#you must feel the full weight behind his decision to end somebody's life

[anakinisvaderisanakin]

Your Hand - (aka Ahsoka and Anakin/Vader meet up three years post RotS (AU oneshot))

“It is too late.”

Ahsoka shook her head vehemently, refusing to accept the montone delivery of what was doubtless the truth. He sounded nothing like the Anakin she’d known, even as she reached out with the Force, searching for him - sensing only cold; a juxtaposition between the burning hatred and the freezing tendrils of the Dark Side coiling around him like treacherous, lethal serpents, ready to strike and deliver their venom straight into her bloodstream. Ready to watch her writhe, screaming in pain, pleading for mercy. She should be terrified, yet all she felt was numbness. Empty, null, void. 

Palpative, making her throat burn and her eyes water. Refusing to budge, she took a tentative step towards the man she had once called master, the man who had taught her all she knew; all she cared to remember, harkening back to a past too painful to hold on to. Her older brother, her best friend, her anchor to her family.

“It’s not,” she persisted, ragged hands balled into tight fists; her face displaying what she hoped to be a determinate defiance.

He had taught her to fight back, taught her to be stubborn, to be relentless. Perhaps it may be the end of her, but if so, at least she would suffer no more. Besides, dying by his hand would be an honour. Swallowing hard; she locked her eyes onto the beeping red and green lights of his chest box. Monitoring his respiratory system mechanically, sustaining the suit keeping him alive. With his reputation, she should be terrified of him. Still, she felt an odd, eerie calm. No dread, no unease. No jittery nerves, only a solemn serenity. Only understanding, and a foreboding acceptance. Without thinking, she raised her left hand. She tugged with an invisible extension of her graceful fingers, manipulating the Force carrying her unspoken plea his way as a silent whisper; a demand. He flinched, and she knew he received it.

“You do not comprehend the things I have done,” he stated; but despite his resolute, booming profession that came off as more machine than human - enhanced by the vocoder aiding his feeble, scarred vocal cords - Ahsoka sensed his hesitance, his wavering emotions; his conflict.

Frowning, she doubled down on her efforts; scowling as she poured all her good will and intent into what had once been a powerful connection between them. She understood now that Anakin had severed it willingly, perhaps to spare himself from any painful reminders of the past. Perhaps, believing her dead but refusing to obtain concrete proof of his suspicion. Perhaps, he had simply wished to shield her if she were alive; despite all odds. Perhaps, he had known even through the foggy haze of the Dark Side that his fall would destroy her. Ahsoka held onto that thought, however wistful it may be. It reinvigorated her hope.

“I know what you’ve done,” she said; barely realizing she had spoken until he turned to face her.

She could not see his face; the familiar boyish features she knew so well concealed by a skullesque face plate. Jetblack, with large, hollow eye holes covered by semi opaque, red tinted lenses. She met those dead sockets without hesitation; unable to glimpse his pale blue eyes, but feeling them on hers. Unyielding. Were they even blue anymore? She remembered Maul’s eyes, and their sickly, yellowish glow - the bloodshot, crazed stare. If Anakin removed his mask, would he too sport the golden eyes of a predator; out for blood? 

Ahsoka would not relent, she would not give in. He had believed in her when no one else had, and she felt indebted to him - obliged to offer him the same benefit of doubt. Her hand was still hovering mid air; slender fingers outstretched; trembling with the effort as each second of rejection dragged on. She felt the buzzing tingles of his aura, of his Force signature. So different. Maimed, twisted, tormented and warped. Both decimated and accentuated at once. Less powerful than she remembered it, and yet more powerful than she could ever recall it. He was a riddle, a contradiction. Part of him seemed to want to tear her to pieces, the other more inclined to dive into her open embrace.

“Then you understand what I must do,” Anakin stated.

Ahsoka shuddered; sensing his malicious intent, and the blame. His spite, his envy, his hatred; his rage. But there was more. Sorrow, confusion, fear, guilt. A guilt so raw, so heavy, so thorough it made her bones ache; settling like a sodden weight at the pit of her stomach. Churning; gnawing, weary, sullen. 

Nodding, she shut her eyes with a soft sigh. For a moment her fingers trembled, and she considered giving up. Perhaps he was too far gone, perhaps there was no salvation. She shouldn’t offer him forgiveness, it was a selfish wish for a long since forsaken reconciliation. Still, when she once again met his stare; her resolve returned full throttle. She clenched her jaw and held her head high with a stern vigor; sending another compelling plea his way. She noted his shoulders were quivering, and realized he was beginning to buckle under the pressure of her quiet request.

“You don’t have to. You still have a choice.”

Anakin did not reply; the heavy cloth of his black cape, his robes dancing in the soft twilight breeze. Three years ago, he had left to save the Chancellor from General Grievous. Three years ago, she had been sent to liberate Mandalore from Maul’s puppet regime. Three years ago, the Republic had fallen. Three years now felt like a lifetime. 

Ahsoka had thought him dead - suspecting Maul’s cryptic prophecy may carry more weight than she cared to admit. He had sewn the seeds of doubt, and though she’d proclaimed him a liar - that uneasy, bitter feeling had never waned. Now, that she knew every word was true, she wasn’t sure what scared her more - the fact that she was so willing to blindly forgive Anakin for his crimes, or the fact that it mattered little to her at all what he had done. He was her brother, and she would not abandon him. Somewhere deep down, a small voice at the back of her mind nagged that this was her fault. If she had stayed behind, perhaps his undoing could have been prevented. If she had stayed, perhaps she could have done more for him.

“No, not anymore,” he shook his helmeted head; large gloved hands falling slack to his sides but he made no attempt to back away when Ahsoka took another slow, cautious step towards him. 

He smelled of synthetic materials, of bacta fluids, of sanitizers, of durasteel, of ashes and smoke and the cool, piercing winter air. The sound of his breathing was rhythmic; slow, and manufactured, and beyond his control. 

Ahsoka pitied him; and she knew he could sense it. He deserved the punishment he had brought upon himself; they both acknowledged that. Still, she wished to see him freed from his makeshift shackles. She took a deep breath, her now limp hand lingering between them. As soon as it fell, his time was up. She felt the lump grow in her throat, the telltale burning of tears prickling behind her eyes. She would not lose him again, he needed her as she needed him. She felt as if an invisible wall stood erected between them, preventing her from closing the figurative distance. She was already resigning herself to a reality in which she had failed. A reality in which Anakin was truly lost. 

He would never renege, never accept defeat, never admit his guilt. The power, Palpatine, the Empire. The Dark Side. It all had gone to his head. Ahsoka licked her lips, mouth dry, and spoke one last time.

“You always have a choice, but you’ve never made one for yourself. You’ve always allowed everyone around you to make up your mind for you. You’re only here, because of Palpatine’s choices. His lies. But his decisions don’t have to be yours. What does your heart tell you, Anakin?”

At the sound of his long since discarded name; he once more closed his large hands into tight fists - the power of the utterance, of those three syllables, immeasurable. Ahsoka feared she had made a mistake; that she had crossed the final line. That she had banished the remnants of the man she’d known, rather than saving him. Her arm trembled, remembering how Maul had offered her his tutelage with a similar, grand gesture. She, too, had made a choice then. Anakin was beyond her reach, the vicious; sneering jeers of her doubt taunted - and as tears blurred her vision, she almost believed it. 

Then, rough leather covered fingers brushed hers. Feigning off her tears; eyes stinging, Ahsoka stared at the large, gloved hand whose fingertips brushed hers in a shy; wary greeting. Wavering, uncertain, frightened. Unable to quite allow her to fully touch it; even as she turned her hand over, the palm facing downwards. She was offering him the chance to rebuild their relationship, to rebuild what semblance of his past he may. To make himself a new name, a new future, a new identity. Far away from the Emperor, out of sight and mind - free. Liberated from his chains, from his torments. 

Anakin’s shoulders trembled; his steadfast mechanical breathing and the chirping crickets the only noise in the early evening - apart from her stilted, sniffling hiccups. In the end, Ahsoka gasped as he finally grasped her hand tight; making the choice she had prayed but never dared hope for. His grip was firm, and harsh, and awkward - as if he’d forgotten how to be tender or gentle, how to nurture. He clung desperately to her; her own joints winging and protesting from the painful grip. Still, she held on as if her life depended on it. Perhaps it did. 

In the end, it didn’t matter.

Ahsoka felt scalding tears trickle down her smudged, ashen cheeks, but was unable to restrain the wide warm smile that spread across her face - tugging at the corners of her scabbed lips. Relief flooded her soul; and she poured it into Anakin’s end of their Force bond. It came back cautious, weary - but genuine. 

"Thank you," somebody said - be it Anakin, or herself, Ahsoka couldn't tell. Either way, it meant the same thing. It was all the reassurance she needed.

--------------

Just an idea I had, because it’s been nagging at the back of my mind - and I’m a sucker for Ahsoka and Anakin/Vader angst. So, here, at least it has a nicer ending that canon does for the two of them! Hope you enjoy. :3

Ao3 link below:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/27979074

#ahsoka tano #anakin skywalker #darth vader #lord vader #ahsoka #tano #fulcrum #anakin #skywalker #vader #star wars #sw #tcw #the clone wars #swtcw #swr #rebels #pt #post revenge of the sith #post rots #au #anakin and ahsoka #snips #skyguy #ani #little soka #soka #ashley eckstein #matt lanter #james earl jones

[aqua-murphys-law]

when it rains

Rating: K+ Warnings: panic attacks, breakdowns, self-depreciating thoughts Summary:

i’m only honest when it rains if i time it right, the thunder breaks when i open my mouth i wanna tell you but i don’t know how

~*~

With a life like Milo’s, it’s only a matter of time before he can’t just grin and bear it anymore. Some times are less convenient than others.

A/N: This started out as a purely self-indulgent “let Milo get angry and upset” whump fic, but hooooo boy there’s a lot to unpack now. My headcanons just will not give me a break. But hey, y’all get a +6k word fic out of the deal, so enjoy!

Check replies for a link to read on A03 for full tags, cause Tumblr hates links apparently! - Aqua

~*~

Of all the ways Milo Murphy has traveled to school, clinging to the top of a runaway ice cream stand that’s surfing a massive wave of pistachios is certainly one of the more palatable ones.

Hah, palatable- he almost makes the joke out loud, but between Zack’s screaming and Melissa’s shrieking laughter and the roar of wind and veering traffic in their ears, they probably won’t hear him. He files that pun away for later and turns his focus to their inevitable stopping; there’s a fountain up ahead that’s about the right height.

Adjusting his grip, Milo climbs over to the side of the stand, throwing its weight to the left. That changes its trajectory just enough to crash right into the fountain, tipping them and all the stand’s contents over into the small ocean of pistachios below. It’s like falling into a ball pit- if the balls in ball pits were tiny green nuts with miscellaneous ice cream sundae ingredients scattered about. Either way, it’s a soft enough landing, and the momentum carries them further down the road before the ground flattens out and they finally roll to a stop.

As fate would have it, the tidal wave of debris has carried them right to the school crosswalk, minutes before first bell. There’s a small group of their classmates waiting to cross, gaping at the wreckage. Milo picks himself out of the mess and dusts his knees off before helping Zack to his feet.

“Watch out for the banana peels,” Milo cautions. “They’re just as slippery in real life as they are in cartoons.”

Zack catches his breath. “Dude, that was kinda awesome.”

Milo’s heart swells happily, and he grins. “I’d say that’s one of our most palatable adventures yet.”

Zack’s eyes light up as he catches on, nudging Milo with his elbow. “It sherbet was!”

“No puns this early in the morning,” Melissa groans, picking pistachios out of her hair.

Milo digs a brush out of his backpack and hands it to her. “Sorry, Melissa,” he says good-naturedly.

“Yeah, sorry,” Zack says, “we know you don’t… cone-done that behavior.”

Milo hides a laugh behind his hand while Melissa lightly punches Zack’s arm before continuing to brush out the pistachios. Then he takes a second to look over the damage again, double-checking no one got caught in the crossfire. It’s a good thing the stand hadn’t been open yet when that freighter full of pistachios exploded-

“Stop! Milo.”

Milo looks over at the familiar voice, smiling. “Hi, Elliot.”

As always, the crossing guard is brandishing his stop sign at them. His attention seems to be split between staring at Milo and staring at the heap of food in the street.

Melissa rolls her eyes. “We’re already stopped,” she points out, passing the brush back to Milo. “You know, just a group of middle school kids, waiting for the crossing guard to help them cross the street?”

“Yeah,” Zack adds, “your job?”

Elliot makes a disbelieving sound. “What, the giant mountain of walnuts hasn’t stopped traffic enough as it is?”

“Actually, they’re pistachios,” Milo says helpfully, tucking the brush away. “And sure, but it’s really best to wait for authorized personnel to formally halt the flow of traffic using proper signage instead of taking your chances.”

“I know that!” Elliot protests, sounding irritable. He holds the stop sign out, gesturing with his other hand for them all to cross. “Alright, move it along, people…”

Milo is happy to do so, leaving Elliot’s grumbling behind. It’s always a good morning when he actually makes it to school, and on time. Walking beside him, Melissa’s already whipped her phone out to share the pictures she took during all the excitement, snickering at the way Zack’s eyes widen. Milo chuckles to himself; how she manages to get such incredible shots, he’ll never know.

They reach the sidewalk on the other side without incident. He can hear the echoes of sirens from responding emergency vehicles starting up across town and knows they’ll be at the scene in a couple minutes. That makes him feel better about heading inside before they arrive, though he laments the fact that he won’t get to thank them personally-

“You know, Murphy, these catastrophes would be a lot more bearable if you took them seriously.”

Milo pauses, tilting his head. Melissa and Zack are already frowning at Elliot, but he wants to make sure he’s accurately identified the disdain in Elliot’s voice and isn’t just missing sarcasm again.

“What do you mean?” he asks.

Elliot folds his arms with a huff, his stop sign sticking out at an angle. “I mean, you walk around with that grin on your face, brushing everything off like it’s no big deal.” He scowls at Milo over his glasses. “Do you even care about all the chaos you leave in your wake?”

Milo blinks, his smile faltering. Is that the impression people get from him?

Zack steps forward. “Hey man, back off,” he snaps at Elliot.

“Yeah,” Melissa chimes in, folding her arms, “you’re just bitter because people keep assuming you’re in your thirties.” She jerks her chin over at the doors. “Come on, Milo.”

Milo manages to smile again, but it feels strained. “Elliot, I can assure you that I understand the severity of Murphy’s Law,” he says carefully, moving to follow Melissa up the rest of the stairs.

