired girl. A hint of pink caught her eye as Carrie walked through the music room door. Her shoulders immediately deflating as their eyes met and the girl’s eyes fell down her body. Raquel held a smirk on the right side of her face before strolling the rest of the way in. Julie squeezed on Y/N’s hands, pulling her focus back to her.

“Don’t worry about her, she’s going to be too obsessed with perfecting her own routine to try to do anything to you today,” Julie responded with narrow eyes. 

Her gaze softened as she smiled at something behind Y/N. The girl gave her a puzzled look with her brows pulled to the middle of her forehead. Julie let go of her hands and took a step back.

“Plus, your lover boy looks like he’s happy with your outfit choice today too.” 

Y/N tilted her head to the side, eyes following Julie as she walked into the classroom. That frustrated glance disappeared as a familiar hold wrapped around her waist. She shivered as a kiss was placed on her neck before he whispered in her ear.

“Is it my birthday?” He said softly, a giggle falling from his lips.

She let a small smile form on her face as she turned around in his arms. Her hands reached out to his cheeks, cupping them. She let her thumbs rub along the skin as she took in his chiseled features. She let her hands slid around his neck as she relaxed into the embrace. 

“What?” She finally responded, shaking her head slightly.

“Because I really don’t deserve this treat on a normal day.” 

His eyes fell to her torso, and she followed his gaze. She tapped at the nap of his neck, bringing his eyes back up to hers. She rolled her eyes as the red appeared across his cheeks. His hands gripped around her waist a bit tighter as her eyes grilled him. 

“Do not stare me like a piece of meat, Patterson.” 

“I’M NOT I SWEAR I JUST,” He said in frustration, diverting his gaze to the ceiling. “You just look really good today,” He said, biting down on his lower lip.

“Well thank you, baby,” She said as she beamed up at him, batting her eyelashes.

He let go of his lip, letting it hang from his mouth in a pout. She let her eyes fall them for a moment before she leaned in and placed a soft his on his lips. He pulled her closer, but her arms fell from their place on his neck to break apart hands at her waist. She heard him sigh but continued her way toward the door with a smile on her face. 

The bell rang as she entered the classroom, Luke hot on her trail. She looked over to the empty chair next to Julie and sped in her direction. Her boyfriend followed closely behind, taking a spot in the chair behind her so that his arms could drape around her shoulders as they waited for the teacher to begin. The sound of heels clanking on the tile floor brought the loud discussions to a few light murmurs. 

“You all know that today is the day class,” Mrs. Harrison announced, taking her place at the front of the classroom. “I’m looking forward to hearing all of your final pieces.” 

Mrs. Harrison’s eyes fell on Y/N’s for a moment, giving her a warm smile as she clasped her hands at her chest. She had already known that she had chosen the first spot on the performance sheet over a month ago, but her brain hadn’t let her really understand what that meant until this moment. The teacher nodded toward the piano before addressing her verbally. 

“Y/N, I believe you are our first performer today. Are you ready?” 

The girl nodded, her hands grabbed the sheet music underneath her. Before she had the chance to lift herself up off the chair, she saw a hand raised in the corner of her eye. Mrs. Harrison’s gaze drifted for a moment as she pointed at the awaiting student. 

“Mrs. Harrison, don’t you think that Y/N’s outfit may be...I don’t know, a bit distracting during the performance?” 

Y/N let her gaze shift behind her as she finally landed on her feet. Raquel’s ridiculously performative frown turned to a smirk as their eyes met. 

The girl looked left to right seemingly in search of something as she held the classroom’s attention. “I know we have a dress code handbook around here somewhere.” 

Y/N crossed her hands at her waist, letting her papers crinkle under her grip. She heard the chair behind her start to move, and her gaze slipped over to her boyfriend’s pinched expression. 

As he started rise out of his chair, Y/N moved her right arm to hold a hand out toward his face. Luke sank back into his seat as he watched the altercation unfold in front of him. Mrs. Harrison said something Y/N couldn’t hear, all of her senses focused on the poised pale girl with her hands resting on her lap. Y/N licked her bottom lip, letting out a short, angry laugh before addressing her. 

“Raquel, I’ll be behind a piano. I think you’ll live.” She rose an eyebrow as the whispers around her went quiet. “Can I please do my performance now? We have very little time for intermissions.” 

She heard Luke let out a giggle behind her, a few kids around him joining in. The now flustered girl shooed away her gaze with her hand, bringing her left leg up to cross over her right and bringing her attention to Nick next to her. Y/N turned back around, nodding at her teacher, who gave her a knowing smile, before walking toward the piano. 

She placed the now slightly rippled paper on the stand before sitting down on the bench. She flexed her fingers a few times before setting her hands onto their placements on the black and white keys. She let her face turn toward the mic next to the instrument, eyes making their way back to Raquel. 

“This one is actually for you Kell,” The other girl leaned back in her chair as she listened. “I hope you like it.” 

Y/N’s hands glided down the keys. As the music began to pick up, her eyes softly closed. Her hands paused for a moment as her lips pressed forward toward the mic again. 

I stare at my reflection in the mirror Why am I doing this to myself? Losing my mind on a tiny error I nearly left the real me on the shelf

Her voice felt a little shaky, her heart thumbing into her fingertips as the moved from key to key. As she took that first exhale, she let her shoulders relax a bit and sat up straighter in her place. That’s when her fingers gained a mind of their own, running freely without waiting for her mind to catch up. Her forehead scrunched as she shook her head at the next lines. 

Don't lose who you are, in the blur of the stars Seeing is deceiving, dreaming is believing It's okay not to be okay

She felt tears start to bubble at the surface of her eyes, but she took a quick sharp breath before starting to sing again. The pull against her chest gaining strength as she sang from her gritty chest voice. 

Sometimes it's hard, to follow your heart Tears don't mean you're losing, everybody's bruising Just be true to who you are

She let her voice fade for a moment, the soft light accompaniment perfectly playing off of the bitter, somber tone in her voice as she hummed softly, her eyes facing the ceiling as she played. Her face lifted toward the center of the room, opening her eyes to find the girl across from her staring back with a wide gaze. Y/N let her left lip raise for a second before her voice took off again.

Brushing my hair, do I look perfect? I forgot what to do to fit the mold, yeah The more I try the less it's working, yeah, yeah 'Cause everything inside me screams, no, no, no, no, , no, yeah

She felt lyrics overtake her, her fingers pressing harder into the keys below them as she nodded along, eyes finally following her hands on their journey left to right. She could feel the warmth rising to her cheeks, but she couldn’t stop herself to focus on their appearance. She let the room shift to black again, her eyes shut as she repeated the chorus. 

Don't lose who you are, in the blur of the stars Seeing is deceiving, dreaming is believing It's okay not to be okay Sometimes it's hard, to follow your heart But tears don't mean you're losing, everybody's bruising There's nothing wrong with who you are

As her eyelids fluttered back open once more, she made it her mission to sing the last lines to her now puzzled enemy. Her hands fell into their placements a bit harsher, an aggressive tone ringing to match the intensity in her vocals. 

Yes, no's, egos, fake shows, like whoa Just go, and leave me alone Real talk, real life, good love, goodnight With a smile, that's my home That's my home, no

Raquel’s smart smirk fell for a moment, her hands relaxing on her thighs as the two stared at each other.

Y/N was ready to bring the song home, the repetitive lines already on the tip of her fingers made their way to the left side of the piano. She lightly touched the keys a few times before letting them hover over them silently. Y/N smiled to herself as she let her lips fall toward the microphone for the final time. 

Don't lose who you are, in the blur of the stars Seeing is deceiving, dreaming is believing It's okay not to be okay Sometimes it's hard, to follow your heart Tears don't mean you're losing, everybody's bruising Just be true to who you are

She played herself out, the delicate movements dancing off of her fingertips for a few seconds before she drew back. She kept her eyes on the keyboard for a moment as she let the impact of her words finally resonate within her. She began to hear clapping rise around her. As her eyes finally made their way to the rows of seat in front of her, she saw some of her classmates standing and smiling at her as the pressed their hands together. 

She pushed the bench out a bit, rising to bow toward the crowd. She heard a whistle sound in the crowd, looking over at her boyfriend whose smile was wide as he shook his head slowly at her. She slipped a wink in his direction before returning to the music stand to collect her sheet music. 

As she sat down in her chair, her eyes made their way to the other side of the room one more time. Raquel’s eyes refused to meet hers, her gaze fixated on her nails outstretched in front of her. Y/N sighed, bringing her focus back to her lap. After a moment of silence, she felt a hand rest on her lap. She looked over to Julie smiling in her direction.

“If we ever need Racket to shut up again, I’m giving you every single song in my notebook,” Julie’s gaze moved from her to the girl across the room and back. “Because man, did those vocals make her go silent.” 

Y/N felt her cheeks burn again under her friend’s gaze. She laughed off her nerves from the attention and set her hand on top of Julie’s. As she finally let herself breathe, a set of hands placed themselves on her shoulders, squeezing them on impact. She let her eyes fall behind her, meeting her boyfriend’s bright hazel eyes. 

“I’m in awe of you baby,” He said quietly. 

She scrunched her nose at him as he pressed his lips quickly to her head before letting go of her. As she turned back around in her seat, she couldn’t get the smile off her face. She tried to focus on her classmate’s guitar solo, but her brain kept going back to the words on the page. 

As the final performance ended and the bell rang, announcing the end of the class period, Y/N rose to her feet again. She swung her backpack over her shoulder and walked toward the door with Julie. As the duo entered the hallway, Y/N was pulled from Julie’s side by her forearm. The girl gasping at the sudden contact, but relief quickly washed over her as she realized who had stolen her away. 