“Well, you certainly don’t act like it,” Elliot gripes after them, a parting jab.

Milo should let it go, he knows he should. This is just how Elliot is; there’s no way somebody so pathologically obsessed with safety would ever see Milo as anything more than a hazard. But this is more than simply placing blame on him for Murphy’s Law. That, he’s used to. He can handle that.

What he can’t stand for is the implication that he doesn’t care when people get hurt. Not when he works so hard to avoid it- often at the expense of his own wellbeing. If he only worried about himself, Murphy’s Law would be exponentially easier to deal with. Most people don’t realize that.

He stops walking, turning to look Elliot dead in the eye. “What’s the alternative?” he asks, his face blank and voice held carefully neutral.

Elliot’s clearly surprised at the question. He hesitates, shooting a wary look at Melissa and Zack, before he manages a shrug. “I don’t know, just some indication that you’re actually sorry for everything going wrong all the time?”

Milo’s grip on his backpack goes white-knuckled. “You think I should feel sorry?” he asks quietly.

Elliot flounders for a second. “I, uh… well, yes?”

It’s one thing for Milo to impulsively feel responsible for any destruction caused by Murphy’s Law, before he can remind himself that it’s not his fault. But it’s another thing entirely for someone to tell him that he should feel that way, all the time.

“What would you like me to do?” he presses. “Walk around with my head hung low, overcome with guilt every time Murphy’s Law happens? Apologize constantly when the majority of the people in my life have been dealing with it for years? Or- or beat myself up over something I can’t change or control?”

Elliot’s eyes widen, his brows shooting up to his hairline. “Now listen, that’s not exactly what I said-”

“But it’s what you meant, right?” Milo asks in a voice he doesn’t recognize. It’s white-hot with anger, and he can feel the glare that’s drawing his eyebrows down into a point, the way it’s narrowing his eyes. It’s an unfamiliar expression.

Oh, this is dangerous territory. Anger isn’t safe; it clouds the mind and fosters rash decisions, preventing one from thinking clearly. He can’t afford to have his judgement skewed, his reaction time hampered by the distraction of wrestling emotions under control. Not here, when there’s so many people around who could get hurt by his inability to act if something were to happen.

Melissa tugs Milo by the arm, trying to pull him away. “Milo, come on, he’s not worth it,” she says, her voice low and urgent.

The concern in her voice pricks at him. He’s aware, to some degree, that they’ve attracted an audience; the other kids that crossed with them are lingering, whispering to each other. He’s aware that his heart is starting to race and his skin feels flushed, the unpleasant physical effects of anger. And he’s especially aware of Zack’s gaze on him, what he must be thinking of the whole situation.

But Milo abruptly finds that he doesn’t care. Maybe that should concern him, too.

Elliot holds up his hands, something akin to panic flashing across his face. “Hey, look, I didn’t-”

“If I let myself feel bad every time Murphy’s Law happened, I’d never stop,” Milo says sharply. “Do you realize that? You’re only exposed to Murphy’s Law in the brief moments I’m around you. But for me, it never ends. It doesn’t have a weekly schedule, it doesn’t take days off. It doesn’t even stop when I’m asleep. And I will be dealing with it for the rest of my life.”

A horrible silence follows, even Elliot seeming lost for words.

Chills erupt across Milo’s skin. The fiery anger inside him suddenly extinguishes, leaving him cold and hollow. He’s struck with the realization that in his lashing out, he’s only just upset himself more. Because he doesn’t like to think about the future, about how everything he’s experienced so far in his short life is just the tip of the iceberg, and there he goes, now he’s thinking about it-

Something wet runs down his cheek.

Instinctively, Milo looks up to find the source. But there aren’t any clouds in the sky threatening a sudden downpour, no leaky pipes or anything else to drip water on him. Brows knitting in confusion, he absently reaches a hand up to his face.

Then his eyes start to sting as his vision blurs, and it hits him.

He’s crying.

… he’s crying?

A sound gets choked in his throat, something that sounds suspiciously like a whimper. Horror sweeps through him but it’s rapidly being outdone by the overwhelming hysteria.

Oh no. No, no, no, he can’t be crying, not here. He stumbles away from Elliot, his backpack hitting the stair railing with a soft thud, and presses the heels of his palms against his burning eyes. Stop, stop, stop! Colors bloom behind his closed lids, intensifying as he increases the pressure until it’s almost painful, desperately willing the tears to go away.

He’s not supposed to be crying at school. If there’s anything more distracting than anger, it’s crying. There are too many people around him, something could go wrong at any second and he won’t be able to protect them like this- something could be going wrong right now and he won’t notice because he’s too busy falling to pieces.

Panic kicks in, and the harsh echo in his ears tells him he’s hyperventilating. That’s definitely not helping, but the part of him that realizes this is remarkably absent, like he’s become disconnected from his own body.

The rest of him is pretty sure he’s about to die. And not in the way he’s familiar with.

Two hands circle his wrists, pulling them down from his eyes in a grip that’s gentle yet firm. Melissa’s face swims into focus.

~*~

Melissa searches Milo’s face, her heart sinking.

“Milo?” she tries. “You okay?”

Milo doesn’t respond, but he squeezes his eyes shut, sending a few more tears streaking down his face. She can feel his pulse jumping under the scarred skin of his wrists. His heartbeat, normally so steady, is running fast and erratic.

Something is very wrong.

“Woah, uh, is he okay?” Elliot asks, alarmed.

“You don’t get to talk,” Melissa hisses at him before turning back to Milo. It’s incredibly hard to push her anger down, but she has to, for his sake. “Milo,” she says, softer, “it’s me. You’re alright. We’re gonna go somewhere else, okay?”

Milo still doesn’t respond, but he curls a little closer to her. Melissa takes a second to shoot a warning look at the other kids gathered around. “Give us some space,” she orders them. And then, “Zack, you’re with me.”

They must hear the barely restrained fury in her voice, because the doors are cleared in record time. Zack unfreezes and swiftly places himself on the other side of Milo, his hands fidgeting like he isn’t sure what to do with them.

Gently, Melissa starts leading Milo up the stairs, into the school. Thankfully, he follows. He seems to be in a daze, too focused on his internal panic to take notice of what’s going on around him. Melissa is suddenly very grateful that she and Zack are here, because if Milo were alone in such a state, he wouldn’t be able to protect himself from any Murphy’s Law incidents.

Speaking of Zack, the other boy has moved slightly in front of them, paving a way through the various students still lingering in the halls before class.

“Where to?” he asks over his shoulder, voice tight with worry.

“Somewhere quiet and out of the way.”

“Under the stairwell?”

Melissa follows Zack’s gaze to the stairwell before nodding swiftly. They make a beeline for it, swerving only to avoid a ceiling tile that drops out of its frame above them. She catches the edge of it with her shoe and sends it skidding along the floor, out of the way. Serves it right.

She ducks under the stairwell, careful to pull Milo down after her so he doesn’t hit his head. The little alcove is a bit dusty, but it’s quiet and away from prying eyes, so it’ll do. She shrugs her backpack off and sits against the wall, taking Milo’s weight.

He leans on her heavily, like he doesn’t have the energy to hold himself upright. She’s tempted to slip off his backpack as well, since that’s probably accounting for a third of his weight right now, but she knows that would only make him panic further.

He’s still breathing way too fast for her liking, blinking rapidly to try and fight back tears. The glassy look in his eyes is so unlike him, it makes her heart clench painfully.

Zack’s voice hovers anxiously somewhere above her. “Has this happened before?”

“Not in public,” Melissa answers shortly. Then she swallows hard and forces her voice to come out calm and gentle. “Hey Milo, you with me?”

It takes a second for Milo to find her eyes, trembling all the while.

Melissa holds his gaze, pouring as much reassurance into it as she can. “Good, that’s good. Zack’s here with us. Is that alright?”

Milo doesn’t look over at Zack, but he manages a nod.

“Okay,” Melissa murmurs. She takes a quick look to make sure no one’s wandering by the stairwell before turning back to Milo. “We’re alone now, just us three. We’re safe.” She takes a deep breath. “Go ahead.”

Milo’s face crumples. “Melissa-”

He finally breaks, burying his face in her shoulder. His sobs are partially muffled by her jacket- which is quickly becoming damp- but she can feel the force of each one, the way his chest heaves for breath. He holds her arms like his life depends on it, pressing close to her as if he’s trying to hide away from the world.

Even though she’s preparing herself for it, hearing him cry brings a fresh wave of tears to her own eyes. Stubbornly, she stares up at the ceiling until they recede. She can’t break down right now. Milo needs her.

Think about something else, something funny. Like how great it’s going to feel to get Elliot back for this. There’s a petting zoo service nearby that rents out ducks. If she places an order soon, she could probably get them before Monday. How many ducks is too many, she wonders?

“So hey, uh, what’s going on?” Zack’s low murmur brings her out of the daydream. He’s looking at Milo with a stricken expression. “Is he going to be okay?”

Melissa exhales, blowing a loose strand of hair out of her face. “He will be,” she says softly. “He’s just overwhelmed.”

Zack runs a hand through his hair. “Is- is there anything I can do?” he asks helplessly.

There isn’t much, but she can tell just from looking at him that his anxiety is skyrocketing right now, on the verge of his own panic attack. Giving him something, anything else to focus on might help.

“Keep people off us, and watch for any trouble,” Melissa decides.

It’s strange to think that she’s only known this boy for a few months, yet she’d trust him with hers and Milo’s wellbeing. But Zack’s proven he can handle Murphy’s Law, and she knows he’ll protect them with everything he’s got.

She’s proven right when Zack’s expression hardens, and he nods. Turning around, he goes to stand at the mouth of the alcove, blocking her and Milo from view of the hallway. His hands twitch at his sides, ready to act. Just like that.

Not for the first time, Melissa is thankful that Zack became their friend. Milo chose well.

And speaking of Milo, the panic seems to have finally ebbed. Now it’s just regular crying, without the hyperventilating and shaking. The knot in her stomach loosens, but only slightly- they aren’t out of the woods yet.

Gently, she drums her fingers along his spine, beating a soothing rhythm against the body armor he wears under his clothes. The muffled thuds are too light for him to feel; it’s really just so he has a sound to focus on. She’s found that helps, in the past.

But she doesn’t try to shush him. Now that he’s actually crying, he needs to get it all out. She tries to imagine that her arms around Milo are a safety net, allowing him to be vulnerable without fear. She hopes he can pick up on it.

The next several minutes pass in relative calm- if holding your friend while he has a breakdown can be considered calm. A couple times, Melissa catches wind of something going on in the hallway, some likely improbable object coming their way. But thanks to Zack’s vigilance, nothing comes close, letting her focus all her attention on Milo.

It’s not long after second bell when Milo starts to come back to himself. His grip on her arms tightens and then immediately slackens, and the next breath he takes is a deep one, though it shudders on the exhale.

There are a couple moments where Milo is still and quiet, just the occasional sniffle as his breathing evens out. Then he pulls back enough to look at Melissa, his eyes red and teary but no longer vacant.

“Melissa?” he breathes, his voice small.

Melissa lets out a sigh of relief, managing a tired smile. “There you are.”

“Hey, buddy.” As relieved as Melissa feels, Zack sounds about a hundred times more so. He kneels down next to them, his hand once again awkwardly hovering over Milo’s shoulder before retreating. “How you feeling?”

Milo glances around, taking in their surroundings. Melissa can almost see the moment realization hits; his mouth presses into a tight line before he looks away, wiping at his eyes. “Guys, I- I am so sorry-”

“Don’t you dare,” Melissa cuts him off sternly.

Milo swallows hard, tucking his knees to his chest. “But it’s my fault. I shouldn’t have lost my cool back there,” he mumbles guiltily. “It was just Elliot being, y- you know, Elliot, and I got-”

“Rightfully upset,” Melissa finishes for him, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“Yeah, dude, you’ve got nothing to apologize for,” Zack agrees.

Milo’s smile is thin, but his eyes are thoughtful. Melissa hopes they’ve gotten through to him. She isn’t going to push it any more, though, not right now.

“Now, c’mon, let’s get off the floor,” she says, straightening up. “My legs are falling asleep.”

Milo accepts the hand she offers him, letting her pull him up and out from under the stairwell. He looks a little shaky on his feet, his face still paler than normal, but he jolts when he notices the clock.

“Oh no, we’re late for first period. We’d better-”

“Nuh uh.” Melissa holds fast to his arm. “After a bout like that, you need to go home and rest.”

Milo hesitates. “I miss so much school already…”

Melissa shakes her head. “Doesn’t matter. Mental health days are included under excused absences, you know. We’ll let the teachers know and grab your homework for you.”

“Seriously, it’s alright,” Zack says softly.

Milo studies them both before nodding. “Okay,” he relents. “Thanks.”

Melissa whips out her phone to text his mom. As she does so, she notices Milo is starting to lean against Zack for support. The other boy doesn’t seem to mind, his arm automatically shifting around Milo’s shoulders. It seems his earlier reservations are gone, now that Milo’s sought out the contact. It’s a cute sight.

“Alright,” Melissa tucks her phone away, “your mom’s on her way over. I asked her to meet us in the back lot, just in case the jerk-who-shall-not-be-named is still skulking around.”

Milo nods slightly, giving her a grateful smile before his gaze lowers again.

Now that he’s given up on toughing out the day, he’s starting to withdraw. He doesn’t always go nonverbal after a crying spell, but the panic attack has to have done a number on him.

They aren’t common for Milo, panic attacks. Melissa knows his stress response is… highly abnormal. Even before she met him, he’d been living in a constant state of stress for years. She’s not sure if he’s learned to tune it out, or if his body has just stopped responding to common stressors by this point. But she knows he rarely gets a physical reaction to danger, that ‘fight or flight’ response that spikes you up with adrenaline.

This is clearly a different ball game. The only time she can recall anything remotely similar to this happening was the first time she got seriously hurt by Murphy’s Law. And it didn’t even happen on the spot; he hadn’t broken down until visiting her in the hospital after the fact.

That was a long time ago, but it left quite the impression. The hyperventilating and shaking, she remembers. And that distant, glassy expression. It was something she hoped she’d never have to witness again, but of course, life has other plans.

Not that she blames Milo for it. After all, however difficult this is for her, it’s much, much worse for him. Losing control of his emotions hits him hard, because his life is already so out of control as it is. The one thing he should always have control over is himself, but he doesn’t.

And even though she’s long since made peace with the idea that life isn’t fair, this feels particularly, especially unfair. With all the danger Murphy’s Law brings, Milo shouldn’t have to deal with guilt, judgmental crossing guards, or a misplaced sense of responsibility so severe that he feels like he isn’t even allowed to cry.

Her expression must be troubled, because Milo lightly bumps against her arm. By the time she looks over, he’s already averted his gaze again- eye contact is probably a bit much for him right now- but she appreciates the gesture anyways.

‘Don’t worry,’ he seems to be saying.

Well… she can try not to, for his sake.

~*~

Zack can’t help stealing glances at Milo as they make their way down the hall.

He knows he shouldn’t be staring, because Milo doesn’t seem too keen on eye contact at the moment. It’s just hard to resist the urge to check up on him. Most of Zack’s focus was on keeping Murphy’s Law at bay, so he couldn’t really keep tabs on how the situation was going.

He can’t shake how jarring it was to see Milo like that. It’s a very good thing Melissa was there to snap him into action, because if she hadn’t, he probably would’ve just stood there frozen like a complete idiot, not helping the situation at all.

And how sad is that? Milo saves Zack over and over again, every time disaster strikes, but the one time Milo really needs him, Zack’s totally useless.

He should’ve seen that the conversation was going south and shut it down. He should’ve stood up for Milo more, or tried to get him out of the situation. He should’ve-

There’s a slight tug at the hem of his shirt. When he turns his head, he finds Milo’s hand gripping there. Not pulling, or trying to get his attention- Milo’s facing straight ahead, eyes downcast. Just, holding. Whether it’s an attempt to give comfort or receive it, Zack’s not sure.

But it does give him something else to focus on, aside from the spiraling thoughts in his head, and he smiles softly. Just in case Milo can see it out of the corner of his eye.

It’s a good reminder; there’s no point in dwelling on the past. He needs to keep moving forward, like Milo does.

They reach the back doors without issue, and are greeted by an empty parking lot. Fortunately, there aren’t any late stragglers- aside from them, of course. It’s a nice day, not too cold, so Zack doesn’t mind waiting a few minutes. Maybe the fresh air will help Milo. It’s certainly helping Zack.

He lets out a deep breath, feeling a little better for it. Milo settles further against his side while they wait, his cheek pressed against Zack’s shoulder. That steals the breath Zack just got back, but that’s the least of his concerns right now.

He’s not sure if he’s relieved or disappointed when Mrs. Murphy’s car pulls into the lot. Milo perks up a bit, though still remains silent as his mother exits the car. She takes in Milo’s current state with no comment, just a sad, knowing look in her eyes, and Zack wonders if this is more common than he realized.

“You ready to go, honey?” she asks kindly.

Milo hesitates for a second, then turns and abruptly gives a hug to the both of them. It’s a quick thing, but Zack feels his face heat up immediately; Milo’s never hugged him before. And that thought is followed by his heart swelling almost painfully, because Milo’s never hugged him before. With that context, it’s a deeply touching gesture.

After stepping away, Milo darts over to his mom, hiding his face in her side. She smooths a hand over his hair, murmuring something too low for Zack to hear, before smiling at them gratefully. “Thanks, you two.”

“No problem, Mrs. Murphy,” Melissa replies. “Feel better soon, Milo.”

“Yeah, take it easy,” Zack calls after them.

The car pulls away, and Zack can see Diogee clambering into Milo’s lap before they’re out of view. That makes him feel a little better. Still, he sends a quick prayer to the universe that the car ride goes smoothly, without any Murphy’s Law incidents. Milo really deserves a break.

Next to him, Melissa stands motionless, watching the car leave. Zack clears his throat. “Well, we should probably head back…”

Melissa shakes her head, sitting down on the steps. “First period’s already half-over by now, no point in going.” She shrugs. “Plus, we need to talk this out, or it’ll turn into one of those weird unspoken things.”

“Oh.” Hesitantly, Zack sits down next to her. If Melissa is willing to play hooky, it must be important. “Alright, then.”

They sit in silence for a few moments, listening to the sounds of distant traffic. He’d been expecting Melissa to start the conversation, but she seems to be waiting for him, instead. Waiting to see what his reaction is.

It hadn’t taken long for Melissa to go from ‘Milo’s only other friend’ to ‘Milo and Zack’s friend.’ Once she warmed up to him, she’d moved right along to acting like they’d known each other for years. But they certainly haven’t had any deep, serious discussions before. He’s not quite sure how to proceed.

Zack rubs the back of his neck, feeling awkward. “So, uh… that happened.”

“Yep.” Melissa exhales heavily, but her expression is sympathetic. “I’m sorry you weren’t more prepared, it’s just that he tries to handle these things privately.”

Zack frowns. “These things? What do you mean?”

Melissa stares out over the parking lot, her brows knit together. “Milo breaks bones on a monthly basis. He comes away with some kind of injury on a near-daily basis. And the constant threat of danger plus the massive amount of effort required to deal with it would be enough to drive anyone to tears.”

“And…?” Zack prompts, confused.

Melissa glances at him out of the side of her eye. “Before now, have you ever seen him cry?”

Zack opens his mouth to reply, ‘Of course I have!’ because surely it would’ve happened at some point. He knows Milo gets hurt frequently, he’s watched it happen. But as he thinks about it, he can’t actually recall a time when tears were involved. Not even for broken bones.

“I… woah, you’re right,” Zack realizes, his stomach dropping.

Melissa nods grimly. “He doesn’t like crying. Says it messes with his ability to react to Murphy’s Law. So he just… doesn’t let himself cry, most of the time, no matter how hurt he gets. It’s been like that for as long as I’ve known him.”

It takes a second for the full implications to hit Zack. “Wait, didn’t you guys meet when you were six?”

“Yep.”

“Oh.” Zack swallows. They might be old enough now that crying isn’t as common, but Milo’s been like this since he was six, possibly younger. Zack himself was a bit of a crybaby at that age, even a skinned knee sending him into hysterics.

And sure, maybe it’s embarrassing to look back on, but that’s normal for little kids.

Milo didn’t get to have that.

“That’s… kinda sad,” Zack murmurs.

“I know,” Melissa sighs. “Of course, he can’t bottle it up forever. And crying is an important chemical release, it’s healthy. So he just puts it off until he’s safe at home, usually on a weekend. That way, he’s got his family there to look out for him, and he doesn’t have to worry about anyone else getting caught up in Murphy’s Law. I’ve only been there for a handful of them, but he probably goes for months in between. It’s… a lot of buildup.”

The pieces are starting to fall into place. Zack inhales sharply. “So, when he does finally let himself cry…”

Melissa gives him a thin smile. “Well, you know what they say. When it rains, it pours.” She wraps her arms around herself. “But this time was worse than normal, because he was having a panic attack on top of it. He really didn’t want to break down at school.”

Zack nods slowly, brows furrowing. “Wow. I had no idea.”

Melissa makes a noncommittal noise. “It’s not your fault, he doesn’t like people to know.”

Alarm shoots through Zack. This is a deeply personal aspect of Milo’s life. What if he wasn’t ready for Zack to see it? What if Zack’s intruding?

Melissa must have noticed the panic on his face, because she waves him off. “Don’t worry, him letting you stay was giving permission for me to tell you this. Just, people, in general. He puts a lot of work into staying upbeat all the time, and he doesn’t want that ruined by something like this.”

Zack chews on his lip, only slightly relieved. Quite a few people saw the beginning of the whole thing. “Is he gonna be okay? I know it was just some kids from class, but…”

“I think he will be,” Melissa says thoughtfully. “He’s been branching out a lot more this year, in terms of making friends.” She smiles faintly at him. “We’ve got you to thank for that.”

The sudden diverge throws Zack for a loop. “What do you mean?”

Melissa leans back on her elbows, contemplative. “I mean, if Milo and I started a band last year, Mort wouldn’t have dreamed of joining. If we’d been crazy enough to have a birthday party, no one would’ve come. For as long as all of us here can remember, Milo’s just had me. But seeing you give him a chance… I don’t know, I think it’s helped them realize they don’t have to stay so far away.”

Zack’s stunned. “I… guess I hadn’t thought about it.”

That’s an understatement. Zack found his place so readily within this new school that he hadn’t stopped to consider what things had been like before. He knows Milo didn’t have any close friends aside from Melissa, but had the other kids in class always been nothing more than scant acquaintances? Was it new for them to engage Milo in conversation or willingly be around him?

Then Zack thinks back to the day they met, at the bus stop. The way the other kids there had immediately scrambled away from Milo, expressions full of fear. And he’s pretty sure he knows the answer.

Melissa hums. “Yep. You’re a trendsetter.”

Zack rubs his arm, embarrassed. He really doesn’t deserve accolades just for giving Milo a chance. “So… do you cry often?” he ventures, changing the subject.

Melissa rolls her eyes at him. “I’d say a normal amount, for someone in my circumstances. Whenever I’m seriously hurt, you can bet I’m crying about it. Not everyone can just block out that kind of pain.” Her expression sobers. “But even on the emotional side of things, if there’s ever a particularly rough day, then yeah, I’ll go home and cry it out. It’s a good release.”

“Huh.” Zack scratches his head. “Gotta say, I’m a little surprised. You seem to handle Murphy’s Law so well, you know?”

Melissa snorts. “Yeah, only because I let myself cry every now and them. No one can deal with all that disaster and destruction without it getting to them. Not even Milo.”

“Fair point,” Zack amends.

“So, what about you?” Melissa elbows him. “C’mon, don’t be a hypocrite.”

Zack flushes. “I mean, yeah, sometimes,” he admits. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad to be friends with Milo, but Murphy’s Law can be… stressful.” Particularly on top of his normal anxiety, but she doesn’t need to know that.

Melissa nods approvingly. “Good. Own it. Being part of a Murphy’s life has its ups and down. It also has its own set of rules.”

“Like what?” Zack asks, tilting his head.

“You need to make sure you relieve stress on a regular basis, whether that’s through crying or something else. And you need to relax on a regular basis, too. Not necessarily in that order,” she adds, as an afterthought.

Zack raises his eyebrows. “Oh, okay. Anything else I should be aware of?”

Melissa counts them off on her fingers. “Stay hydrated, get regular sleep, have a good amount of protein in the diet…”

“That just sounds like normal self-care stuff,” Zack points out flatly.

Melissa squints at him. “Touché.” Then she snaps her fingers. “Gargling salt water can help your throat recover from over-screaming. Oh, and Murphys are legally protected from being discriminated against by an accord written in the early 1900’s, so don’t be afraid to cite it. Also, Milo craves physical affection from those he’s close to, but he doesn’t feel he has the right to ask for it.”

Zack blinks. “Figure all this out yourself?”

“Nah, Mrs. Murphy had some tips.” Melissa’s humor fades. “Seriously though, I noticed your hesitation back there. That’s a good instinct, since plenty of people don’t like to be touched during panic attacks. But you don’t need to worry about it with Milo, that’s one of the few times he actually seeks out comfort.”

Zack jolts with surprise. He hadn’t though Melissa would pick up on that- at the time, he was hardly aware of what he was doing, himself. “Oh, alright then.”

“And just for the record,” Melissa’s expression turns mischievous, “if you were a little more forthcoming with physical affection on a day-to-day basis, I don’t think Milo would mind.”

Zack jumps to his feet like he’s been electrocuted, choking on air. “O- oh, sure, of course. Being close to Milo, I don’t have a problem with that, why would I have a problem with that?” he babbles, feeling his face heat up. “I mean, I don’t not have a problem with it, I mean, not more than the normal amount for two friends-” Okay, Zack, time to shut up now.

Melissa just snickers at him, standing up and dusting off her skirt. “C’mon, it’s about time to head in. Ready for a completely average, boring, uneventful day?”

Zack sighs, shoving his hands in his pockets with a rueful grin. “If we must.”

Maybe it’s not so bad to have a little time to process things, considering how much he has to process.

~*~

Milo’s only been curled up on the couch for a couple hours when his phone buzzes.

It’s a selfie from Melissa, in science class. She’s angled the phone to get Zack in the background of the shot; he’s clearly dozing, eyelids drooping as he rests his chin in his hand. Melissa’s giving the camera a knowing look, and the caption reads, ‘Someone’s missing you!’

Milo’s heart skips a beat. He quickly attributes it to surprise that Melissa is actually texting in class- though he knows she’s just checking in with him. It’s a thoughtful gesture, and he sends a couple emojis back. Words, even in text form, are still hard right now. But he knows she’ll understand, because she and Zack are the best friends a Murphy could ask for.

He’s lucky like that, to not have to weather this storm alone.

~*~

#milo murphy's law #mml #my writing

[ertrunkenerwassergeist]

Heart of Thunder - Chapter 2

It’s here people! Also a Link to AO3 like always!

Nyx and Cor talk about what happened like the responsible grown-ups they are. Nyx flails and Cor is way too stubborn for his own good. 

List of words: Galahkari = people of Galahd ahtri = spirit; umbrella term for everything from actual nature spirits to the presence of their ancestors kohna = swearword; along the lines of shit 

Nyx threw back his head and laughed. He laughed and laughed until he cried and the muscles in his stomach started to protest. Some of the onlookers still mingling around the General – Leonis – Cor – and him stopped and stared, but didn't dare to come any closer. Right the opposite. They seemed to be happy to stay where they were and loudly, with quite a few exaggerated movements, discuss what they had just witnessed.

Cor – and he really was Cor now was he? Not General, not Ser. But Cor. Nyx squashed the voice in his head whispering about how this could go south so damned fast it wasn't even funny. His fiancée – oh ahtrii, he had a fiancée now! - still hadn't moved since Nyx had touched their foreheads in a Galahdian greeting between close family members. That must have been a bit much.

He... probably shouldn't have done that.

Kohna.

They had been engaged for less than 15 minutes and already he had messed up.

Nyx barked another laugh at the utter ridiculousness of the situation and grinned at Cor, wide and free and possibly a touch hysteric.

He could practically hear the Elders complain about this already.

For but a moment he looked from Cor to his best friend. Libertus stood there, grinning from one ear to the other, and gave him a thumbs up when their eyes met. Nyx would have liked nothing more at this exact moment but to painfully murder him. Crowe stood half a step behind Libertus and flashed Nyx a smile that made him want to hide in a hole. Then she proceeded to size Cor up like he was a piece of meat. It was better not to think too hard about this, for the sake of his own sanity.

The warm hand coming to rest on his free forearm nearly startled him bad enough to hiss. It was Cor. His stormy eyes blazed with something Nyx could not name and made his stomach flutter. The older man leaned in the tiniest bit and just kept looking at him with a slight frown on his face. In a sudden bout of nervousness Nyx licked his lips and jerked his head towards the nearest door leading into the barracks.

Cor nodded, his frown getting a bit less intense, and let him go.