Luke led her down the hallway, toward an empty stairwell. As they stood in the silent space, he released his hand from hers and pulled her in by her waist. Her smile spread across her face before she even had a chance to fight it, letting her hands rest on his chest. 

“I just wanted a moment alone with you,” He said, leaning his forehead against hers. “Are you okay?”

She let her teeth run across her bottom lip a few times before nodding. He returned the nod, leaning in and pressing his lips against hers. As they parted, his smile fell to a smart smirk as he took her in.

“I guess I really don’t need to save you, huh?” 

“No, I can handle my own battles,” She said confidently, tapping on his chest. 

She let her eyes fall back down to his lips, his eyes trailing after hers. “But I do need you to kiss me though..” 

He chuckled, bringing one of his hands up to her neck and pulling her in once more. 

.

.

.

Tag list: @xplrreylo @lovesanimals , @anythingandeverythingfandom , @crybabyddl  @themaddies-obx , @lukeys-giggle , @bumbleberry-pie @kiss-themoongoodbye  @marinettepotterandplagg , @lolychu , @bathtimejish , @dasexydevitt13 @musicconversedance , @txrii  @bestdressedandstressed @daisiesforlacey  @epikskool  @bookfrog247 @carleywhittaker @princessvader15 @rudysbay @spooky-season-bitch  @kcd15  @meangirlsx @itz-jas @parkeret @writerinlearning @calamitykaty @whatever-happens-imma-stand-tall @teenwaywardasgardian @dream-a-little-bigger-x @tenaciousperfectionunknown @thesweetestsinner  @kinda-really-lost

#luke patterson #luke patterson x reader #luke patterson imagine #luke patterson fanfiction #jatp #julie and the phantoms #jatp imagines

[herstarburststories]

illicit love

Pairing: Jensen Ackles x reader

Summary: Jensen loves you, but sometimes love isn’t the right thing.

A/N: Hey, guys! All we needed was a newish fic to say that I was really back, here it is! This one goes for @negans-lucille-tblr 6k challenge. So glad you got to another millestone, honey. It's like I was posting my part for your 5k celebration just yesterday! xD Prompt in bold.

Warnings: age gap, cheating

Jensen Ackles kept squinting through the bricks of his memory in an attempt to recall where it all began. Maybe it was when he drove off the road he had known for years with the dumbfounded desire to take the trails yet traveled, threading his fingers through your hair on the night of September 7th. He could’ve chosen the easy out and say it all started to crumble with the first kiss, but no. The actor, father, and now horrible husband highly doubted that. No, as he unwound the convoluted wires in his mind, it wasn’t the first clandestine meeting that he saw as the beginning, not the first kiss or the primal stolen glances. It wasn’t even the lies or the way he pushed his body against yours in an act of illicit faith.

Like any grand mistake, it was way before that. Just like how the church not-so-gently advised, it all starts with craving something you never thought you would want.

It happened when he landed the job in a new series after leaving a fifteen-year-long rollercoaster, pushing away any real witness to the fact the old show that swallowed part of his soul was over. There was a certain shock of excitement misplaced by the fact he was going to be working with Eric again, and that the show was an abrupt change considering what he had been doing previously. Now, he believed it was his body’s particular way of telling him that — as the savage animals can sense rain or a calamity — this, baby, this is gonna change your life.

JENSEN ACKLES CAST AS SOLDIER BOY!

‘’Since when have you read comics?’’ Jensen arched his messy eyebrows at Dee’s curiosity about the Homelander and Soldier Boy panel making it to the screen. Shaking the comic book in his right hand slightly, he continued: ‘’Especially that kind.’’

‘’Never,’’ Danneel stated plainly, “but I have Google. It was pretty much the first thing that appeared.’’

‘’Well, Eric said that scene won't be on the screen. Besides, the portrayal won't be that Soldier Boy, but the original one who died in the war. ‘Course, he wouldn’t have died there in our show, but it ain’t the panel one.’’ He shrugged, bringing her closer to his side as she snuggled against him. ‘’There’ll be a bunch of Herogasm, which is basically drugs and sex. Just not with Homelander.’’

Danneel nodded at his explanation, humor clinging to her words as she added: ‘’Guess the only man I have to share you with is still Jared.’’

‘’Hey, you knew what you were getting yourself into.’’ Jensen scoffed playfully before kissing her cheek. ‘’Can't wait to start the show.’’

Jensen leaned forward to rest the comic that he had been religiously studying to form a psychological character profile on the dashboard of the Impala. The actor was spending plenty of hours inside his most palpable Supernatural souvenir -- Baby. His safe place. He sure as hell needed one of those, as molding a whole character that has a bunch of source material wasn’t as easy as he pictured. With Dean, he was putting himself and the script in one until it made his imaginary best friend. It was love at the first sight. Soldier Boy, however, was a long story short. Jensen figured he should do both, honor the character created and add his own special ingredients to it. It was a brand new kind of passion that he hadn’t done for a series in the longest time. Still, his glance trailed back to the woman by his side in the backseat.

‘’Let's hope it won't last another decade,” she mocked.

Jensen shook his head with a chuckle, relaxing against the leather seat. Even the mere smell of the Impala was enough to settle his nerves. ‘’Eric has plans for five seasons.’’

Danneel’s features contorted as if having war flashbacks. Sort of. She never imagined Supernatural would make it that far, and now with three kids, signing on for another excessively time-consuming idea for a new show didn’t seem too appealing either. Yet, she would support Jensen in any decision he’d take regarding his job. “Remind me the last time I heard that line before?” 

‘’Come on.’’ He let out a wry huff, poking her side in a playful manner. She couldn't help but laugh, returning the gesture with tickles to start a very light-hearted battle. He seemed happy with the new job, something Danneel truly thought he would have more difficulty with. She’d pushed her weathered worries away with his easy-going laughter for now.

SOLDIER BOY’S LOVE INTEREST?

Eric Kripke threw the gossip magazine on the table, his eyes not straying from his long-time friend’s. He could’ve simply added the digital article to an irate email and be done with it, but he was a simple man with extravagant taste. That had been usual through his whole career, especially regarding the Supernatural aesthetic. Yet, in those mundane situations, Jensen almost found it too much. That wasn’t the case, though. If anything, the plain, yet still overpowering words that his green eyes scanned made his body sweat. He could even hear his organs working from the absolute silence of the blame that covered the room. Kripke’s room had never seemed more like an interrogation chamber than now.

The magazine in question held Jensen and your picture on the cover, his arms wrapped around your torso as he pulled you close. The most sequin smile hung from your lips like happiness was something that could be touched on that sunny day in the private park near the studio. Giant and garish letters made the headline along with the subline: Jensen Ackles wearing his Soldier Boy costume caught sharing a passionate kiss with the new arrival of The Boy’s Team: Y/N Y/L/N, also known on-screen as Cangaceira!

His voice came out as an accusation: ‘’What’s this, Jensen?’’

‘’We were…’’ The director just waved his hand to interrupt.

‘’Don’t try saying you were practicing a scene because I wrote the Soldier Boy and Cangaceira kiss, and it wasn’t here.’’ Acid tainted his words with no space for fake niceties on his set. Jensen remained in the chair, not even daring to make the most subtle move. Eric knew where he was hitting, and Ackles deserved a punch in the jaw. “The sex scene wasn’t here either, but you two added a lot of erotic subtext. Trust me, I know.’’

His shoulders fell in exhaustion. ‘’Eric…’’

‘’You’re lucky we were going to make those two a couple anyway. I can just put the kiss here and save your ass. What if that wasn’t the case, huh?’’ the director continued, more interested in spilling out his anger than listening to dumb excuses. ‘’What about Danneel, Jensen? You have a wife and kids, for God’s sake!’’

The breaking point. Jensen rose to his feet with sudden frustration, a growl leaving his lips as he pushed the chair to the side with uncharacteristic brutality. How could Eric bring up his family like this? And how could Jensen’s heart not bring them up when he kissed you before?  It was all a fucking mess, and he had no choice but to choke down whatever came out of it, even if it was poison and spite.

‘’Fuck, Eric! Do you think I don’t know that? Do you think it doesn’t pull me apart every time I go home and know I’m lying to the people who love me?’’ The vein on his neck popped as he spoke, emotion gushing thicker through his arteries than blood. Woe remerged under his skin as he swallowed dryly, resting his hands on the table and looking down. That wasn’t him. He had done a lot of things that weren't him lately. ‘’I have enough guilt here, pal.’’

Eric just glared down at the man’s outburst, furrowing before asking, ‘’What’s going on, Jay? You don’t just get up and cheat on your wife. That ain’t you.’’

He shook his head. ‘’I don’t know. Y/N’s just…’’

‘’At least 20 years younger than you,” he stated. ‘’Just starting her career and might be getting the homewrecker title if someone finds out.’’

‘’I won’t let that happen.’’

‘’How? You are gonna be more careful or will you cut it out and go back to your wife and three kids?’’ When Ackles didn’t respond, Eric sighed. ‘’Just stop this, Jensen. Let her go.’’

Jensen scoffed humorlessly. ‘’I can’t.’’

Kripke felt like talking to a teenager. He shook his head as he got up. ‘’Do you have any idea what you’re doing here? This could destroy your family, destroy Y/N’s chance to make a name when you already have your own. That’s selfish in all proportions, Jensen!’’

‘’I know, I know.’’

‘’She deserves more than this and —’’

‘’I know.’’

‘’You are gonna mess up everyone’s lives —’’

‘’I know!’’ He slammed the table and winced, turning around with his hands on his head. If only he could stop his thoughts for a second and reorganize his feelings. ‘’Do you think it doesn’t rip my heart out that I can’t love her?’’