They walked in silence. It wasn't tense exactly, but charged with something Nyx really didn't want to think about right now. Thankfully the crowd let them through without incident. It made him so happy that his people weren't prone to sticking their noses in other peoples businesses, unlike most Lucians.

Their gossip rags were a thing of his nightmares. Not that he would ever admit that to anybody. Nyx opened the door towards a small break room he knew to be empty at this time of the day. There wasn't much in it. A small table with four chairs grouped around it and a tiny kitchenette with barely enough space for an electric kettle, an assortment of teas and a few cups.

He could really use a tea right about now. With practised motions he set about preparing two cups of bamohn root tea after getting a silent nod out of Cor. Nyx suppressed a sigh. This was going to be so difficult.

They waited another few minutes in utter silence until the tea was finished. It didn't help Nyx' nerves at all. Barely there tremors shook his hands as he waited for the tea to be ready. In an attempt to calm himself the fuck down – he was the man who could kill a behemoth in one hit; he shouldn't need to calm down when he was about to have a talk with somebody, damn it – he stroked the soft fur of the coeurl's skin he still wore wrapped around him.

It was utterly beautiful. Judging from the form and width of the two long conducting whiskers this one had been a fully grown male that had probably lived somewhere near the Taelpar Crag. There and around the meteor plants and animals tended to grow... strangely or not at all. This coeurl had been nearly as big as his Galahdian cousins, but still lacked their horns.

Cor was watching him, lounging in his metal chair like a confident predator waiting for his prey.

Both of them stared at each other over their steaming cups, the smell bringing a certain comfort and a stab of painful longing to Nyx. It reminded him of a home that was long gone. He sighed.

“It just had to be a coeurl's skin,” Nyx started, more to himself, with a weak smile that was gone as fast as it had appeared.

“Coeurls and Ulrics belong together. That much I learned over the years. What I don't know is what it means,” said Cor, his hands wrapped around the garishly yellow chocobo cup in front of him.

Nyx tried to keep the pleasant surprise off his face, but he knew he had failed at that endeavour with the way the other man looked at him.

“I have worked with you – you call yourselves Galahkari, right? I have worked with the Galahkari for over a decade now; since before Galahd proper fell. During that time I was able to pick up a few things.”

“What kind of things?” Nyx couldn't help but ask. This... actually bode pretty well.

For them.

Potentially.

Better not get ahead of himself there.

“I know the colours of every clan within the Kingsglaive as well as any potential feud between them. My apologies for not always managing to keep them separated. What I managed to pick of your language is mostly limited to curse words. Other than that your people are hard to pin down. I do not give much stock in the things 'most people know'. To me, they have been mostly proven false.”

“That's... quite a lot.” For a Lucian, he didn't say, but by the way the General tilted his head in an acknowledging nod, he had heard it anyway.

A short silence followed, in which Nyx busied himself with sipping at his tea. He tried his best at gathering his thoughts. No matter how he would explain this, it was bound to get messy. He swallowed his dread and looked the other man square in the eyes.

“What you did,” Nyx started and motioned with a hand in the free space between them, “is a commitment for life on both our parts. It's ancient and sacred; it has been done this way since the first of my ancestors settled on Galahd.” He stopped, not quite sure how to continue.

“And what did I commit us both to?” asked Cor, his face utterly serious.

Nyx' first instinct was to grin and say something along the lines of 'nothing too bad', but... well. So he took a deep breath and took the plunge.

“We're engaged.”

It took great effort not to wince.

“Engaged,” repeated Cor, his voice flat and without any inflexion whatsoever.

Nyx nodded. “Yes.”

“...How?”, asked Cor after a few heartbeats of tense silence.

With a mirthless grin Nyx stroked the silver and grey fur over his shoulders. Stormy eyes tracked every little movement his fingers made.

“It just had to be a coeurl's skin,” he repeated his earlier words. “Anything else – anything at all – and I could've declined without losing face or angering my ancestors and the spirits. But with this? Declining now means we're inviting a worse fate than death. It means curses, and those are not to be trifled with. You just hit all the right marks to make it impossible to say no. A coeurl's fur given to me – an Ulric – in front of a full hunting party and those closest to me in the absence of clan members and blood family.”

He knew he was starting to ramble, but right now he didn't care. He just needed to make the other man understand that he hadn't had any other choice but to accept. That would just have invited tragedy. There were stories from the early days of his clan, where members had declined such an Offering of Intention, and none of them ended well.

“So you made this decision for both of us because you fear being cursed by ghosts,” stated Cor. Through the cracks of his iron composure Nyx could finally see the disbelieve and fury he had expected from the moment they had stepped into this room.

Nyx wanted to wince, stand up and go somewhere where he could throw himself off a cliff or something, but he didn't. Because that would be denying himself the chance to... he didn't know what, but he wouldn't let it slip his grasp. So instead, he bared his teeth in an aggressive snarl. How could he make this man understand?

For the first time the older man broke eye contact and shook his head, as if to clear his thoughts.

“My apologies,” he murmured in a low voice that sent shivers down Nyx' spine, and inclined his head. “If somebody should know that spirits and ghosts are more powerful than most people think, it is me.”

Taking a deep breath, Nyx tugged at his clan-braid and tried to calm down. It was okay, they were not going to kill each other, everything was fine.

“It's alright,” he said. It wasn't Cor's fault that he was a straahnos – an unknowing outsider.

Nyx felt the other's gaze weight heavily upon him. It clearly communicated how convinced he was of that statement: that was to say, not at all. Okay, so maybe it wasn't alright, but Nyx was hardly going to admit that now. There were more important things to focus on right now than his religious believes, or why Cor Leonis of all people had insight into spirits and curses.

“Explain this to me. From the beginning.”

It sounded more like an order than a request, but sill, Nyx couldn't help but feel grateful about having a chance to explain all of this. Again he tugged at his braid. His mother and sister would have berated him for that habit. He started to talk before his thoughts could linger on them.

“You said you already know that coeurls and my clan are connected in some way. There are stories about how Ulrics are reincarnated coeurls, another says that in the early days we were blessed by the Queen of the Jungle and then there is one about a coeurl that took on a human form to marry a member of my clan.

In Galahkari culture, when we are interested in marrying someone, we present that person with a hunting trophy. It can be anything from any animal – bones, teeth, fur, feathers, even the meat or blood – as long as we hunted it ourselves and without help. The more difficult the better and the chances of the suit being accepted are also higher the closer the animal is tied to the clan in question.”

Nyx took a sip from his now lukewarm tea. His nervousness had largely left him. Cor sat in his chair across from him, straight backed and attentive, listening carefully to every word he said. That was... good.

“When you presented me with a coeurl's skin you acknowledged their ties to my clan, and that you didn't hunt it down but killed the poachers who did it, and did that alone, shows that you respect the sanctity coeurl's have among my people. You did everything right without even knowing what you were doing! You even presented me with it in front of the all the right witnesses.”

Cor had no idea how ridiculous that was. It was almost as if... oh please no. No. If his ancestors truly had decided to meddle, he was getting Libertus to find the nearest snake so that he could have a talk with them. Meddlesome old coots, the whole lot of them.

“I couldn't say no!”

He looked at the General with carefully guarded eyes. Maybe they could make this work. Nyx could only hope. And, oh, did he hope in the deepest parts of his very being. Greyish blue eyes bore into his own, their intensity nearly stealing his breath away. They sat there for a long time, both deep within their own thoughts, their gazes tangled into each other. Neither seemed able to look away.

“What does it entail?”

The sudden question startled Nyx into blinking and breaking eye contact. “What?”

“Being engaged,” said Cor with an unimpressed look.

Nyx did his best to fight down the heat threatening to rise in his cheeks out of embarrassment. “I will give you something in return as physical proof that I accept your proposal. Everything else is decided between the couple until the wedding. That's a whole other thing we'll have to talk about later.”

Cor frowned but didn't comment. Nyx really didn't want to talk marriage customs yet, or tell the other that he normally would have put a braid in his hair as an answering claim. Ahtrii, he needed a drink.

“I'm not a Galahdi- a Galahkari,” Cor said at last.

“Galahkar,” Nyx corrected absent-mindedly. “Galahkari is the plural. But it doesn't matter if you are or aren't. What matters, is that you observed traditions and proved yourself worthy that way.”

Cor nodded to show that he understood and cast him a look Nyx couldn't discern. “This will not go over well with the royal court. His Majesty will just be happy that I'm 'finally settling down' and Clarus will say his piece, but he won't do anything. Can I trust your people to not raise a stink about this, Ulric?”

“Call me Nyx. Everything else would be strange,” he muttered, utterly relieved that he wasn't making it harder for them than it already was. He wondered amusedly, if the King had tried to get himself involved in the other's love life before. It certainly sounded like it.

Cor nodded. “Nyx, then. Call me Cor.”

The younger man nodded, barely able to hide his relief. He would have called Cor by his first name anyway, but it was nice to have permission to do so.

“You saw how they reacted when you gave me the pelt. You took it from poachers and gave it to me. Not even the traditionalists will say anything against that.”

“I sense a story there.”

“There is,” nodded Nyx. “You'll most likely hear it very soon.”

Humming in acceptance, Co looked like he wanted to ask about that, but he didn't. Instead he raked his eyes over Nyx' form until they came to rest on the silver on grey fur. “I'll see that the other four pelts will also be brought to you,” he said.

Nyx really had to fight down a blush at that comment. That man had no idea what he was doing, but he was doing it right anyway. He had nearly forgotten about the other four pelts. Another adult and three kits. He wondered if it could be considered an omen and promptly wanted to bury his head in his hands. Hopefully he hadn't jinxed it. With his luck, he probably had.

“Thank you,” he murmured and had to force himself to keep looking at the other man.

Was that a hint of a smile playing at the corner of his lips? Inwardly, Nyx floundered at the sight. This was... nope, not going there now. Right now he was having a serious talk – with a man that was flirting with him like no tomorrow; four more pelts, four – and needed to concentrate. He probably didn't even know he was doing it, Nyx admonished himself.

The sudden ringing of a phone made him twitch. Cor scowled and pulled a phone out of the inner pocket of his black jacket. His gaze grew even darker when he saw the ID.

“Leonis speaking,” he practically barked into the speaker, and just like that he transformed into the cold and stern General he had known for years now.

It was such a stark contrast to the man he had been talking to just a few seconds ago that it made Nyx realize just how open the General had been with him. And expressive, he thought as he looked at the now completely closed off face. The man kept listening for a few moments before he hung up with a terse “I'll be there.”

He looked back at Nyx and his expression cleared again. Nyx opened his mouth to say something before closing it again, and swallowed.

“I'm sorry to have this cut short, but I'm needed.”

Cor said the last part in a way that made Nyx really not want to know what was going on. He swallowed the questions burning on his tongue anyway, down and nodded.

“Of course,” he said and stood up along with Cor.

“I'll see you tomorrow,” the older man said, pleasantly surprising Nyx.

“Tomorrow?” he couldn't help but ask, just to make sure.

“As you said, we cannot get out of this, and I refuse to marry a man I barely know.”

Nyx barked a surprised laugh, he didn't manage to keep down behind his teeth. Then a thought occurred to him and he felt stupid for not having thought to ask before: “Are you okay with this? Marrying me, I mean.”

“If you're asking, if I prefer the company of men, then the answer is no, but I'm not averse to it either. And you're not exactly hard on the eyes.”

Beneath Cor's heated gaze Nyx couldn't help the wide smile growing on his lips. “You're not bad looking, either,” he said and made an aborted move forward.

When he had done this earlier, the older man had clearly been overwhelmed with no idea what to do, so Nyx held himself back. However, Cor cast him a look that settled somewhere between curious and expectant as he stood by the door, one hand on the handle, but not leaving quite yet.

With silent steps Nyx drew near until they stood right in front of each other again. He saw understanding flash in Cor's stormy eyes as he leaned in, careful to telegraph his movements this time. They met in the middle, foreheads gently touching for maybe two seconds, before they drew back again. All the while they never lost eye contact.

“It's something that's only done between close family members,” said Nyx in way of an explanation at the other's questioning look.

Cor nodded and then he was out of the door without another word. When Nyx was sure that he was gone, he slumped back down into his chair and laid his head into his arms. The day was barely halfway over and he was already tired enough he could sleep for the rest of the day. His stomach fluttered pleasantly as he thought of tomorrow.

That was how Libertus found him not much later.

#ffxv #a coeurl's courtship au #nyx ulric #cor leonis #cor/nyx #so they talk #it goes pretty well all things considered #nyx is angsting and flailing #cor is his lovely stubborn self #flirting the glahadian way #read: gifting your loved one pelts of very dangerous animals #nyx can reciprocate compliments just fine #but give him a hunting trophy and he has no idea what to do #cultural differences everywhere! #galahdian culture #galahdian religion #my fics #the spirit writes

[theskyexists]

the amazing she-ra 5

i am LOVING this first episode. they’re TRULY the underdogs now. people are hiding with magic. they live in tents. they’ve lost their edge. they’re actually leaning into the horrors of war now

Shadowweaver says OOC stupid things but it doesn’t matter because the princesses shut it down satisfactorily. Adora is weighed down by responsibility in a cool way.

Catra is staking out the enemy and weaseling her way in. (yessss)

‘You don’t need to say it! I know. I made that choice. I’m living with the consequences.’ I LOVE THIS ADORA

I LOVE THIS WRITING. Catra and Glimmer are THE greatest pair ever. Glimmer is smart enough to poke right through Catra’s defenses - and NOW they’re in the same situation - Glimmer says so - and immediately the prison wall fades away - and they’re both invited for dinner. THAT DELICIOUS WRITING

i do love how shadowweaver has been this snarky aunt for two seasons now.

Hord Prime shows us Adora in danger and Catra is like; FUCK YOU ADORA’S MINE (TO DESTROY) !!!!

I love Hord Prime’s wonderfully manipulative dinner. And I love glimmer quietly crying and I love Catra being like HRMMMM I DONT LIKE THIS. the subtle animations are so great - the close-ups

the way Catra speaks to Hord Prime - the way she’s really fuckin scared and the way Hord Prime says ‘little sister’. The way they make him seem unbeatable. I LVOE IT.

AND I LOVE THESE VISIONS FOR ADORA

jezus but how few people really live in etheria ?

the propaganda and the tech to boost prime’s image everywhere....ugh it’s delicious. im also happy Entrapta is back and on the good side instead of helping Catra be a bitch to Adora. and im glad the princesses are wary of her.

hahahaah awww Bo came to give adora breakfast and then he panics when she’s lying on the floor. I ALSO LOVE BO AND ADORA TOGETHER BEST

goddamnit Bo YAH! finally somebody who effectively protects someone from the masses. fuck off micah!

Love the princesses acting on their own - love Scorpia mediating, love mermista stepping up, love Entrapta using her .....intelligence

I love how Hord Prime manipulating Glimmer is used to show us more about his empire.

‘i only want to bring peace’ - but also i destroyed all these worlds. how is that...how is that even surface compatible?? like no attempt is made to align those two things.

wait....the heart of etheria will destroy the universe? why??? why is that the assumption. and why...does Hord Prime want that? i....

the comedy of the princesses doing a mission alone is GREAT

IM SO HAPPY THE PRINCESSES GOT TO HIT ENTRAPTA WHERE IT HURTS. now THIS is the right level of comedy versus hurt

the way scorpia rolled to cover frosta in her bulk!

i love how adora is like - HAH sleep is great actually! wow!!

because of the underlying grievances that we EXPERIENCED as audience, this friendship moment actually LANDS

I REINSTATE MY HOORAY!!! (hahahaha god i love scorpia). oh my god Micah saying he trusts glimmer’s friends to save her - fuckin hell - heart squeeze

LOOK AT THAT SHIT. LOOK AT IT!!! Glimmer being angry at Catra - but then recanting and showing vulnerability. Catra showing vulnerability by acquiescing. GOD!!!

‘why did you do it?’ OH GOD ARRGHGHHG THATS SO FUCKING PAINFUL. why does Catra scratch Adora? Because she doesn’t understand - seems to not make the effort to understand!! because she’s never understood that everybody always hurt her - she never fucking saw when it was right in front of her. THat’s even worse in a way than being hurt.

god the fuckin scale. the planet getting bombarded from space....jezus christ.

theres a hallway with light and dark at the end - its implied she goes into the dark - BECAUSE SHE INTENDS TO HIDE FROM WHO FOLLOWS HER

wow she instantly realises he’s hordak. ha!

Catra is being so open with Glimmer. She’s REALLY REALLY! off balance

they have a talking ritual!!!! THEYRE BONDING ABOUT ADORA BEING A DORK!!!!

Catra realises that nothing she was doing on Etheria had any value to her!!!! I LOVE THIS SEASON SO MUCH

I love how Adora gets to be such a badass dork this season!!!! Bo and Adora + Glimmer and Catra are the BEST COMBINATION

godDAMN they made these clones creepy. damn i LOVE Hord Prime!!!

catra/glimmer......tho.....

she pushes her onto the bed and kneels before her, holding her hands. DUDES. MY DUDES!!!! catra is they gayest cat in existence

‘do one good thing in your life!’ - oh OUCH god, you can feel the whole weight of all the hurt and injustice she’s experienced in ‘dont talk to me like you know me!’

HAHAHAHAHAHAH BO losing his mind and Adora being a hilarious himbo is SO GOOD

I LOVE CATRA’S ABSOLUTELY HEARTBREAKING ADORABLE MEMORY AND HALLUCINATIONS

‘im alway going to be your friend’  - ‘i’ll never say sorry to anybody’ GODDD

‘all i do is hurt people, there’s no one left in the entire universe who cares about me’ - a reasonable assumption based on your behaviour except for the fact that Adora has been trying to reach you for 4 FUCKING seasons with hand outstretched

THAT WAS SO FUCKING DRAMATIC I AM IN LOVE !! IN LOVE WITH THEM!!!!

are you fucking SERIOUS - ENTRAPTA MADE AN AB WINDOW IN BO’S SPACE SUIT AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHA

the animation in this goddamn season is CRAZY and INCREDIBLE

I ADORE Catra the self Martyr i ADORE that she’s going to go through the wringer still in Hord Prime’s hands.

THIS SEASON IS WORTH ALL THE REST

are YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME- i HATE THAT SHIT WHY MUST YOU MAR THIS SEASON WITH AN INTERRUPTION OF AN APOLOGY. STOP IT!!! IT’S NOT FUN IT’S NOT SATISFYING IT RUINS THE MOMENT IT WEAKENS THE EMOTION BY DRAGGING IT OUT FUCK!!!!

well i guess that was pretty good with Adora. wish they had made that a little bit longer

i love entrapta. she’s such a perfect element to throw into the mix. and her connections with AI’s are great

that scorpia and swift wind talk is so beautiful. they are also the PERFECT pair. ‘gosh have you ever noticed how many moons we have here? it’s weird.’ HAHAHAHA

they’re visiting a planet that’s been conquered by Prime...

I love how they made Entrapta flirty with her tech ahahahaha

i love how Adora is like: oh??? you’re coming to me??? for emotional advice??? uhhhhhh ok haha nice

I LOVE ADORA

i love swift wind’s drunk history retelling of what’s going on on Etheria - especially his impression of shadowweaver and his batman micah

Bo sure is very bad at forgiveness himself lol

‘well im NOT! running awayy that is. i AM smart’ AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!! i love you adora

Adora spewing all her bullshit about Catra to total strangers ahahaha

this was SUCH amazing teamwork!!!

AND THAT MOMENT OF SHE-RA BEING BACK!!!!

GLIMMER ACKNOWLEDGING SHE MADE A MISTAKE AND THAT BO DESERVES TO BE MAD AND MAYBE THINGS WON’T BE THE SAME AGAIN BUT SHE WON’T STOP TRYING TO MAKE IT BETTER AND SHE’LL BE THERE IF HE’S EVER READY

FUCKING TEARS BABEY

jezus christ !! that was good!!! i take it back - it was a stupid interruption (they could have just had Bo respond ‘eh’ at an attempt at apology from glimmer....maybe) but they made the final apology INCREDIBLE

‘i can’t just leave her...’ the voice acting in this is sO GOOD

Catra made her whole plan to keep Adora away from Prime based on the assumption that if Glimmer was in Prime’s hands, then Adora would come to rescue her no matter the danger. So she saved Glimmer. But SHE FAILED TO REALISE THAT ADORA WOULD DO THE SAME FOR HER AHAHAHAHAHAHAA

the amazing thing about these highly tech advanced societies is that none of them have invented security cameras

glimmer getting some ptsd flashes

I KNEW that the heart of etheria was built by the First Ones to fight Hordak. Makes Mara’s decision a bit more ---- hMMMM not as great. Because Hordak has killed countless worlds since!

the hive mind lol. jezus Prime is so terrible.

oh my god the very concepts of Prime when behind a fictional buffer are so archtypically delicious. Catra’s glowy green eyes and full bow. hohhohhohho. that uniform also looks great

so Prime could do this to everyone but he chose to surround himself with clones. goddamn.

oh damn that lean-in, those hands on her neck. hmmmhm. gay

she FLINCHES when Prime lays a hand on her shoulder. DAMN. love it

‘you will give me she-ra’ ---- isn’t that what she’s been offering all along? lol

AND THEN HE LEAVES ADORA WITH A BRAINWASHED CONTROLLED PUPPET CATRA WHO ATTACKS HER

OH ITS SO DELICIOUS

brainwashed Catra is really sexy and disturbing hahahahahaha

this fight is so well choreographed. Catra letting herself almost fall, Adora gathering her into her arms, the scratch across the back, the damn knee into the midriff (OUCH), the dangling her in turn.

‘i always hated that guy in particular - and also all the other guys i hit on the way in.’ LOLOLOLOL

THE CHEEK TOUCH - THE TEARS AND SMILE - THE GREEN EYES AND THE BACKHAND AFJLDJFDSJFLKDSJSDFKSDFJ

‘you’re such an idiot!’

‘yeah! i know!’

I LOVE THEM AAAAAAAAAAAAA ITS SO TRUE AHAHAHAHAHAHAI LOVE THEM

‘im going to take you home’

‘promise?’

NOELLE WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING TO ME

Adora watches Catra probably die and fall off into a endless pit. JUMPS IN AFTER HER ONE SECOND LATER

Prime really did miscalculate lol - his ship’s been destroyed by one stab at a server.

CATRA ALMOST DYING AND ADORA TRANSFORMING WITH GLOWY EYES GODDAMN!!!! HOLDING CATRA INTO HER ARMS BRIDAL STYLE. NEW OUTFIT!! WALKING INTO THE SHIP LIKE A BOSS. AND HEALS HER. HEY ADORA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! AND SHE FUCKING

PURRS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

all the fucking crying is so good

‘I kNOW YOU ALL HATE ME!” ‘I NEVER HATED YOU’ ‘Then you’re dumber than I thought’ HAHAHAHAHA i love how Catra cannot accept Adora’s friendship because she cannot forgive herself. but Adora never fucking gets it because she has the emotional intelligence of a crab!!!! the problem is that Adora is the exact shape of Catra’s heart - which is one big open wound. And if she presses - all she does is cause hurt

Catra is so adorable looking god.....

SPINERELLA AND NETOSSA KISSED!!!!!!!! awwwwwww they’ve been so cute for so long and they only got more and more screentime and Awwwww

Not-Hordak and ‘dehydrated protein slaw’ AhAHAHAHA

how did they find us? UHHH THERES A CHIP IN CATRA’S SPINE????

ADORA TELLING CATRA WHAT’S UP!! YES! Catra in a corner. Catra on her damn KNEES. ADORA BLUSHING AT HOLDING HER HAND

their first impulse is to hold each other at the ship shaking.

CATRA IS BLUSHING LOOKING AT ADORA TRANSFORM

SHE-RA CAN LITERALLY FLY THROUGH SPACE - well. make matter from light, breathe in a vacuum, jumpt from one asteroid to another....

I AM GLIMMER IN THIS: YEAAAHHHHHH!!!!!

Catra is very lucky that her biggest likely hater is already on her side: glimmer

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO SPINERELLAAAA. what a fuckin bait and punch goddamn! making them so cute and then foreshadowing it perfectly and then BAM

CATRA IS CONFIDENT ENOUGH TO MESS WITH ADORA BY LITERALLY JUMPING INTO ADORA’S LAP

fjadslkfasdjflkadjfsja

CATRA IS

PURRING

catra is so effortlessly cool sitting in the window sill

i am actually loving that they have a not-Hordak with them. it humanises those clones a lot

this prince has farsight but they NEVER thought to recruit him BEFORE???

FUCKIN - I LOVE how spinerella and netossa have gotten so much more screentime - relevant to the plot and also revealing their characters. i wish we’d got this from the start!

well now i ship perfuma and scorpia lolololol

HAHAHAHAHA i LOVE this Seahawk and Mermista hiding behind a bar because of ex victims skjsfajfklds

Prince Peekabloo has an AMAZING design, but also he must be a fake. IT MUST BE DOUBLE TROUBLE. double trouble has TASTE

MERMISTA LOOKS SO COOL IN THAT OUTFIT - but also especially chipped and in shadows. they do love chipping people’s love interests

SCORPIA SACRIFICING HERSELF TO SAVE PERFUMA. jezus christ so much love interest drama suddenly wow

‘happy anniversary’ that is HEARTBREAKING

what a great ending to a very silly episode. that’s the balance. a last message from the last soldier standing...

‘WHY DOES SPACE HATE ME SO MUCH!?!?!’ hahahahaah

Catra’s fingers shake......

‘take it from somebody who’s defeated you guys, like, a lot’ AAHAHAHA

FINALLY CATRA IS ON THEIR SIDE TO BE THE SMARTS IN TEH ROOM

ADORA LOOKS SO BADASS IN THAT SPACESHIP CHAIR

chipping everyboddy so they’re like zombies was a great story idea.

catra upset at her signs of upset. CUTE

why the FUCK is Adora’s hair out of her spacesuit ahahahahahahaha. IM SO GLAD THAT BO AGREES WITH ME ON THE ADORABLENESS OF CATRAS HELMET HAHAHAHAHAA

catra is happy to see adora laugh again.... : ‘)

CATRA JUST CLAWED THROUGH FIVE CENTIMETERS OF STEEL????!?!?!?!

ADORA IS BLUSHING AAHAHAHAHAHAAAA

I LOVE how Catra is like, WHAT THE FUCK at having lost to these people

Entrapta trying to deal with Wrong-Hordak in existential crisis is a hilarious premise

THE ANGRIER YOU GET THE CUTER YOU ARE!!! I LOVE BO

oh wow! a first ones colony! very cool! this whole planet works against intruders and plays tricks on them. i do like how first ones are definitely like, still imperial shitlords like subtly. i love how Wrong-Hordak has a realisation arc in the background.

HOLY SHIT THIS IS CREEPY

CATRA DISARMED THIS CAT CREATURE WITH HER CUTE SNEEZE AHAHAHAHA

CATRA IS PETTING A CAT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

AHAHAHAHA EVERY SINGLE THING WE COULD HAVE EVER WANTED IS COMING TRUE

catra is working on not lashing out :’) <= literally adora and also me

Melog is so ADORABLE and imprinted on Catra and LOVES ADORA and AGHGHGHG

I love how Adora can make her eyes glow on command

Castaspella was blushing at Shadowweaver being so close lolololol. wow this is the first time Castaspella has been interesting. ‘and stop me, if i take the power for myself’ i love aunty shadowweaver.

AAAHAHAHHAHAHAHAAHAH WHAT HAHAAHHAAAAHA Catra notices she’s holding Adora’s hand and goes ARGGH and doesn’t just take her hand back but throws it away ahhaahaha. Adora doesn’t even respond. that was so hilarious for some reason.

GLIMMER KISSING CATRA’S CHEEK HELLO??? HELLO?????????

‘is what i would have said before i joined you. go team’ hahahaa

‘you’re wearing hooded cloaks. that’s highly suspicious’ AHAHAHAHAHA fucking meta

I LOVE HOW ADORA IS THE ‘oh god my fuckin friends blowing our cover great’ person here

MELOG IS ALREADY STEALING MUSHROOMS FOR CATRA TO EAT AHAHAHAHA I LOVE THEM

Spinerella and Netossa are so BADASS and i love their fight. it’s so deliciously painful and cool hehehehehe

so the only person im fighting here is!.....my own wife...

I LOVE THEM

spinerella is so op lololol - why did she barely do anything for them when they were still fighting hordak

wrong hordak is so fucking cute ahahahahaha

goddamn that reunion was touching and funny at the same time. and i can actually believe that Prime is having trouble with this slippery team of magic users

I love Netossa’s analysis of the princesses weaknesses. Adora: can’t act to save her life. also extreme hair envy with she-ra

BUT GLIMMER: crippling self-doubt mixed with overwhelming hubris AHAAHAHHAAHAHAHAHA

OH MY GOD SHE SPRITZED CATRA WITH WATER JFDKLDFWDSFKSDFKJLDSJFJDSFKDSLKFSDLFJLKFLKDJFLKS AHAAHAHAAHA

PERFUMA DON”T BE A BITCH TO CATRA. (even though yeah Catra did treat Scorpia bad) she’s right you need to fuckin go for the neck (this episode is gonna show us that you need to damage the chip AND get through to scorpia and it’s going to take catra and perfuma ofc)

awwwww glimmer and bo.... bo is really worried about his dad :’( . this is the first time ive found myself shipping bo and glimmer.....the way he sighs into her arms, turns his face into her neck. Yes....