‘’Who?’’ The burning question was ready to set everything ablaze. ‘’You can’t love Y/N, or you can’t love your wife anymore, Jensen?’’

He couldn’t love you in public. He couldn’t love Danneel anywhere. Love just escaped through his reaches when you spoke his name like a prayer, and it was time to accept that.

‘’Both.’’

NO CHICK FLICK MOMENTS: SOLDIER BOY AND CANGACEIRA TALK ABOUT WHAT TO EXPECT FROM THEIR RELATIONSHIP

‘’It's amazing to portray with Jensen. I’ve watched Supernatural since I was like twelve, which probably isn't advisable.’’ You chortled, answering the reporter’s question. Your body could barely contain your excitement under your skin, although, why would you want that? You did it. You got the job you had dreamed and worked hard for. To a bonus, you were working with Jensen Ackles! If there was someone that had earned the right to scream to the sky until your face was the color of the red carpet your heels currently stood on, it was you. ‘‘I was even a Samgirl!’’

Jensen faked a gasp next to you, a light spectrum surrounding the interview. ‘’Really? Me too!’’

You pushed his shoulder playfully while he chuckled. ‘’Anyway, I'm very excited to be here and portray a strong latina superhero. The representation’s very important, and to be able not only to cherish it, but to be a part of it doing what I love and inspiring people like me is… mythical.’’

‘’Wow, woman!’’ Ackles pursed his lips, clapping a little before shifting his gaze from you to the reporter. ‘’She likes the big words. I swear, dude. She’ll just come and in like, a casual conversation, say something like gelid or whilst, and then she's gonna say dumbass. Both sound smart as heck.’’

You winked. ''It's the accent. Makes everything sound nice.”’

Jensen nodded but was quick to sprinkle in an incendiary remark to his compliments. ‘’Yeah, I have never seen someone confuse coach and couch before. Go sit on the coach got a lot of wrong ideas.’’

‘’Hey, you sat on the coach!’’

‘’Because I’m a good boy.’’

You rolled your eyes despite the grin on your lips. ‘’Sure, mister hours-to-get-ready.’’

‘’Hey, plenty of face masks are needed to keep this — ’’ He pointed at his face. ‘’at fourteen.’’

‘’All I hear is that you’re old.’’ Your eyebrows knitted together. Jensen licked his lips at the sight. On any other day, he’d pick you up, say I’m gonna show you who’s old, and enjoy where your teasing had gotten you two, but he couldn’t do it now. You’d get what was coming to you after the event, perhaps even under the table if your dress allowed it, or in the bathroom, if you kept going.

The mischievous smirk on your cherry-stained lips proved that you knew what was going through his mind. God, you were his sweet death. Nonetheless, Jensen sighed dramatically and looked at the camera. ‘’This is what I have to deal with every day.’’

The reporter went on, happily surprised about how comfortable you and Jensen seemed together. Usually, new coworkers were timider around each other during interviews, especially when they were a romantic pair. The journalist decided to try getting a little sneak peek of the couple aspects of Soldier Boy and Cangaceira.

‘’It's definitely interesting.’’

‘’But not in the best way.’’ The only thing more messed up than Jensen’s relationship with you was the correlation between your characters. At least you and he had the purity of love, even if it was twisted enough to turn heads and churn stomachs

‘’Certainly not in the best way.’’ You agreed, bringing him back into reality as always. ‘’It's really nice to explore a couple that doesn't consist of two white people getting to it like most main characters of the shows in our current climate. It’s not the kind of relationship you should be rooting for — not because it's interracial or anything, that's pretty much the biggest, if not only, positive aspect about those two — but because they aren’t healthy at all, just as all main relationships in our show. It's not a romance series, and we certainly don't treat our couples like it.’’

‘’Told you she is the beauty and the brains.’’ His cheeks dimpled with joy and pride as he looked at you. Jensen knew how excitedly nervous you were about that interview. He couldn’t wait to tell you how great you were like you were born to sell dreams and magazines. ‘’But yeah, it’s a messed up relationship like any other in The Boys. After all, it's not a respectful, wholesome show. It's about gritty superheroes that ain’t got heroism. Soldier Boy isn't a good guy, and it translates in his relationship too.’’

You nodded in agreement, brushing his arm to keep you sane. ‘’It’ll be an interesting dynamic to see on-screen to our show standards, but it's not an actual picture of how a relationship should be.’’

THE BOYS 100TH EPISODE PARTY!

The glimmer of his green comet eyes caught your undivided attention in the throngs of people. The crowd had gathered for his family, his arm around his wife's waist as you both shared a tender, stolen look. You savored her wine and yearned for the man in her arms.

It was just a small celebration due to COVID’s lasting effects on public events. People from the set and their significants together were in the Ackles house for a couple of drinks, small talk, and a cake with The Boy’s comics printed on it.

‘’Aunt Y/N!’’ JJ tugged your dress, her mix of Danneel and Jensen’s features almost haunting your soul. Almost. You would never despise a kid for that — you didn’t even have the right to. If anything, JJ was the one that would graduate to hating you someday. You didn't have enough youthful stupidity not to know the risks of being in love with a married man. ‘’Auntie!’’

You leaned in the most that you could with the red skirt, glancing at the child. ‘’Yes, honey?’’

‘’That’s my new Barbie! I bought a beach one! She looks like you!’’ the blonde kid said with a childish joy that ached in your heart. You could end up destroying her family’s stability if Jensen went any further, yet there she was; buying dolls that looked like you and so happily babbling about it.

You were a monster. Love opened you up and planted greedy seeds, and now you were a monster growing like a beautiful tree that could never be strong enough to hold a kid as they climbed up. The fact that you could sense Jensen’s eyes on your ass didn’t help one bit.

‘’She does! That’s so cute, JJ.’’

‘’You can be her. I have one who looks like mommy, I’ll be her, ‘kay?’’

Your nausea was replaced by a pageant smile and a nod, and so you spent the night sharing longing stares with the dad and playing dolls with the daughter. It was a role that was never yours.

ILLICIT AFFAIR? JENSEN ACKLES SEEN ON THE BEACH WITH Y/N Y/L/N

‘’I can’t believe you did this to me, to our family,‘’ Danneel screamed exasperatedly as she threw her clothes in a bag and heart on the wall. Jensen just stood there, accepting the deserved fury. ‘’Ten years of my life, Jensen, and you just threw it away for a mistress! I gave up on my job to be a stay at home mom because you didn’t want a babysitter. I supported you in every moment. I loved you!’’

‘’I’m sorry…’’

‘’You don’t get to be sorry,” she howled, glaring at him with the hatred of an overthrown nation. She felt like he got to the podium and forgot to say her name. ‘’You let that woman get in my house, drink my wine, talk to my children…’’

Reflexively, he said, ‘’Our.’’

‘’Shut the fuck up! There’s no ours anymore, no us!’’ Her words had garnered a learned violence, much louder than the sound of the zipper closing her duffel bag. She threw the CC exclusive on the floor, holding onto the handle for dear life. He didn’t deserve to see her breaking, only her anger. ‘’You destroyed our family, you destroyed me!’’

He pleaded, unable to discern if it was for her or the guilt: ‘’Dee.’’

‘’I hope you’re happy. I hope you go to her, get her to sleep on our bed, and be happy for a month.’’ She gulped, pursing her lips. Her glossy eyes coupled with the pink hue of her lipstick brought back a treacherous memory of their wedding day. ‘’And then, I hope she cheats, like you did to me.’’

The next headline didn’t call it love.

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[spasmsofthought]

clean slate. (zuko x reader)

(Thank Netflix and some feelings for my favorite ATLA character for this piece. I’ve never fallen asleep to this fandom, but now I can stream the whole series and not have to worry about changing discs [score!]. I hope I did Zuko some justice here. Also, I haven’t watched The Legend of Korra - so I can’t speak to anything that is written in that story or canon. I base my writing only off of ATLA. Obviously I’m breaking away from Mai x Zuko - and thus breaking away from canon in some ways - as shipped and beloved as they can be.)

(ALSO - any guesses to where this OC could be from? I had some ideas while writing, but leave a comment with your idea below!) 

-

There’s this way he gets when he’s remembering what his life was like before. 

Zuko has always been a solitary figure. 

Being the Crown Prince (and an exiled one, at that) carries responsibilities few know about. His shoulders have always been strong, but they also have always been rigid. 

Most don’t even take into account the trauma that comes with being abused by your father and tormented by your psychotic sister. Not to mention wondering if your mother is alive after being banished from the Fire Nation as a traitor. 

You always like to think of Iroh as Zuko’s saving grace. 

There is a kindness to Zuko’s face that was lost in all the pain and anger before. When he smiles, it is gentler and softer. 

Like some of the hardness that had been burned into him has transformed from hardened steel to a molten one. It’s still there, but it’s constantly being heated and warmed and molded instead of sitting there in his chest like a stone . 

He’s living and breathing his firebending instead of just trying to produce or control it. 

His time hunting down, and subsequently joining, Avatar Aang had changed him in ways you’re only beginning to understand. 

You can tell he’s not really reading the scrolls he has laid out on the table before him. He sits still but his mind is anywhere but in the present moment. You don’t know what it is that has him so far away. 

Is it that people expect him to retreat to Ember Island sometime in the near future? 

Is it that his father and sister rot in jail while he sits on the throne? 

Cruel memories from his childhood? 

The worries of his mother’s banishment and where she was now if she was actually alive? 

Marriage? Children? (He’s young, but it still doesn’t stop the council of government officials and generals from asking and pressuring him.) 