AWWW CATRA AND ADORA CHALLENGING EACH OTHER AGAIN AWWWW

BO’S DADS LEFT HIM A CLUE IN A FUCKING DAD JOKE ahahaahahahahaah

perfuma is really getting on my nerves here. ‘we dont throw tanks at our friends’ uhhhh shes trying to kill you. just let perfuma get electrocuted adora

AH THEY FINALLY GIVE AN ORIGIN STORY FOR ‘GRAYSKULL’! ha! i do love how they keep elaborating on the First Ones as tyrants as well

hmm perfuma was right i guess. i didnt really like that development. urgh god perfuma is so grating lol..

i wonder how shadowweaver and catra are gonna....deal with each other....

hah. shadowweaver tries to weasel in with Adora again. but Adora won’t stand for it again....

Melog literally acts out Catra’s emotions and jumps adora playfully. hehehehe

shadowweaver is such a fucking bitch. i wonder if we’ll ever get her to admit guilt or apologise

no adora. you have to fucking defend catra to shadowweaver. THAT is what you have to do now that you can!

SHE JUST JUMPED INTO FIRE FOR ADORA

shadowweaver preying on Adora and Catra again goddddd. let this be an episode in which they finally shuck her off. Adora fucking THINK, the only reason you could transform in the first place was BECAUSE of Catra.

YEAHHHHH CATRA!!!!!!!! GETTING ALL THE INFO BEFORE ADORA GETS MANIPULATED INTO SOMETHING SHE DIDN’T CHOOSE. naturally she still chooses to do it.

Melog lies half on top of Adora while Catra watches her.... god fuckin hell Melog being an extension of Catra’s feelings is so fucking AMAZING

holy FUCK that confrontation. (i love how every confrontation between adora and catra starts in roughhousing - their language is extremely physical). this is the softer version of catra’s and adora’s dynamic. Catra loves Adora and she wants Adora to choose HER, LIFE WITH HER. ‘what do you want?’ (WHAT ABOUT ME??) But Adora always chooses some higher hero purpose over her. and she doesn’t want to watch Adora die....

‘i dont have to watch it happen...’

god fuckin hell this season.

shadowweaver BELIEVES that she did the right things - of course. and that’s fascinating. and I love that Adora finally totally truly was like: YOU RUIN PEOPLE AND I WILL NEVER FORGIVE YOU. fuck yeah!

so when was the moment that Adora couldn’t become she-ra anymore? think it’s when she lost track of Catra....

I love Melog - I love how Catra cannot hide from her feelings anymore - at all.

the way glimmer asks adora ‘are you scared?’ ugh MY HEART

i love martyrs. i fucking LOVE martyrs.

oh my god hallucination Catra touching foreheads with Adora.....

EVERYTIME Glimmer just straight up shows Catra affection? that’s some good shit. i thought we were gonna have Glimmer going after Catra for her mother’s death at one point but no....not at all. and i dont mind it

GLIMMER SAID I LOVE YOU TWICE TO BO AND THEN BO SAID IT BACK AND KISSED HER DSFKSDLBJDS FOREHEAD !!!!!!!!!!!!!! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA OH MY GOD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I LOVE MARA!!!

the fights this season have been SO! GOOD!

i love how they’ve set up that Glimmer is a fucking POWERHOUSE. she can turn the tide of battle in a blink!

naturally they pit Micah against Glimmer. jfc this poor family....

there is something important about Prime not remembering Mara....

SHE BEAT MICAH SHE BEAT HIM!!!! WALKING RIGHT THROUGH HIS STORM OF DARK MAGIC.

SCORPIA CRADLED BO LIKE A BABY

SHADOWWEAVER SAVING CATRA? FOR ONCE???? FOR ONCE CHOOSING CATRA OVER POWER????? FUCK THAT’S CATHARTIC EVEN IF IT WAS ONLY TO GET ADORA TO THE HEART

catra has such a soft heart really. she still, after everything, loves shadowweaver. god....

SHE SAID SHE WAS PROUD OF CATRA. SHE --- SHE - SHE SACRIFICED HERSELF. GOD THE VOICEACTING FOR CATRA WHEN SHE - ADORA FALLING TO HER KNEES. THEIR PSEUDO MOTHER... AGHLDJDWFJJDSLF

FUCCKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKk

EVERY SINGLE LINE IS SO GOOD, so well-acted. the ‘im ready’ the way she says ‘catra’ like she can’t take anything anymore

i couldn’t write anything for the whole rest of that i was just covering my mouth with my hands

The fuckiN KISS! the look of PURE LOVE on ADoRA”S FACE

which in the back of my head - they cannot actually cut that in any way - it’s impossible to cut

adora with those blue eyes in the blaze, the magic is beautiful adora excising prime from hordak’s mind (WOW), adora and catra touching foreheads and the slight PURR you can hear, adult bo and glimmer (lookin so nice), adult catra (LOOKING SO HANDSOME in her prom-y outfit,) Glimmer chasing Catra, just, GOD, THE UTENA FUCKING REFERENCE, the way they say they love each other, my GOD, Scorpia being like woah perfuma you look nice, MY GOD MY GOD MY GOD THEM GOING TO SPREAD MAGIC TO THE UNIVERSE GOD!!!!!!

every single thing in this season was worth 4 seasons of enjoyable, entertaining, interesting, frustrating and meh. WOAH! WOAH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

#she ra #i have been BLOWN! AWAY!!! EVERYTHING WAS WORTH IT #my stuff #vidi #THiS WAS AN EXPERIENCE #OF EPIC PROPORTIONS

[sweetdreamsjeff]

LAST GOODBYE the lost Jeff Buckley interview

One of the most revealing – and spine-chilling – interviews of Jeff Buckley’s short life was conducted for a fanzine with a small readership. Phil Smith resurrects it here, with thanks to Andrew Truth for the interview and extensive contributions

In 1995, fanzine journalism was giving the established music press a run for its money. Andrew Truth had been producing Plane Truth since 1988 but issue 15 (circulation: 500) was to be his last. It had interviews with the usual unusual selection of bands, some fondly remembered and some largely forgotten.

Lurking at the back of the fanzine was an encounter with Jeff Buckley, son of Tim and on the way to becoming a legend in his own right. Andrew had conducted the interview on 3 September 1994, before Buckley’s show at what was then The Hop & Grape (now part of Manchester Academy). Buckley had only just released Grace and started touring with a full band, which Andrew remembers him enthusing about. The album was yet to slow-burn its way into the hearts of millions. He had been recording a Mark Radcliffe session and playing Reading Festival and likened the part he played at the latter to being “a circus performer”. He was about to leave for the continent for further dates. His father’s reputation preceded him and for that reason, Andrew steered away from questions about family. They got on like a house on fire, Buckley rambling excitedly about his favourite music, playing live, his choice of cover versions, songwriting and immortality.

Buckley introduced himself by impulsively diving onto Andrew’s cafeteria table. He launched unprompted and with a distant air into part of one of his favourite interview topics, a solo LP by Deep Purple’s Jon Lord, as if transmitting thoughts from a superior galaxy and with a mischievous glint in his eyes. He dabbed sandalwood oil behind his ear while mimicking a cockney accent and singing jauntily: “‘Now we’ve made it, I’d like to do my orchestral piece called Gemini Suite about the signs of the zodiac.’ [Lord’s LP is] Great! It’s partly Bonanza, partly every horrible cliché. Like in Warner Brothers cartoons, Bugs Bunny music. It’s the funniest shit alive, all that 70s stuff. I can’t listen to it for long [though]. There’s a difference between indulgence and exploration.”

It had been Buckley’s questing approach in addition to his poetic soul and natural vocal talent that had drawn Andrew towards him at this early stage in his international career. Buckley settled into the interview, describing his nomadic upbringing as “a preparation and a curse, but everyone’s childhood is. It’s made it easier [for me to tour]. You’re the stranger constantly. People will find occasions where they’re readily accepted but other times, equally [the] weight of hostility comes towards you for no reason at all. I still attract the same things from childhood. People come to the shows and either run away screaming or really like it.”

Andrew expressed his contempt for middle-ground mediocrity in music. Buckley was more nuanced in his response, describing its fleeting effect: “Nothing [from the middle ground] comes to mind, that is ’cos I’ve forgotten it already. I’ve forgotten the effect and which art it was that gave me the effect. Either you remember Bob Dylan or you remember Michael Bolton.” Bolton was another Buckley interview hobby horse and appears to have been the bane of his life, and he was arguably a collective figure of hate for all alternative music fans at the time.

At the gig, Andrew described Buckley as bouncing about in a style that induced cries of “Kangaroo!”, his face dramatic and furrowed in anguish, seeming to curse injustices with disbelief. “People project tremendous amounts of personal low self-esteem and high self-esteem upon the stage, in equal parts sometimes. That’s the catharsis of going to a live show. If the performer is right, this is very co-dependent, but people go there to unload. There is this loud person who has come to a few of my gigs and her friends insist that she’s a very nice person but she can’t help but shout at me up on the stage. It’s something I just accept. It’s not like when Murphy’s Law played at The Plaza and four or five fights erupted within the space of 46 minutes. I don’t look out to see whether I’m connecting because it’s not up to me. I look out to see where the music should go. If the crowd is hot because their skin is hot due to the temperature, the set will be different. Or if it’s very cold outside and still, I’ll want to be the fireplace as best I can though sometimes I can’t accomplish it. I’m aware of the energy in the room. Moods and music fly about of their own will and they have no order and you can be either open or closed to them and that’s how the gig will go. Either from the stage or the audience, people open to emotions, movement, stories, feeling and dancing.”

Andrew asked Buckley about the unusually high number of cover versions on his first couple of releases. “It’s usually everything about [the song that attracts me], not just one thing. It’s different in the case of [Van Morrison’s] The Way Young Lovers Do. That came about because my friend Michael, who eventually joined the band, had a dream about me and him singing [it]. On a whim, I got it together and performed it one night. Then it became something else because the tempo I liked, the feel of it; the words and the song got into me. Any time I take a cover and wear it on my sleeve, it’s because it had something to do with my life and still marks a time in my life when I needed that song more than anything ever.”

Andrew expressed some shock at how good a rescue job Buckley had done with his Lilac Wine cover, as he previously disliked the Elkie Brooks version. Buckley said: “The version I’ve heard is Nina Simone’s. I’m not even sure who Elkie Brooks is. I don’t think it’s always a fair decision to have homogeneity for its own sake. I think that human beings contain many people… I do believe that there’s this one soul that lies directly through Edith Piaf and the Sex Pistols, I really know that exists: Joni Mitchell and John Cage; Billie Holiday and Bad Brains. An album in itself is a moment and the music may require for me to make an album that’s totally homogenised but not as a rule. It’s good to be varied because without knowing what sides there are to you, knowing your depths, you pretty much die. You never change and you stay in the same unbeatable format but, sooner or later, you become obsolete.”

Failure to evolve is to stymie yourself, suggested Andrew.

“That’s true. I’m not even that concerned with changing,” Jeff replied. “Just with discovery, because through discovering you may stay on one thing for a long time. Just evolving is important. Deliberately changing all the time is like making off with somebody who must change position in order to get into every [sexual] position and you never get anything started. ‘Would you please keep still, throw away the Kama Sutra and love my ass!’”

Buckley confessed to a couple of songs to which he would feel unable to add anything: “Parchment Farm Blues by Bukka White and Well I Wonder by The Smiths because I always end up doing it exactly like Morrissey does. The impetus for having covers was necessity. In the middle of a show taking people into a world that was completely my world, ‘boom’, right over there we’re into I Know It’s Over from The Queen Is Dead.”

In a segment of the interview which Andrew admits makes him a little queasy now, he picked up on Buckley’s Eternal Life and asked him if he desired immortality. Tim Buckley died young of a heroin overdose and his son was to tragically drown in 1997, only a few years after the Plane Truth interview.

“It is possible and it happens all the time, but just not in the way you want or expect it,” Buckley Jr said. “Beyond death, I know nothing but in human life… some people have a love for people around them that is so powerful and carries so many gifts with it that even when they die, people are still accomplishing things through this person’s love in them, because this person said, ‘I see you’re a writer. I see this postcard here and you’re killing me in this, you’re a great writer.’ And he’s saying, ‘I never thought about writing before. ‘But anyway, you’re a great writer and this is a great piece of work. I don’t even want to touch War And Peace, this is it,’ and, ‘boom’, he gets hit by a car and this person goes on to be a great writer or remembers that belief, against his own hope. It’s very strange, in that way, he’ll become immortal, he’ll always be remembered. He’ll be alive in people’s hearts, inside people.

“Then there’s books, records, movies, images. Here’s immortality in a nutshell: Marilyn Monroe, James Dean. They’re all around you but they don’t exist. That’s immortality in my cynical world. That’s Tinsel Town immortality, which is bullshit. They’ve lost immortality because they’ve lost their appearance as mortals. They’re symbols, gods, tools and puppets for people. There’s a fine line between being a god and a puppet...The Bible is used as a puppet and it’s untouchable and sacred but people use it as a pair of roller-skates or joke toilet paper with a psalm on every sheet. Being mortal and rooted in the earth is a very excruciating joy and not a lot of people can take it. Sometimes they just want to be famous, with no substance underneath, no work, no reason. To be famous and known and loved. They think it’s being loved but it’s just being worshipped and idolised and that’s not even being understood. It’s not even in the ballpark. It’s better to have people around you who understand you and when you come up to people in the street and talk about bagels and talk about the game, to have that connection there, it’s very important to me.

“If I wanted to be famous, I’d assassinate the President. There’s no life in it. There’s nothing wrong with being famous for something you do well or uniquely like if I invented the cure for AIDS, I wouldn’t mind being very famous. It’d be a great achievement. Or if I wrote a song that everyone loved, I wouldn’t mind that. It wouldn’t mean everything. That wouldn’t be the object or I’d be a junkie for fame, ‘I wasn’t famous for my orange juice song. It’s a great song but nobody likes it! I must suck!’ I have to be attuned to that and must have an everlasting relationship with this particular thing that there’s a public and then there’s me. At any given time, I am the public and Evan Dando [Lemonheads] is him and I understand that exchange. It’s a very strange arena and lots of people get thrown to the lions. Lots of people come away victorious for a time but then they’re out of the arena, that’s the end of it.”