You had never been a mind reader, and even less so concerning Zuko.  Sometimes he wore his reputation for being temperamental well, though his moments had become rarer and rarer since joining the Avatar and becoming friends with him and his group. 

He was balanced now, but there were moments you could tell his own triggers tipped the scale. 

Be it happenstance or fate or whatever people would like to call it, there was a reason you were in his life now as compared to the minuscule role you would have been given any moment earlier. 

Your hands cover the material written on the scroll (probably important state business he’s supposed to take care of - he is Fire Lord after all) as you sit down across from him. 

The table is long but not very wide, which makes this easier than it would be had Zuko been more difficult and chosen one of those wider study desks he was fond of when he actually wanted to get things done. 

“You’re not even reading,” You begin softly. It takes a minute for him to come back from whatever time and place he was in and he just sighs. His hands stay in his lap, but his eyes meet yours. 

They are amber in color, but rich and deep and warm in substance. 

When you used to get a glimpse at them, from a distance, it was like they burned you, like if he stared long enough his eyes could leave a scar, too. Now it’s more like they hold life and passion  and light instead of destruction and anger. 

“You can talk to me.” He knows this, despite how many times you say it. Sometimes the words are painful, sometimes they bring him comfort. Either way, struggling is in Zuko’s nature. 

Nothing seems to come easy for him, even when peace among the four nations has been declared and his birthright has been restored to him. 

Several moments are spent in silence as he breathes in and out, trying to gather the right words (that’s been a struggle for him, too, at times).

“How can I be a leader if I can’t be a really good one?” 

It takes a moment for you to digest the meaning of his words. It’s less about being a good leader and more about not being like his father. Despite the fact that he’s already announced this new era to be one of peace and love and unity, his deepest and darkest doubts plague him.  Would he be the kind of leader he was if they didn’t though? 

He doesn’t talk about them very often, but there are times, like now, where he’ll let his guard down and be honest with you. 

You wish there were some way you could bear his burdens for him; to tell him that his father’s leadership does not have to affect his own. You wish you could tell him he is the one who holds all the choices and possibilities in his hands. You lean forward on your elbows, minimizing the distance between the two of you slightly. 

“Listen to me,” His eyes flicker from yours to spots around the ornate room. Back and forth they flit. “Zuko, the fact that you’re asking that question proves to me that you’re already a better Fire Lord than your father.” 

“But how can you-” 

“Look at me,” You say as you grab his face. One hand rests on his scarred cheek while the other holds the opposite side of his face. He doesn’t flinch when you touch it, he hasn’t for some time. “I can’t convince you of yourself. That’s not why I’m here. But I want to let you know, even though you may doubt my words now, your genetics do not shape what kind of leader you are and the leader you will become. That’s only your decision.” 

He looks at you like he doesn’t quite believe you, and you don’t expect him to. His self-reflection can be a gift, but it can also be a curse. His shoulders sag like his thoughts weigh more than he’s let on. 

“Who makes your decisions for you, Zuko?” 

“What?” He asks incredulously. You almost smile because he looks so bewildered. 

“Who is the person that makes your decisions for you?” 

“What are you talking about? I make my own decisions.” He looks at you like you’ve gone crazy. 

You let his statement sit in the air as you get up from your position across the table and walk around to sit next to him. He turns so that he meets your gaze head-on. You can see his words running through his head, though you know they’ll take a lifetime to actually make complete sense. 

“Exactly,” Your hands weave their way to the back of his neck. You curse whoever made it tradition for Fire Lords to put their hair up in a topknot for formal dress code. You know the importance of it in Fire Nation culture, but there are some days you wish you could see him working with his hair down. It would certainly provide you with more opportunities to distract him. “You get to decide exactly what kind of leader you are and are going to be. No one else is in your head except you.” 

The corner of his lips quirk up. You can tell it hasn’t quite sunk in all the way yet, but it’s gone deep enough to ward off his doubts for now. There is a glimmer in his eyes that tells you he believes your words as much as he can in this moment. 

It’s all you can ask for. 

His forehead comes to press against yours. He’s not one for public displays of affection while working or in his formal wear, but there are spaces in time like these where he decides to make an exception. You close your eyes and breathe out a sigh of contentment, simply happy to be in the present moment with him. 

It’s his version of saying thank you to you. 

His lips press to yours softly and you hold him to yourself longer than would be proper if there were others in the room with you. But there isn’t. 

He tilts his head back and catches a breath, but you chase his mouth to grab a quick second kiss. 

All of this makes all the rest of the hullabaloo that you have to deal with worth it. He has always been worth it. 

When you part, you smile at him as you turn his head back towards the scrolls on the table.  

“Now get reading, Fire Lord Zuko.” 

#avatar the last airbender #atla #zuko #zuko x reader #zuko x oc #prince zuko #fire nation #avatar the last airbender one shot #zuko one shot #zuko imagine #atla zuko #avatar iroh #iroh #avatar: tla #avatar: the last airbender

[hello-im-not-a-possum]

2. twisted

The cartoon that came out of the machine was pretty as a picture, perfect in almost every detail, and had a bubbly, positive personality. But she was not what Joey had wanted Susie to become. (Set in an AU where Joey gets perfect toons from his freshly killed employees and STILL isn’t happy, the unpleasable bitch…)

“Progress report to GENT home office, Client; Joey Drew Studios.

With the addition of the new ink recipe to use in the machine, we have made an unbelievable leap in progress and have almost met our client’s expectations. What had started as a machine to mold life sized figures out of ink has now done things that border on being supernatural.

Although Mr. Drew seems unimpressed, even frustrated with the results at times, in spite of the fact that the models have come out identical to their cartoon counterparts.

The process of running the cartoon film through the machine for the figures to imprint on has been successful, but it looks like that unless someone goes through the trouble of making a short that only has ONE character in it, the machine picks what character it makes at seemingly random. That is our client’s complaint; that instead of being user chosen, the machine picks out which living, breathing, thinking ink models it makes at random. Upon working on this, if I were to be in the client’s shoes, I’d have several valid complaints regarding the machine and the models it created, but our client’s complaint… Is that the machine that doesn’t have a system that allows the user to pick and choose which model it makes yet creates a physically flawless model every single time, does not allow the user to pick and choose which model it makes. He never ceases to infuriate me.

On a sour note, there was an incident with the figure in the likeness of a character called ‘The Brute’. Upon its creation, it immediately went and broke our client’s leg in a very… well, brutal fashion too. But fortunately, it has not physically attacked anyone since The Cameraman figure was made as we have threatened to separate them if it keeps up that behavior. It still likes to insult people, and it still does things that unnerve me though. We’re hoping that the rest of the figures will be less violent and or creepy.”

Thomas clicked off the recording and sighed as he looked at the newly made report, there was no way he could submit this to his boss without someone sending in someone to make sure he wasn’t huffing in ink fumes and whatever the Studio workers smoked to consider any of this to be normal.

“Hey Tommy! I think I figured out the issue with the machine! Or rather, its fuel.”

The mechanic grit his teeth and turned to face his client.

“What? I wasn’t aware that there was a problem with it.”

“Why, Tommy, how could you forget? I’m talking about the figure deposit problem of course! Why did we get The Brute when we wanted to get Boris? Why did we get Cameraman when we wanted Bendy? The answer was so simple, why, it was even staring at us the entire time!”

“Uh huh…” Thomas did not look convinced. “And what was this issue?”

“The ingredients, the Ink of course! You simply can’t put blueberry pancake batter in an oven and be surprised when you get blueberry pancakes instead of blueberry muffins, We got those two knuckleheads before we got the real stars of the show because the souls used to make them weren’t fit to make those two, but the machine still did what it does best: made living cartoons.”

Tom had an uneasy feeling in his gut as Joey grabbed his arm and led him to the Ink Machine’s room. He felt like a sheep being led to the slaughterhouse, he KNEW what went down in there! He knew the other ingredients, not well, per say, but for long enough to judge them and their characters.

He didn’t shed a single tear when Sammy was used in it, in fact, he was rather pleased with the results before it started acting out like that. He and the music director were almost always at each other’s throats for one reason or another. If you asked him, the ex-musician was strange, rude, clearly mentally unstable, and sometimes even cruel. And even if he wasn’t, his physical health had declined so much over his time at the studio that it was obvious that he would die regardless of whether or not he was put in the machine. Feeding Sammy to that machine was an act of mercy, really, and even if it wasn’t, it served him right to become a- err, The Brute and have him put the former musician in his place- put his villainous ways to a decent cause. Now if only someone could ensure for a fact that The Brute would behave...

Now the other ingredient, Norman Polk, was a different story. The man was old, weird and kinda creepy. On the surface, the man was an ideal candidate. Like Sammy, he would die anyway and nobody would miss him when he did. But on the contrary, he seemed like he still had some good years left in him. And while he was weird and creepy, he had been those things in an oddly endearing way that most of the studio had either liked or tolerated enough to not be bugged by it. The mechanic didn’t know how to explain it, that man reminded Tom of a mysterious, mostly-estranged relative that shows up out of nowhere and was always there for you even if you don’t always see him. So when the man snooped too much for his own good and had to be silenced… Tom could never look the resulting toon in the eye, or in his case, the lens.

But the mechanic couldn’t deny that it needed to be done, after all, the former projectionist was far too nosy for anyone’s sake. Nobody who knows the secret of the Ink Machine (or rather, it’s unconventional secret ingredient needed for its ink) should be free to wander the studio and spill the beans.

And a feeling in his gut was beginning to tell him that that was why he was the next on the chopping block.

He had built it, he learned what it would take to make it work, he had done what it took to make it work, and it was working now; No more models that would only move a tiny bit before collapsing into puddles! No more off model models! No more issues aside from x, y, z… -No more reasons for Joey to keep him alive when it was now too dangerous to his business… 

A tiny voice at the back of his head told him it served him right. The creator of this unholy torture device would now be consumed by it, just like how the maker of the Brazen Bull was the first victim it claimed.

At this point, he was almost morbidly curious on who or what the machine would make him; would it poke fun at his past and make him that territorial junkyard guard, Canoodle? Would it ironically punish him for his greed by making him The Fat Cat of the show, Boswell Lotsobucks? Would it acknowledge that although he was a villain to the bitter end, he still tried to go clean only for demons to drag him back down his dark paths and make him into Charley? Thinking about it, any butcher gang member would be a good enough fit really.

He was a mix of relieved, disappointed, and horrified when he was brought into the room and saw the unconscious voice actress of Alice Angel strapped to a mobile operating table. Joey seemed to ignore his reaction as he proudly showed her off and began to monologue.

“Like Boris, Sammy was a musician, simple-minded, and was very loyal to those he considered friends until the bitter end. But what made Sammy more like the Brute then Boris- Aside from body type, obviously, was that Sammy had quite the short temper on him, one that got messed with often, and a tendency to hold onto a grudge that can’t be swayed away with a good meal or a bad joke… Just like our friend; the Brute.”

Tom stayed speechless as Joey continued his seemingly prepared and rehearsed speech.

“As for Bendy and Norman, well, it’s obvious that those too simply weren’t compatible in the slightest! Sure, they both have their mischievous sides, but that alone doesn’t make a man into a good imp… However, do you know who DOES have more in common with Mr. Polk? That’s right! A certain smart alec-someone who knows a thing or two about anyone, everyone, and everything whether he wants to or not. Someone with a darker, more jaded sense of humor than our little devil, someone who can lurk in the shadows, or in his case, ‘backstage’ for safety or to gather Intel, but be happy and proud to take the front stage when the need arises! ...Alright, I can see that Norman’s soul may have influenced the personality of our Cameraman, but at least he did it in ways that make sense to the character.”

The mechanic continued to stay silent as Joey continued.

“But the main point is: we know what to do to fix this little issue. If we want a main character, we need someone who embodies the soul of that character. And Ms. Campbell here said it herself; Alice is a part of her!”

“Joey…”

“Why, she’d be thanking us if she knew what was coming! This is a dream come true for her! She always seemed to be the happiest when she was singing our angel darling’s songs…”

As if he was snapped out of a trance, the mechanic pulled Joey to his face, gripping the animator’s arms tightly and shaking him up a bit.

“Joey! We can’t do this! Susie isn’t like Norman or Sammy. She’s young, healthy, and still has a lot to live for. Nobody would buy that she passed on from something out of the blue, or that she moved away without warning or telling anyone. Everyone in the studio loves her and talks to her frequently! If we do this, especially so soon, they will make the connection, and they will find out about this. It was bad enough when Norman went, imagine if someone as well loved as her went too!”

Joey just laughed and slapped Tom’s shoulder.

“Oh Tommy, all we need to tell them is that Susie got her big break and is Bringing Alice to life in ways never before seen! And to sell the illusion, also tell them ‘you know how those folks in Hollywood are with their schedules, always a bunch of busy bees.’ They’ll bite, you just have to trust me.”

“What if they don’t?” the mechanic argued. “What if they start snooping around and start to piece together what really happened to her?”

Joey’s smile wavered a bit, but remained steadfast.

“Well, we’ll just have to cross that bridge when we reach it. And when we do, we’ll have our answer!”

“Nnnnggghhh…”

Both of them shuddered when they heard the voice actress start to stir awake.

“I swore I used stronger stuff in her drink…”

“...Jo...Joey..? ..Mr. Conner..?” The voice actress’s real eye widened in horror as she looked around, and her voice wavered as she grew more and more frantic. “WHat’s going on?! Where am I- Why am I tied up?!”

“S-Susie! Everything’s perfectly fine my dear, you just need to calm down a bit and I’ll explain everything…” He subtly jabbed Thomas in the ribs with his elbow. “Tommy!” He hissed “Throw her in the machine already!”

The frightened voice actress began to struggle against her restraints while Tom hesitated. Joey shot him a glare as he strolled up behind Susie and put a ‘reassuring’ hand on the weeping angel’s shoulder.

“Joey, please… let me go… Don’t do this to me!” Tears were running down the woman’s face, her voice was soft and breaking from her stress. “Just let me go and I promise I won’t tell anyone…”

“Now, now, Susie, there’s nothing to worry about, yes I know this looks unsettling from your position… But you and Alice are going places, new, big places that most people only dream of seeing! You’re going to bring her to life in ways that will touch the hearts of generations!”

A flash of realization crossed her face.

“Joey… answer me this: when Sammy ‘died from untreated lung cancer’ did he actually die from lung cancer? And when Norman ‘died from a workplace injury’ did he really…?” her voice trailed off a bit with uncertainty before asking her third question. “Did their deaths have anything to do with those two toons that showed up?!”

Her questions were not answered by words, but with actions as the two men stuffed her into the machine. When it turned on, her screams echoed throughout the mostly empty studio, chilling all who heard them to the very bone.

When they finally stopped, the machine whirred and roared to life and Joey rubbed his hands together in glee as he watched the machine work its magic.

Thomas, on the other hand, stood in silence while staring at his hands as dread and guilt sank in his gut.

The former man’s smile fell into a look of confusion when he saw a pair of gloves with ‘X’ marks on them come out, followed by arms that connected to them. That look of confusion fell deeper into a frown when he saw the arms stretch, curl, and twist when the gloves reached the floor as if they were streams of ice cream coming out of the machine at an all-you-can-eat buffet.

Alice didn’t have arms that curled and stretched, but Joey knew a certain demoness toon who did; Miss Twisted. He was cursing under his breath, of course it would complete their little trio before giving him what he wanted! Now he wasted his one shot at getting Alice!

The rest of the toon didn’t even get out of the damn machine, it was like she was taunting him by continuing to stretch her arms and let them continue to coil in piles on the floor instead of showing him the finished product.

Furious, he marched over and grabbed the toon demoness’s arms and yanked her out of the damn machine.

“Stop messing around!” He scolded before pausing and reapplying his signature smile. “Your friends Brute and Cameraman have been worried sick about you ever since their creation! You wouldn’t want to keep them waiting for you any longer than they’ve already been, right?”

He could’ve been imagining it, but he swore that she had a look of pure terror on her face before she put on a fake smile of her own. And was it just him, or was this Miss Twisted’s left eye slightly discolored, glassy looking, if that made sense for someone with pitch black pie-cut eyes. The grayer eye she had reminded him of Susie Campbell’s fake eye.

“Y-yeah! You’re right!” She pushed Joey out of her face, clearly uncomfortable by his staring but pretending to be perfectly fine. “I can’t keep my boys waiting for too long, who knows what they’ll do?” She chuckled nervously. “So… where are you keeping them? where are they hiding?”

“Tommy here will be happy to show you, just follow him and-”

“Thanks!”

The demoness chipperly chirped and swiftly yanked Thomas out of the room at a speed that almost insulted the man.

#Bendy and the Ink Machine #Thomas Conner #joey drew #susie campbell #miss twisted #fanfic #ink demonth #murder warning

[antipodeanpineapplelump]

Dear Starshot, I recently saw your latest artwork for #Shisui Uchiha and the Lost Treasure of Asura and I am DYING to learn more about this AU. If you're comfortable sharing, is there anything you can disclose about it?? Is this related to the ItaShi Indiana Jones AU you mentioned before?!!?!?!?!!

Hi Birk, thank you so much for dropping by with this ask! Are you really voluntarily asking me to talk about my current obsession and fanfic baby though? Because I warn you, you may live to regret that!!!

"Shisui Uchiha and the Lost Treasure of Asura" is now the official title of my ItaShi Indiana Jones AU. I realise it’s been over a year since I first mentioned it, and it’s still a WIP! Pretty sure that says absolutely nothing good about the speed of my writing, but a lot about how busy my life outside of fandom is. Anyhow, it’s definitely one of those AUs that’s got away on me. I was planning one story initially, but now it’s kind of turned into three (plus a cracky oneshot), and this is just the first.

I’ve planned nine chapters total so far, but the bane of my life is currently number four. It’s sitting at 16,000 words and counting. Succinct writing? I’ve certainly never heard of it… So anyway, I kind of hit a wall there and decided to take a little break to come back with fresh eyes. That’s how I ended up working on the art instead. But I’d say I’m probably about halfway through the first draft (47,000-ish words).

I recently shared the opening scene and my draft cover artwork here. Ummm… what else can I tell you? Madara is the main bad guy, and he’s definitely a few sandwiches short of a picnic. Shisui is an agent of disaster and chaos. Itachi is really… not. So their initial interactions go about as well as you could expect.

All the main characters have extensive back stories. I’m pretty sure you’re already familiar with my Machiavellian worldbuilding tendencies from reading Red Dawn, so it goes without saying I have just as many notes and plans, and as much fleshed out worldbuilding for this story too. And it will take a long time for all of that to be revealed! But the overarching theme is probably found family, which is different to anything I’ve done before.

At this risk of revealing too much, or boring you to tears, I’ll finish with another sneak peek, this time from Itachi’s POV:

When Itachi wakes, there’s nothing to suggest his day is going to be anything but routine.

He gets up at dawn as per usual, eating breakfast at the dining table alone, legs tucked beneath him on a comfortable zabuton. The solitude at this hour of day is something he prefers. It’s the only time the family home is quiet anymore—lacking the cold disapproval of his father’s increasingly judgemental lectures, the anger of his younger brother’s rebellion, or the resigned acquiescence of his mother.