Andrew ended the interview by asking about whether Buckley regularly wrote songs based on dreams, as Mojo Pin had been. “Dreaming, both waking and asleep, [is] a reservoir of mine. The thing is, there’s no difference for me between dream states and living. They both carry truth to them. I can read them both. I feel things in my dreams and I feel all the things that human beings’ lives bring them, except sometimes there are purple monsters or a chocolate dog trying to wake you up, but it’s still all very valid to me and I read situations in waking hours just like I read them in my sleeping hours, my sleeping hour, my lack of sleep world.”

#Jeff Buckley #LAST GOODBYE the lost Jeff Buckley interview #phil smith #andrew truth #lost interview

[akitokihojo]

16 & 70! The last one was so good! Is that one finished or will you write more? I hate cliffhangers!!!

So my inbox is full! Holy cow, guys! This is so exciting! I did not expect that!!!! I’m gonna get to these as soon as I possibly can, I promise!For now, keep in mind that I may answer them out of order. I PROMISE I will get to them all, though!

I’m using these prompts as a sequel to my last. I definitely didn’t expect the response I got… I also didn’t expect to actually write an ending to it, but I mean here we are!

Cliffhanger has been unhung.

@hinezumi @noviceotakus-blog @morikothehalfangel @cstorm86 @dyaz-stories

16. “I never meant to hurt you.”

70. “This is why I fell in love with you.”

It had been a week. The silence was agonizing. Torturous. Kagome had given him the sign he asked for; she’d done her best to let him know that her decision was out of her control. Now she needed a sign that he actually understood. The grey area she was absorbed in was like a hand constantly wrapped around her throat but never squeezing; taunting her.

She was tired of hearing that it would get easier as time passed, tired of hearing that everything would be okay. Each day that came and went made everything all the more difficult. Kagome was growing restless. She tried keeping herself as busy as possible, attempting to focus on whatever schoolwork she could, cooking, cleaning, pacing, but it never prevented her mind from wandering to Inuyasha.

Inuyasha.

The look on his face was burned into her eyelids, reminding her each time she blinked how destroyed he was. She hated sleeping, only managing to stay down for forty-five minutes at a time, pace the room a little to shake the feeling away, then lay back down again. Wash, rinse, repeat. There was no way she could jump through the well and make sure everything was fine with the very large possibility Naraku’s newest incarnation would immediately know, and she wouldn’t take any chances of jeopardizing her friends’ lives.

Kagome had to trust Inuyasha. Whether he knew what she meant or not, the incarnation was bound to expose himself eventually. Naraku was arrogant, therefore every single duplicate he made of himself had a trace of that quality. The demon would reveal his plan and Inuyasha would destroy the thing right then and there.

She would just have to trust him.

Kagome sat on the edge of her bed, her alarm clock showing 12:08am, bringing her into the eighth day on her side of the well. Her leg bobbed up and down, slower than the antsy habit normally bounced, weighed down by exhaustion. The logical side of her knew she did what she had to do. This new incarnation of Naraku’s was dangerous and terrifying, and he’d made his threat loud and clear. Even if Inuyasha never came for her, even if her returning to her world was indefinite, it was for the greater good. Naraku would lose, which meant every side of him would lose. Miroku would have his life back, Sango would save her brother and have a happy future, Shippo would grow up to become a strong fox demon, and Inuyasha would be alive.

She didn’t care about how heavy her heart was behind her ribcage, or that she felt sick to her stomach from the amount of anxiety coursing through her system. She didn’t care an ounce about her own feelings right now. Kagome couldn’t rid herself of the destroyed expression Inuyasha gave her at the tail end of their conversation. She couldn’t forget the noise he made in protest, or how sad his eyes looked, or the way his lips opened to say something more as she jumped through the pit of the well.

He was hurt, and she caused that. It was her fault.

Kagome pushed herself to her feet, pulling a light sweater over her shoulders and quietly slipped from her bedroom, heading down the stairs. Her house was quiet; everyone was asleep. She knew she should have been following their example, but she couldn’t stop thinking. Her mind was beginning to jump from thought-to-thought at an uncomfortable speed, consequently spiking her adrenaline, needing to move before she crumpled and cried until riddled with a migraine. Fresh air would do her better than sleep would right now.

The front door creaked as she opened and slid it shut, hoping the sound wouldn’t wake her mother. The last thing she wanted was to be hounded with questions about her well-being. Stepping further into the crisp, night air, Kagome looked up to the sky, the moon disappearing behind fast-moving, broken clouds. It was cooler than normal, the season beginning it’s change from summer to autumn, and she brought her cardigan to wrap tighter around her waist as she began her routine walk around the house, crossing her arms around her trunk in the process.

She only usually went for three turns around the two-story home, settling for the calmness it had brought her mind and headed in, but tonight she kept going, enjoying the haze her thoughts became muddled in. Kagome knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep if she went back to her room now, so there was no harm in continuing on. A slow sliding sound caught her attention, and she turned around, expecting to see one of her family members that had caught onto her absence turn the corner and call her back inside. When she saw no one, she continued walking, figuring it was just a heavy breeze that tricked her ears.

Inuyasha stood outside the well house, Kagome’s beautiful scent instantly reaching his sensitive nose. It brought him an immediate feeling of relief. He was so fucking close to her, his fingers trembled with unabashed anticipation. Their separation had lasted longer than he had intended it too, overestimating his abilities to track the fucker down and kill him, and he was more than eager to rectify the situation.

He sniffed the air, bathing in the homey scent of the woman he cared for more than anything, allowing it to calm every overstimulated sense of his. He ran over to the spot below her window, preparing to launch himself up to the small platform he could balance on when his instincts froze him where he stood. It was like a hundred-pound weight had suddenly dropped in the pit of his stomach, catching him off guard and sinking him into the ground. He turned around, the patting of soft footsteps approaching around the dark corner of the house. Kagome turned the corner, her eyes aimed at the ground in front of her as she walked, arms clutching the other across her torso. His abdomen muscles tensed in response to seeing her after what felt like too long, his body opening up to the reception on its own accord as she glanced up at him and stopped in her tracks.

Kagome’s jaw hung slightly agape, her chest tightening to hardly allow any breath to seep in or out of her mouth. He was here. Inuyasha was here. He was standing in front of her, prepared to spring into her room and wake her up had she been asleep. He was here. Here. He’d come for her. She couldn’t stop her bottom lip from trembling at the sight of him, or the loud and deep sob that left her throat, or her feet from racing over as she closed the awful distance that continued to separate them. Kagome crashed into his chest, his strong body embracing the impact and hardly faltering, clinging to his familiar, thick, red robe and gasping in the woodsy scent of him.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” She cried, her voice coming out as a feeble whisper. Her fingers gripped the front of his robes as tight as they could, not wanted to let him go.

“Kagome…” Slowly, he wrapped his arms around her, feeling her body quake against him. He didn’t expect her to unravel like this, and it quickly tore him to shreds.

“Please tell me you got my hint.”

“Of course I-” Inuyasha stopped, realizing how difficult this must have been on Kagome’s end. She gave him what he’d asked for, but she had no idea if it was properly received. She’d been sitting on her side of the time gap without a clue, blind to his perception, hoping for the best but contemplating the possibility that he wouldn’t come. A rush of guilt washed over him, forming a thick and painful lump in the center of his throat. He cupped the curve of her jaw and tilted her head back to look at him, tears pooling in her sunken eyes and staining her cheeks. “Kagome, I got it. I heard you, okay? I’m sorry it took so long to come get you, but Naraku’s newest incarnation was a bitch to find.”

“But you found him?”

“Yeah, we found him. Why didn’t you just tell me, Kagome? I would have protected you! Why didn’t you trust me?” He kept his hold on her jaw, his thumb stroking away the tears that continued to fall.

“It wasn’t me I was worried about!”

“I’m strongest when we’re together, Kagome! When will you get that? He separated us for a reason! He knew everyone’s weaknesses and he may have held that over your head in some way or another, but he also knew you were mine!”

“He knew your human nights!”

“That doesn’t mean shit to me in comparison! I never want you to do that again, got it? If somebody threatens you, I need to know immediately! Nobody should have the power to take you away from me! Nobody!”

“I never meant to hurt you!” Kagome cried, pulling out of his grip and hiding her face in his haori, her arms firmly wrapped around his waist. “I couldn’t take the chance! I didn’t mean to hurt you, I’m so sorry!”

Inuyasha ran his fingers through her long, dark hair, resting his chin on top of her head, willing her cries to steady and her trembling muscles to relax. The salt from her tears burned his nose, but he welcomed it. He welcomed everything he could get from Kagome right now. A week without her beyond his will was too fucking long, and the harsh scent only reminded him that she was there with him again. She could cry as long as she needed to. She could continue to run her hands along his back, and grip at his fire rat, and sigh, and hiccup as long as she needed to and he would bask in the fact that it meant they were back together again.

“I didn’t mean anything I said.” Kagome mentioned as her body began to calm, backing out of the hanyou’s arms, but not far enough that they were unable to touch each other in someway or another. “You know that right?”

“Yeah, I know.” He assured, pushing a strand of unruly hair behind her ear. “As much as I hated the way things played out, you were brave to do it. I don’t think I would have been able to if the roles were reversed. God, Kagome, this is why I fell in love with you. I never want to be faced with the chance that I may actually lose you again. Even when I knew it wasn’t real, it still hurt so goddamn much.”

“I didn’t mean-”

“No, I know! I know! That’s just it, though. You’re strong in the ways I’m not. You get things done in ways I never could.”

“That doesn’t matter.” She said, shaking her head.

“Yes, it does. It means everything. You mean everything.”

“Inuyasha… it’s over now, right?”

“Yeah. It’s over” He pressed his forehead to hers, inhaling her calming scent and threading his fingers through her thick waves. “We don’t have to be apart anymore.”

#inuyasha #prompts #my writing #inukag #inuyasha fic #inuyasha drabble #InuKag fic #inukag drabble #inuyasha angst #inuyasha fanfic #inukag fanfic #kagome #Kagome Higurashi #akitokihojo

[neshatriumphs]

A Boy Called Red 8

This chapter has a lot of narration from Granny, so I wanted to tell y’all that I’ve always seen this character like Violet Devereaux from The Skeleton Key, if you need some reference for how she sounds or imagining her, whatever. So, Gena Rowlands doing her best with an old Louisiana accent. It was actually a pretty damn good accent.

To Whom It May Concern

A lot of things have happened in my long life. Not too long ago, though, the world ended. I was prepared. I been prepared for the end of the world since I knew what the world was. Whenever my daddy came into the room where my sister and I slept and treated us like objects, whenever I had a baby behind it at 12, whenever I bashed it open and fed it to the wolves in the woods… My world was over long before the rest of it. So, I stayed ready. I was on my own at 13. I married at 14. Nice enough man for a pedophile. At least I was taken care of. At least he wasn’t my daddy. A few years passed with me learning how to survive whenever he was off somewhere before I got pregnant with my first baby. That other abomination - I didn’t even count it. I didn’t even think about it half the time. 

I had my first baby and he was the love of my life. His daddy gave me two others before he got sick and passed on. By that time, I was 23, and I’ll tell you the truth, I didn’t like leaving my home. The town changed around me. It was growing, things were being built. I didn’t like being a part of all of that, but my children did. As they got older, they went further into the town, deeper into the city, moved to other cities… I stayed where I was. 

Whenever the world ended, they were here, with me. I didn’t want them to leave, to go back out there. I had animals and plants  I was raising. I always did. But, the wolves came through to take them. I shot a few. Skinned them, made myself jerky, froze what I could… But, being one person, I couldn’t fight them all off. Eventually, the wolves outnumbered me, outnumbered my guns, and I had to take cover when they came calling to steal my livestock. I had to start using tunnels that my husband had initially used for workspace and storage. I hadn’t used that space since he passed away. Then, I started having to use it on a daily basis. And my family was gone. I presumed that they were out there someplace. Dead. But, my little grandson Sammy is the proof that at least one of them is okay. Sammy made it back...

Mercedes sat Sam down on the ground and addressed his wounds. “I have to try to tend to these, now that we’ve gotten away from them. Since I gotta take a break anyway. I mean, I’m strong, but I’m not an ox.” She was used to tending to wounds. Wolf life was definitely scrappy whenever it wasn’t detrimental. Sam was unconscious. He was dead weight right now and she had been carrying him on her back for a while. Kurt checked his inventory. He needed more stones. They heard Marley let out a wild scream and Mercedes winced, “Are we going back for your friend?”

Kurt sighed and looked at her, annoyed, “What is with you, huh? Why are you so intent to rush into a pack and try to save someone?”

“Haven’t you ever felt responsible for something? For someone?” She wondered, unable to look at him, because she was checking on Sam. 

“I have several people that I am responsible for. That’s exactly why I’m not in a rush to throw my life out of the window. You keep wanting to do things, not because you feel responsible for somebody, but because you feel guilty. You’ve had to make shitty decisions and you don’t like it and whoever your mother is, she isn’t around to take the heat, right now! Just shut up! They’ll hear us and figure out where we’ve run off to.” He grabbed Sam’s arms and began to drag him; but, Mercedes stopped him and put Sam back on her back.

“You know, just because you’re right about some things doesn’t mean that you always have to feel like you need to use your words against people. It’s a tough world. We all do things we aren’t proud of. Some of us don’t even try to make stuff right. I don’t get you being upset with me for trying to.”

“Get yourself killed if it eases your conscious. Leave me out of that,” he told her. “We aren’t too far from where we left her.”

The injury that I’m gonna die from is from the fall. If I would have just let that gullible cub help me out, I might be here, recovering. Instead, I’m here, barely able to breathe. My lungs feel like they’re working harder than they should be. Probably filled with fluid. I needed some antibiotics after that amputation. I needed… Maybe I should have just went into the city with my surviving kids. I lost my firstborn son, not very long after the world ended. That precious darling rushed here to make sure his mama was okay. He tried to get me to come with him. He tried to get his siblings to convince me to come with him. I assured him that it was safer here. Obviously, I was wrong. He died, right on that front porch, right in front of my face, right in my arms…

And I couldn’t give him my tears. I was in shock. I was frozen until I realized that I still had children and grandchildren inside. I dragged him in. I bolted the doors. I turned off all of the lights. His brother wanted to bury him, but by that time, the livestock was low and the wolves were multiplying. It was only right that we should benefit from his loss! His brother and sister didn’t see it that way. They took their children and left. They didn’t even want me to kiss my grandkids goodbye. “You let this all ruin you, Mama,” Dwight told me as he pried Sammy out of my embrace. “You let life ruin you.” They were gone. I ate my firstborn in rations. I prepped the meat with the utmost care and concern. I froze everything that I couldn’t cook or make jerky out of. I put spare parts into a stew. I wouldn’t waste anything of his body. I let life ruin me? But, your son has rushed back to his granny… in the midst of wolves. Had they stayed here, every one of us would have been fine. I’ve gotta get to my firstborn’s grave. I gotta do it so that they realize that’s where to bury me.