By now, Fugaku should have left for work, and it’s still too early for Sasuke to be awake, given how late he’s been staying out at night. Either to irritate their father, or just avoid him entirely, he’s taken to frequenting the clubs and bars in Osaka. Mostly, he comes home. Some nights, he doesn’t.

More often than not, even when he is home his door is closed, the thumping bass line of some song or another seeping out from beneath it. Likely because he knows this angers their father even more than the leather jackets and spiked punk-rock hair style he now sports.

Part of Itachi has been glad to discover his brother possesses more of a spine than he ever has. But at the same time, Sasuke’s rejection of every last one of their father’s rules has only brought more unwanted scrutiny to Itachi’s far more minor transgressions. It’s as though, having decided his younger child is a lost cause, Fugaku now wants to be absolutely certain his eldest son and heir to the Uchiha family fortune is beyond reproach. To smother him with expectations until he emerges, a diamond from beneath the pressure.

But unbeknownst to Fugaku, Itachi has one flaw he can’t change. And it means that, no matter what, he’ll always be a failure in his father’s eyes.

Sighing, he swallows a mouthful of rice and fish, washing it down with the sweetened barley tea he favours. Pulling this month’s edition of Modern Archaeology across the table, he inspects its glossy cover and promptly chokes on his drink.

The face that smiles up from the page stokes a knot of hot irritation in his gut. Furiously, he skips to the article, skim-reading the text, despite the fact he knows it will only annoy him further.

"An up-and-coming star in the field of archaeology, particularly specialising in South-American cultures, Shisui Uchiha is an increasingly well-known fixture of the San Diego research scene. Curiously for someone so entrenched in the study of history, he is famously reticent when it comes to his own. ‘I did spend my early years in Japan,’ he confirms when pressed. ‘But I haven’t been back in a long time. The United States is my home now.’ Asked about his connection to the famous Uchiha family, he merely winks enigmatically. ‘Never heard of them,’ he says, before asking if we’d like a one-on-one tour of the dig site.

Equally at home in dusty ruins as surfing the palm-lined SoCal beaches, or scaling the cliffs of his native Joshua Tree National Park, he nonetheless shines in group settings too. At the party we attend that evening, to celebrate the opening of a new Aztec exhibit at the Museo Nacional de Antropología in Mexico City, he easily charms the crowd, finishing the night with at least half a dozen new admirers. It’s not hard to see why they like him. A conversation with Shisui is exercise in passion and obscure historical knowledge. Even so, much like the dig sites he frequents, it’s hard to say just how much of what he presents to the world runs more than surface-deep.

His motto in life? ‘Fall seven times, stand up eight,’ Shisui says with a charismatic smile. Where did he learn it? Chuckling, he brushes us off. ‘The school of hard knocks.’

Love him or hate him, one thing is certain—we haven’t seen the last of Shisui Uchiha’s brand of archaeology.”

Hate him, Itachi thinks, sipping his tea viciously enough to scald his tongue and immediately regretting it. Definitely hate. Hate how he’s reckless, impulsive, irresponsible, and doesn’t seem to take a single thing seriously. Hate that it looks like he’s never had to work hard for anything a day in his life—people only too happy to hand him whatever he wants on a silver platter, charmed by a pretty smile. Hate the fact that, despite their shared family name, he’s free to do whatever he likes. Hate the way people flock to him, falling into his orbit—and by all accounts, bed—like it’s somehow inevitable. And hate, most of all, that there’s a small part of Itachi which understands why.

Because hate or love him—and it’s definitely hate—there’s no denying that Shisui Uchiha is, objectively, a very attractive man.

Coming back to his senses and realising he’s been leaning over the magazine, frowning so hard his forehead hurts, Itachi straightens, closing his eyes and massaging the knot of tension out from between his eyebrows.

“Itachi—”

The tension sinks in even deeper. He opens his eyes. “Father.”

Fugaku takes in magazine, then his son, and Itachi really hopes his cheeks aren’t as flushed as they feel. It’s stupid, but merely knowing he feels the way he does about the man on the page makes him fear being caught. As though his father might somehow divine his deepest darkest secret, just by looking. Truthfully, Itachi sometimes wonders if he might not already know, or at least suspect. But if he does, it’s clearly a truth he’s chosen not to acknowledge.

“I take it you’re prepared for our meeting this evening?” Fugaku asks, grim as ever.

Attempting a composed sip of his tea, Itachi nods. “Yes. Of course.”

Mouth a hard, unyielding line, Fugaku makes some indiscernible noise of disapproval, sweeping an appraising glance over Itachi. “Well, I suppose it’s too much to hope that anything can be done about your hair between then and now. But they’re a modern family. New money. Perhaps it won’t matter so much.”

Fingers tightening into the flesh of his thigh, Itachi has to remind himself to breathe. “I will do my best to make a good impression,” he says, inclining his head towards his father, penitence for his innumerable shortcomings—not least of all the choice to grow his hair out. It’s a small act of rebellion compared to Sasuke’s effort, but one his father seems determined to curtail as promptly as possible.

Poker face easing ever so slightly, Fugaku’s brows trend downwards, though their slant is still severe. “I know. You are my son, after all. And it is high time you were married with a family of your own. Perhaps then you will see the value in giving up these frivolous academic pursuits, and taking your rightful place at the head of the family business.”

He might as well build a box and stuff Itachi into it. Mold him to fit his own vision of the future. But Itachi has long since learnt that what he wishes he could have from life, and what he can have, are two very different things. So, just like his infrequent clandestine trips to the less desirable areas of Osaka’s nightlife, this too, he realises he will have to sacrifice. Duty before self.

“Yes Father, I’m certain you’re right,” he says, bowing once more as Fugaku leaves for work, closing the front door behind him with a click that reeks of finality.

As his footsteps crunch away on the gravel path outside, Itachi can’t help clenching his fists, until long after his knuckles turn white.

Theoretically, it’s a good match. From a family of good standing, his potential bride is quiet and well spoken—the perfect future housewife and mother. Their marriage would kill two birds with one stone, giving her father the son he never had, and Itachi—and therefore by extension Fugaku—control of their biggest competitor’s business.

All it requires is for Itachi spend the rest of his life pretending to be something he’s not.

The weight of it burns tight in his throat, threatening to break free on a rising tide of bile. He longs to cast off his gilded shackles, take a leaf from Sasuke’s book and do something completely crazy.

With a sigh, he rises from the table, collecting his dishes and depositing them circumspectly into the sink. Another day of work awaits.

#Shisui Uchiha and the Lost Treasure of Asura #birkastan2018 #asks #my writing #WIP #sorry for talking so much #I'm sure I've mentioned it before #but I'm just an enormous nerd #who loves talking about my nerdy interests #thank you for this ask!

[sagedgeek]

A Foundling

Part 3 of Whispers of Fate (A Rey Djarin fic)

Summary: The tribe doesn’t agree with Din’s decision. It’s time for him to accept this new responsibility, despite his effort to avoid it.

Rating: Gen (Platonic)

Word Count: 4.9k

Previous Chapter ~ Masterlist ~ Next Chapter

Din rubs his thumb over the smooth surface of the beskar ingot he held in his hand. He stood outside the entrance to the covert, staring at the cloth draped over the entrance as he contemplated whether he should come back another time after Rey had more time to grow used to the others. Then again, she might’ve calmed down soon after he left the day prior.

He's put this off for an entire day already… much longer than he should have. He could be halfway to Arvala by now if he had simply left right after receiving his assignment. But his worry and insecurity had got the best of him and he spent the better part of the day doing menial repairs to his ship and stocking up on rations and other essentials he’s burned through as he continuously fretted over returning to the covert to see how Rey was adjusting. And maybe even perhaps offer a proper fairwell with a promise to return any word he may find about her parents.

Soon after he left, he had regretted not staying a bit longer to help her adjust. It was a startling change in environment for her, being dumped into a maze of dark sewers surrounded by masked faces of unfamiliar characters. He’d been through the same affair when he was brought to the Mandalorians, but there were many there more than willing to care for him and nurture him until he was able to begin his training, and he knows that’s what Rey needed. He never had a proper buir or Mandalorian family of his own, and the closest he had to one was the man who had saved him. He died soon after Din began his training, but the tribe still raised him alongside the other Foundlings, as if he was one of their own.

Times were different now. Foundlings were rare and very special to the tribe, even more so than before. There were many practiced Mandalorian mothers and fathers in the covert that would be more than willing to take in such a promising young child as Rey and be a much better caretaker to her than Din himself. She needed the support and stability that he could never offer her, but still… that didn’t ease the guilt.

This morning is when he had made his decision. He was never one to loiter, and he never dallied when it came to a job, yet this time he felt a pull keeping him grounded on this ashy planet. So, he figured it would be best to make quick work of this and be on his way to rid himself of these distractions. One visit to the armorer and a couple questions of the girl’s wellbeing and that would be all. No strings attached.

He pulls the drapes back and begins his descent to the underground tunnels, and once he’s passed through the first threshold, he’s immediately stopped by a large hand extending from the shadows and landing on his chest. His first instinct is to attack before his opponent can exploit the well-executed surprise, but patience and reason remind him he’s in the covert and there were no enemies down here.

So, he simply raises his hand to clasp down on the gloved wrist on his chest in warning.

“You shouldn’t have come back,” Paz replied with a gruff and irritated tone, as he stepped from the dark shadows. “It will upset the child again.”

Din turns his head to look up at the taller Mandalorian. Paz has been a close companion of his since he was young, and still one of many he considers to be a trusted friend.

“I didn’t come to see her,” he lied.

“You should’ve taken her with you,” Paz snaps right back at him; never one to beat around the bush. “She is a Foundling, and she is scared. She doesn’t trust us. You should’ve stayed at least until she grew comfortable.”

Din grips Paz’s wrist even tighter pulling it away from his chest plate with a scowl. “I have a job. It is not safe for her.”

“She is a fighter,” Paz counters.

Din pushes away from him, moving further through the halls to try and put an end to the discussion. Paz follows him though, continuing with his lecture which Din tries to ignore. “She has tried running three times since you left and fought Gutt and Ovod with a staff she stole from the armory. We had to lock her away with the healer, away from the other children.”

“She will grow used to you all here,” Din replied, “just like she did me.”

“Don’t be so sure of that Djarin. She’s as bull-headed as you. Atin Djarin,” Paz mutters the familiar exclamation under his breath and Din smirks beneath the helmet. Paz was most definitely right, Rey was quite stubborn from what he could tell so far.

Paz followed him to the armorer’s forge, loitering around by the entrance as Din’s new pauldron was crafted out of his newly acquired beskar.

“This is extremely generous,” the armorer states as the molten beskar fits into the mold. “The excess will sponsor many foundlings… including the new adiik you brought to us.”

“That’s good.” He can feel the strong glare of Paz burning into the back of his helmet. “She will make a powerful Mandalorian.”

“That she will,” the armorer agrees.

When the pauldron is finished, she approaches and attaches it to his body stocking. “The little one has caused quite the ruckus down here,” she announces while taking a single step away from him to admire her work.

“So, I’ve been told,” Din stands, turning to retrieve his Amban rifle that he’d propped against the wall when he arrived.

“She has nearly been successful in leaving the covert herself… had she been she would have exposed the location of the tribe.”

Din pauses, back still to her and he turns around slowly.

“Most Foundlings are not so fierce. Where does she come from?”

He turns to her, ignoring the pointed nod of his helmet that Paz directs towards him. “I found her on a backwater skug hole called Jakku. She was a slave scrapper for two years after her parents abandoned her there.”

The armorer nods once and turns back towards the smelter. “She is strong, but she will need proper guidance and training.”

“Yes,” Din agrees. That is exactly why he brought her here.

She turns back to face him, now several feet away and her hands clasped behind her back. “She will not find that here.”

Din takes a startled step towards her. “What do you mean?”

“She does not trust easily, and she will have no trust for us that much is clear. We were not the ones to save her, and she will grow to resent the tribe. Any training we will provide to her as we would a Foundling would prove as a danger to the tribe and the rest of the Foundlings. The anger and desperation I sense in her will only give more strength; a corrupted strength absent of honor or trust. I’ve seen it happen twice before. Neither ended well for Mandalor. and just like them she will grow to hate the Mandalorians for stealing her from her home twice over.”

“Twice?”

“You, Djarin. You were her second home whether you may see it that way or not.”

“She has only known me for a short time. That’s not possible.”

“She was abandoned as a young child Djarin… by parents who may or may not have loved her. Care, stability, and trust has been absent most of her young life, and you were the first to give it to her after many years of imposed independence and suffering. It was inevitable for her to form such a strong attachment. And it is very well that after you left her here, she will never care to trust anyone again. In her eyes, you were as her new father. Another father who abandoned her.”

“I cannot care for a Foundling,” Din reiterates desperately. He cannot care for a Foundling. “It is too dangerous.”

“So, it is your job to protect her.”

“I can’t--”

“You will.” Paz steps in, voice strong and undeterred. “The Foundling has chosen you and it would be dishonorable to decline. This is the way.”

“This is the way,” the armorer speaks in response, and then both turn towards him expectantly.

Din hesitates, feeling a surge of panic overcome him. He had no choice… this was the way. It was only a technicality, but one that left him no choice. And by denying this responsibility, he would in a sense be abandoning his own child, which by extension would be breaking his creed. Dar’manda.

“This is the way.”

The armorer nods. “Good. Now the child has no need to know you did not request this privilege. You will raise her as your own, teach her the ways of Mandalor, and when she comes of age, she will have the choice to vow and accept the creed. Vizla will take you to where she’s being held.”

So, Paz leads Din further into the covert, past several gatherings of his tribe members and to a barred door Din knows to be the infirmary. He’d been a consistent guest to Xiyu during his early days of bounty hunting.

“Was she hurt?” Din asked.

Paz ignores him and lifts the latch of the heavy door to push it open.

“Xiyu, Rey’s buir is here for her. Thank you for watching over her.” Paz tells the tribe healer sitting beside the cot Rey had curled herself up on.

The older Mandalorian stands slowly and she makes her way towards the door with a small nod of her head. “That is good. She was not doing well. She is no longer angry... just sad and tired.” She pauses when she notices Din. “Djarin? You?”

He nods his head. There was no need in denying it anymore.

The older woman looks at him with a nod of approval. “She will do good for you Djarin.” Then she walks away without another word, and Paz makes a gesture for him to enter the room ahead of him.

“Kid,” Din speaks slowly, clearing his throat as he approaches the cot. He felt nervous and frustrated. He had no clue how to care for a child, and absolutely no desire to learn, but now he had to. There were so many things he needed to change and add to the Crest to fit her needs…

She recoils at his voice, pulling her face to her knees and hugging them close. She was still wearing his old tunic and had not changed into the new clothes he bought for her. They sat lying on a platform beside the cot, along with a few added accessories courtesy of the rest of the tribe.

“Rey, it’s time to go.”

She shakes her head stiffly, back still facing the two Mandalorians. “I don’t wanna go anywhere with you,” she bites out with a nasty growl.

“Would you rather stay here then?” Din counters with a scoff.

Din can tell by the squaring of her shoulders that she found herself in a bit of deadlock and she mutters something under her breath which he could barely here.

“Where you gonna drop me off this time, Mando?” She says his name like it’s a curse in her mouth.

“He wants to take you with him,” Paz steps in, approaching the cot and effectively pushing Din out of the way to avoid the tension and anger from progressing any further. Apparently, having two frustrated, stubborn blockheads in the same room would not spawn a peaceful interaction.

Rey turns to look up at Paz, eyes rimmed red and puffy. She doesn’t look at Din. “Why?” She asks him, tears evident in her voice.

“Because you belong with him.” Paz takes her hand gently and helps her sit up on the cot. He’d always been particularly fond of children, ever since their teenage years. He did well with them… unlike Din. “Now let’s get you changed into those new clothes so you can be on your way verd’ika, yeah?”

She nods softly, rubbing one eye with the back of her hand and sniffling lightly. Paz gently lifts her from the cot and into his arms. Rey wraps her arms around his neck and drops her forehead against the large man’s shoulder which has Din scoffing scornfully.

Bantha shit!

Why isn’t Paz the one caring for the child?? He was obviously much better suited for a Foundling.

Paz must sense his glare and he turns towards him with the child in one arm as he scoops up her clothes in the other. He tilts his helmet, lifting the chin just enough so Din won’t mistake it for affection or curiosity, but as the challenge it was.

“Would you prefer to carry her?”

Din frowns. No, he’d rather not.

His fingers twitch and tense as he squeezes them together.

“She’s perfectly capable of walking on her own.”

The statement doesn’t please Paz, that much was clear, as he shoulders past Din and exits the room. He leads them towards a private area and sets Rey down on her feet. He’s squatted in front of her, holding out each item of clothing to her.

“Do you need any help? I can call Xiyu.”

She shook her head and took the clothes from him, retreating into the private room to change.

“She seemed awfully fond of you,” Din muttered once the thick curtain was pulled closed.

Paz turned to look at him. “The last I saw her she nearly tore my helmet after she knocked me on my back. That was the first I’d seen her act civil.”

Rey steps out from behind the curtain, wearing her new clothes. It fit her nicely. She wore a dark grey long tunic that went to midthigh sinched by a nice brown leather belt around her waist which had several accessories for attachments similar to Din’s. Over it she wore sleeveless vest with a high collar. And of course, the tan utility trousers and sturdy leather boots. She came out holding her old clothes to her chest shyly. Her hair was down, no longer in its braid and she looked up at Din with wide eyes and a sad frown.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, standing right in front of him. “I’m sorry I asked so many questions. I won’t anymore. I promise.” She shuffles closer to him, pressing her forehead against the soft padding below his cuirass.

Din sighed in resignation and placed his hand atop her head, gently petting her long brown hair to offer some sort of comfort.

“Don’t apologize for being curious,” he instructs softly.

She steps away from him, staring up into his visor with shiny eyes all the while. Then she turns to look over at Paz. “I’m sorry for being mean to you and everyone else.”

“There’s no need to worry about it verd’ika.” Rey smiles at him, seeming to be much less forlorn than before.

“Come,” Din says, ready to get back to his ship and get on his way. He gestures for Rey to begin walking in front of him, then turns his head to face Paz. “I’ll return soon.”

Rey doesn’t chatter his ear off as they walk back to the Crest. She doesn’t even grab onto his cloak as they march through the busy streets of Nevarro. Even once they’re sailing out the atmosphere and into the empty cavern of space, Rey had yet to express any excitement or curiosity. It was completely silent in the cockpit. She sat quietly in her chair, staring out at the stars without so much a word.

“Kid,” Din starts, unsure of what he even wanted to ask, “Is everything alright?”

He turns his head so he can peek over his shoulder at her, and she only shrugs her shoulders, pulling the blanket bunched in her hands over her nose.

Din spins in his chair to face her and she flinches away from him at the sudden movement.

“Rey.”

She looks at him with big eyes from underneath the hem of her blanket. “I-I…” she starts. “Are you taking me back to Jakku now?”

Din tilts his head at her in confusion. “No. You’re staying with me.”

“But-but I thought—”

Din spins his chair back around. “No, I’m not taking you back there end of story. There’s no one to look out for you there. It isn’t safe.”

There are a couple moments of silence and Din thinks maybe Rey got the point. “I-I didn’t mean I wanted to go back…” she replies, her voice almost a squeak. “I just… I thought your tribe didn’t want to take care of me like you didn’t want to, and you were supposed to take me back.”

Din’s feels a sudden pain strike him in the chest and suddenly breathing made him nauseous. It’d been a while since he was able to actually sympathize with another person. And here Rey was sitting here thinking an entire tribe of people would turn their backs on her and leave her to the fate of the harsh wilderness of Jakku simply because she wasn’t wanted. How despicable the universe must have been to this little one for her to think anyone wouldn’t want her to be happy and safe.

Kriff, the only reason he handed her over the tribe to begin with was to keep her safe because he knew she wouldn’t be with him.

He sighs and slowly spins around once more. “That’s not what’s happening Rey.”

“Well, I sure know you didn’t come back for me! You obviously still don’t want me around!”

Din scowls. “You’re right,” he snaps at her, “I didn’t want you around. It’s dangerous and I don’t want to see you get hurt. That’s why I was taking you to my tribe; where you would have been safe while I looked for your family.” Rey stares at him and doesn’t utter a word to respond, and Din hesitates to continue. “Then they explained to me that you would do best staying with me. They would’ve loved to have you if you wanted to stay. Foundling’s are treasured by our culture; they are our future.”

“Oh.”

Din turns yet again, but Rey still hadn’t returned to her talkative self. Perhaps she was just tired like Xiyu had said. He glances down at the nav system he’d yet to set the coordinates into, then glanced back over his shoulder at Rey still staring out at the stars with a sad frown.

“Rey. Come here.” He gestures his hand to the space between himself and the control panel. “I need help inputting our next coordinates. And then I think it’s time you go down and sleep. It’s been a long day.”

Rey’s at his side in a matter of moments, wiping any lingering moisture in her eyes as she looks down at the display Din was pointing out to her. He guided her through punching in the correct numbers and she did well enough to coax a proud smile onto her face. She turned her grin up to him, looking for his validation and he gave it to her with a small nod of his head and awkward pat on the back.

“Now, go down and rest.”

Rey hesitates, her smile falling into a worried frown.

“You won’t leave me here?” Din doesn’t answer right away. “Right?” She reiterates a bit more desperately.

“No, I won’t leave you on the Crest.”

“Do you promise?” She holds up her hand to him, arching one brow in doubt.

Din stares at her outstretched palm in amusement. “What are you doing?”

Rey looks at him with a scoff. “It’s a handshake, dummy.” Din grunted. “It’s what people do when they agree on stuff,” she crosses her arms over her chest. “But you probably don’t know what that is, ‘cause you just punch ‘em till they do what you want.”

Din sighed to cover an involuntary chuckle and lifted his gloved hand towards her. She grabs it which ends up dwarfing her own as she shakes their joined hands adamantly and with such seriousness it was almost amusing.

Instead of letting go after the shake was finalized, Din gently tightens his grip on her hand and stands from the pilots chair, guiding her towards the ladder leading into the hull. It wasn’t exactly what he had expected of himself when he thought to tell the girl to go to bed, but something urged him to follow her down and make sure she was settled and comfortable in bed.

He begins by straightening out her bed of blankets on the floor which he had put the day prior as she went to the privy. So, it was all ready for her to dive right beneath the collection of blankets by the time she got out.

She’d forgone her new tunic and vest and had instead changed back into the oversized flight suit garb Din had let her borrow on her first night, claiming it was much more comfortable for sleeping. He says nothing more regarding that and drapes the top few blankets over her once she had settled.

“Am I allowed to ask questions?” She asks him meekly, pulling one of the blankets close to her nose as Din made sure she was situated properly and would remain warm throughout the night.

He nods.

“What kind of planet are we going to?”

Din stands and his knees pop slightly after kneeling on the hard floor. “It’s like Jakku, but with rocks.”

“Oh,” Rey nods, rolling onto her side so she could continue to look at him.

“Go to sleep.” He instructs with a tenderness that even surprised himself. “You need rest after such a long day.”

She listens. Smiling up at him just before her eyes slip closed. Her knees draw closer to her chest as she curls around her blankets. And he thinks she might have fallen asleep before he was even able to ascend the ladder.

***

It had taken approximately two and a half days before they landed on Arvala-7.

Din had used that time to clean the ship and do some on board maintenance he hadn’t gotten around to while he was twiddling his thumbs on Nevarro. Rey was a good help, always at his side and eager to aid him with whatever he asked, and apt to listen at whatever knowledge he was willing to bestow on her. She was much more subdued this time around though. She wasn’t nearly as talkative, and refrained from touching him in any way.

He should’ve found relief in her sudden change, but all he felt was guilt. He had broken her trust. The quiet was now almost suffocating in a way he’d never found it before, and it wasn’t like he knew how to fill a void of silence. He was perfectly fine working in silence—awkward or not—but what irked him was knowing the child was upset with him. The child he was supposed to be caring for, and he didn’t know how to fix it.

She would ask a necessary question here and there, but never really stemming from her parched curiosity. And considering the little she knew about the galaxy beyond her small world of Jakku, that could prove to be a hindrance later on if this continued. As his logic dictated, it was good for a child to be curious and question their surroundings. It was how they learned.

However, that was a problem he’d decided was to be tackled another time when he was perhaps a bit more comfortable with this newfound guardianship role. Instead, he’d found that Rey was quite proficient with the mechanics of his ship and was quick to catch on to small things he’d teach her, similar to her “piloting” skills which consisted mainly of fabricated procedures to keep her busy and entertained amongst the unprogrammed buttons and switches beside her seat. Either way, she was good at following instructions, even when he could tell she found some things just a bit ludicrous.

They spent quite a bit of time with each other on the Crest during those two days. It was inevitable considering the cramped quarters. And Din made extra care not to scold or discourage her if it was not necessary which most times it definitely wasn’t.

So, by the time they had landed, it was easy to tell Rey had grown a bit more comfortable with him. She was eager to help him land the ship, and that time he may have given her a few real switches to flip through. As soon as they’d touched down, she bolted down into the hull before everything could even be properly powered down. Din sighed in amusement and went about shutting down the Crest. By the time he’d slowly stepped his way into the hull, Rey was standing over by the loading ramp, dressed in her new clothes, hair done up in a proper braid, and her shoes on and ready to go with her makeshift staff in hand as she bounced on her toes.

“Someone’s eager.” He quipped lightly, tapping on his vambrace to open the weapons cabinet. He pulls out his rifle, tucks it under his arm and makes his way towards her, pushing a button on the control pad to lower the ramp. “Stick close to me. Understand?”

Rey nods emphatically, staring out at the rocky expanse that’s revealed as the ramp lowers to the muddy ground. Din could tell she was tempted to dart ahead of him to explore, but she does as he says and stays by his side as he moves to the middle of the small clearing he’d landed his ship in. He holds the fob outwards to test the signal and drops his arm in agitation as he looks out into the vacant landscape.

He turns towards Rey and holds out the fob towards her. “Your job is to hold this. Don’t lose it.”

She takes it from him, cradling it gently in her hands as she stares down at the blinking light. Din lifts his rifle to peer through the scope and she’s none the wiser as she traces the small box with her finger. Enthralled with the tiny device as it beeps slowly. She looks up just in time to see a big fishy creature charging right at them.

“Mando!” She shouts, startling the Mandalorian from his focus. He tosses her out of the way just as the beast grabs his arm and hauls him back a good ways, tossing him around like a dead womp rat.

Rey looked on horrified, frozen in place. For the first time since she met him, Mando didn’t seem to have the situation under control. It didn’t take but a couple more moments of her silent terror that she was shaking it off and charging the beast. It’d grabbed hold of Mando again after he’d escaped the first time and it didn’t look to be a very fair fight. She leapt onto its back, holding tight as she wails her fists and her staff on the tops and sides of its big head.

She’s bounced around on its back, but is somehow able to hold on for a good while before she goes down. Hard. The beast collapsed sideways, and she had to dive out of the way to avoid being crushed by its weight. Mando’s arm is still stuck in its mouth.

“Rey!” He shouts, waving his hand frantically at her. “Go! Get out of the way!” She turns just in time to see a second creature running at her and she dives forward to try and evade its charge, landing near Mando. He pushes her behind his body as the beast comes up on them acting as a proper shield, but at the last minute it keels over as well, a tingling blue spark spreading over its scaly body.

Rey holds onto his outstretched arm as she peers out from behind his back curiously. “What are those things?”

And then another one shows up, but it was much more subdued. Probably because of the Ugnaught riding on its back. Mando’s arm prevents her from moving out from behind him still as he slowly assessed the man.

“Thank you.”

“You are a bounty hunter.” The small man states in response.

“Yes.” He slowly lowers his arm, apparently assessing he was there to cause no harm and allowing Rey to properly crawl out from behind him.

She locks eyes with the man on top of the creature. He stares at her for a couple moments before speaking again. “I will help you… I have spoken.”

And with that he guided the large beast to turn and walk away.

Rey decided that she liked him, and she jumped to her feet with a smile, ready to follow. She does her best to be polite and help Mando up from the muddy ground also, but she doesn’t think she’s doing much more than offering the pleasantry as the large man takes her hand politely and grunts in his effort to stand up. She puts all her strength into it, her bodyweight too… so she likes to think she at least helped him a little bit.

Either way, she’s pleased he’s alright and trails beside him as they follow the Ugnaught back to his camp.

~ Next Chapter ~

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