“Am I tripping, or wasn’t his meemaw right here?” Mercedes wondered. 

Kurt frowned, “She’s moved. Why would she move? That’ll kill her quicker?”

“Maybe there’s a certain place she wanted to die?” Mercedes suggested.

“Well… She can’t walk, so I guess we follow these tracks in the dirt. She dragged herself to wherever that place is.” They walked a little bit further and sure enough, right around a corner, they found her, barely breathing, rested against a stone with carvings in it, with a photograph. 

Mercedes sat Sam down next to her and tried to pick up the rock, but it was bigger than it seemed and the other part was buried in the ground. “Oh my God, I think it’s supposed to be a gravestone!” She read, “Michael Walton Evans… This must be her husband or something… No… Too young. Maybe a son. She had two and a daughter in the family photos…” She tried to take the photo that granny was holding to see, but the old woman swung at her. “She’s alive!” She cheered as the weak slap connected with her face. She shook Sam. “Sam. Sam, wake up. We’ve found your Meemaw.”

He started and tried to focus. “Oh look… It's you…” He said, touching Mercedes’ cheek. 

“And oh look, it’s her,” she said, taking him by the cheeks with one hand to turn his head to face his grandmother.

He gasped and suddenly had more energy as he became aware of her. “Meemaw?” He quickly checked on her and her eyes fought to open and look at him. “Hey. You remember me? I know it’s been some years, but it’s me… Sammy…”

“I remember you, Boy. You look just like me. More like your uncle Walt than like Dwight, I always said." Sam was already crying. "Shush that up, Boy. Got a lot to say and only a little time to say it in. You and this girl, you got to watch each other's backs. Ain't no trust in that Mama o' hers. S'gotta be you now. The two of you. Good kids that deserve to live. Wolves lives don't matter, but get you a pack, if you can. I'll tell you how. You got about 225 lbs of meat right here for barter…"

"Granny…" Mercedes started.

"I said hush, Girl. Y'all eat your share and barter the rest, or you salvage and freeze… got a deep freezer down here. Got a burner too. Try not to make too much smoke. Lanterns here. Wood stored away." She coughed. "If you don't barter this meat, at least live off of it. Stay here a little while. Bury the bones next to Walt's. I already made my stone. Just put the end date on it." 

"Meemaw…"

"You look good, Sammy. Beat up, but healthy. Nurse yourself before you leave here, ya hear me? How's your daddy doing? Did this life ruin him?" 

"No. He's doing his best."

"Good. Never was my favorite, but I always knew he was a survivor. And since you're his son, you're one too. We're fighters, Sammy. My fight is over. So,make sure this meat don't go to waste.. or to that wolf mama that stole my leg."

"Yes Ma'am." 

"Gimme that bottle," she pointed and Mercedes obeyed. "This is gonna help the pain. Tools in the cabinet," she pointed to a full sized wardrobe looking cabinet as she drank. 

Sam asked, "What tools?"

Mercedes opened the cabinet and said, "Meat tools." 

Sam cried with his grandmother strumming his hair and humming a song. She sounded weak and he couldn't make out a melody.

No need for tears. I lived a full life. I was always cut out for a dying world. When it ended I fit right in. And now I move out of it and I have an inheritance to share with the future of my bloodline, with the future of my family. I may be leaving, but they made it. 

Soon enough, she stopped humming stop strumming, and after a few more heartbeats, stopped breathing. Mercedes convinced Sam to take a drink of the liquor and he fell to sleep soon.

"We have to crash here for the night, maybe even a few days," Kurt told her. "They'll be out hunting, so I'll try to sneak back into the house and snoop around. But, if I run into trouble, don't come after me. If you make it out. Only talk to someone who knows Isabelle. She'll ask you, "So, why are you here," and you should say, "Mama caught me in the right hole."

"What?" 

"Ask for Isabelle. Tell her that you know me. She'll ask you the question. That answer is the way to confirm that you did know me!" He grabbed his backpack. "In case I can't get back down here." He touched the old lady's face and told her, "You will always be remembered." Then, he was gone.

Mercedes took Granny from Sam and let him sleep things off. She hated this, but the woman was clear that she wanted her meat used, not buried. So, she made some distance between them and began to follow through. There was a trough sink that she could use and plastic wrap and bags for the meat. She placed what she could into the deep freezer. It had room, thank goodness. She looked around to see where else she might store some and ultimately decided to dare to go back into the house and use that freezer. 

Sam was asleep, so she just grabbed the bloody hatchet and went on her own… the house was quiet. There was a lot of blood and streaks where bodies were dragged out. She hoped that one girl made it out. She put the bags of meat in the freezer and grabbed the abandoned fried green tomatoes, in disbelief that the wolves left them. She quickly went back through the passage and locked it behind her. Whenever she made it back, Sam was awake, crying and drinking. "Hey," she said. He looked up at her. "I've got some day old fried green tomatoes, if you're hun-" he snatched the plate and began shoveling them into his mouth. 

Sam hadn't eaten in days. He got lost in the woods, had to kill, chased by murderers, locked in a cage, beaten up, watched his grandmother die, gotten drunk from a few sips of what he could only describe as probably poison, and woke up to find her body butchered. He wouldn't have an appetite if everything hadn't been so physically affecting. She grabbed a shovel and told him, "There's a cot in a cubby hole, past the trough. I'll handle the burying. You still look pretty messed up." 

He stood up, dusted off his hands on his pants and took the shovel. "I saw the cot. There's also a little shower and a chest full of clothes and furs. You've done more than enough. Get washed up, get dressed, and get some sleep. I'll handle the burial. She's my family."

She nodded and gave him a hug, "I'm so sorry," she whispered. He dropped the shovel, fully embraced her back and rested against her, still pretty out of it, now that he thought about it. He pulled away, picked up the shovel and started digging. She gave him his privacy.

.

She was asleep when she felt something move near her and she grabbed the hatchet. Sam jumped and covered himself. He was naked!  "Sorry! I wanted to shower and change. I tried to be quiet." 

She nodded. "It's so quiet down here everything makes a little noise. She sat up and checked her lantern. It would last. 

Sam grabbed something to dry off with from the chest, then slipped into a pair of sweats and a red shirt. "Move over," he said and climbed into the cot with her. Her face warmed up as she did so and he wrapped his arm around her and immediately went to sleep. Still feeling bad, she figured. At this point, he probably doesn't even care where he sleeps or who's next to him. 

But, she woke up with his face nested in her breasts, both arms around her and a chubby in his sweatpants. She wriggled to free herself and took the lantern to see if she might find a place to pee… "The trough," a woman's voice croaked. Mercedes reflexively screamed and Sam reached for a weapon. Marley stepped into view, barely able to walk, covered in blood. "I need the trough," she said and grabbed the lantern to go to it. She cleaned herself up and tied her hair out of her face.

"There's a shower," Mercedes said.

"Hasn't been dead one day and you've made yourself at home," Marley complained.  

Mercedes sighed and went to pee in the shower, because she didn't know where else to go. Gratefully, she only needed to do number one. When she went back to the cot, Marley was near the trough with Sam, licking his wounds… Girl. You ain't a REAL wolf!  She rolled her eyes and laid back down. She could hear the two of them in there, drowning our their pain. She got up and interrupted. "Sam..  you should have the bed. You two are pretty beat up." It was like when he saw her again, he forgot his pain a little. "Are you coming?" She asked Marley. 

The three went to the cot, but only two could fit. Marley said, "I can protect you from here," and sat on the ground, near the cot. She stared suspiciously at Mercedes. Mercedes cuddled closely with Sam and he wrapped her up in his arms again, but didn't fall to sleep as easily. For one thing, Marley was watching him. For another, Mercedes had seen her kiss him and might have thought that he liked her or something like that when really, he just didn't know how to respond to a wild woman pledging to protect him, then kissing him in the mouth. He didn't want Mercedes to think that something was between him and Marley.

Sleep came after a while. He woke up hearing voices.

"I won't let you hurt him," Marley said.

"I don't know how many times I can tell you that I'm not going to try to hurt him. I wasn't trying to hurt the old lady!"

"You helped kill her. I will protect her family."

"Okay, Girl. Move. Shit," Mercedes pushed her to the side and turned on the burner. 

Sam came in and stared at the meat she was about to cook. "It's not her," she assured him. "This was already in the freezer whenever I went to store her meat." 

He walked over to her, gave her a hug and kissed her on the temple of her head. "Thank you for everything. I wouldn't have made it without you." She felt her face warm and she looked at Marley. Marley was still starting at her. She didn't trust her. Sam gave her a hug too. "Your face looks terrible," he said. We should tend to it."

"Isabelle," she said.

Mercedes nodded, "He's not going anywhere like this. If you want to, then fine. But Sam is staying put until he recovers just like Granny said to!"

Marley said, "Careful with her."

Sam just said, "Leave her alone." Marley snarled at Mercedes and Sam pressed his forehead against hers and growled, "I said leave her!" Marley was breathing heavy as she stormed off. She left the tunnels and Mercedes smirked. Sam watched the girl leave, then turned to Mercedes. "Not sayin' that I trust you. It would be stupid of me to trust anybody at this point… But, I want to trust you. So, I've decided to treat you like I do, unless you give me a reason not to." She nodded her head. His meemaw told him that the two of them needed to have each other's backs. That was pretty much her dying wish. So he was going to be here for her, like he said, unless she gave him a reason not to. 

#samcedes mercedes jones samcedes fanfiction sam evans au glee fanfiction a boy called red abcr #Samcedes #AU Glee Fanfiction #A Boy Called Red #ABCR

[debu-neko-kun]

Annual, Part 5

This is a huge male stuffing/weight gain commission for Doom7951 from over on DA. Dorian makes the leap to being a big soft fat! And what a leap it is~ 

Back in the house, Dorian was led to the dining room by the most deliciously savory scents he’d ever smelled in his life. 

“Have a seat, darling! I’m just applying the finishing touch.” Delta called out, his back to his guest. Dorian approached with eager curiosity, wondering just what was in store for him now. “Voila!” Delta spoke loudly, throwing his arms up. “A specialty dish, made fresh for you.” Delta slid the plate closer to the seated boy. There atop the polished dish was a bulging, steaming steak, with a delicate red cherry sauce wrapped around it in a heart shape. “It was gathered just this morning. Please, enjoy.” Dorian wasted no time in separating a tender chunk with his fork. He brought it to his lips and chewed it down; it somehow raised the bar even higher for the meals to come. Juices spilled down his throat. Spices lapped across his tongue. Before he could even swallow it down, he was ravenously cutting off another chunk. “You’re so cute when you’re hungry.” The chef smiled, ruffling his short brown hair. Dorian’s cheeks blushed, but he didn’t slow his eating. Chunk by chunk, he devoured the meaty meal, leaving behind just a skewed cherry sauce circle. “I’ll say that was a success, wouldn’t you?” Delta asked, slithering over to him. “Definitely.” Dorian replied, a content smile on his lips. He was almost proud that he hadn’t drifted off that time, like his willpower had grown. “Wonderful! I’m afraid that’s all that was prepared for now, though feel free to snack any time before dinner. Oh, but save room, of course; tonight is a very special night, a night of feasts.” Dorian’s belly gurgled in anticipation, but felt a tinge of foreboding in the devilish grin Delta wore. But no, wasn’t that how he always looked?… It’s just the candlelight, shush, Dorian. Dorian slid out of the chair, thanked Delta for another meal, and wandered back towards the door. With a stack of books at his side, Dorian sipped a bubbly rootbeer float. Propped up on his stomach was a paperback from the city; a sci-fi tale about two explorers on a foreign world, fattened to extremes by aliens with strange desires. He couldn’t help but look down at himself at every line about pendulous bellies, flabby limbs, and triple chins; midway through, he closed it, and switched back to the astronomy guide he’d found nestled amongst the fiction novels. Descriptors of the possibilities of obese alien lifeforms on low-gravity planets didn’t quite help either, and he decided to just watch TV instead. A few minutes into an action-packed film he’d never seen, Dorian got up and wandered the house. He poked around numerous linen closets, discovered troves of extra silverware, ventured into guest bedrooms and up into sectioned attics of cooking trophies, old furniture, and sports equipment that didn’t seem like they’d seen too much use. He’d nearly made up his mind to return to the lounge and attempt to teach himself piano when he found a little ornate box less dusty than the rest sitting inside of a half-opened wardrobe in the attic situated somewhere close to his own room. A feeling of imaginative curiosity washed over him. ‘What lays within the box,’ he internally narrated, drawing closer. ‘Treasure? Deadly secrets? Cursed artifacts?’ He carefully pushed it open to find a number of small, silver keys jumbled up within. “Spare keys.” he muttered, but pulled a few out anyway. Upon closer inspection, he found that every key had the same pattern: serpent-like patterns raced up and down the surfaces like a tangle of sleeping adders, ending in three fairly simple, grooved notches. Suddenly, his mind bounced to the locked doors around the house. Could these be copies of the master key for them all?… “Dorian darling, dinner is nearly ready!” Delta called out, the intercom vibrating beneath his feet. Dorian shut the box and rushed back to the door. Only when he’d made it to the main hall did he realize he still grasped one of the silver keys and quickly stuffed it in his back pocket. He pulled open the door to find Delta standing there, arm outstretched for the knob. “Oh, there you are! I was just about to come find you. Come come, the feast is prepared!” When he said feast, he wasn’t kidding. He felt like he was back on day one, with dozens of plates prepared before him, but each one of the current plates were full sized meals in their own right. Glazed hams, turkey, veal, soups, fresh-baked bread, chunks of fruit, puddings, pies, the list went on. “T-That’s… a lot…” Dorian muttered, eyebrows arched in awe. “I always prepare feasts for the birthdays of friends, and I’ve never missed the opportunity to celebrate the Day of Caring,” he smiled, hands on his hips in a triumphant pose. “So this time, I made two feasts!” “It looks amazing, I just don’t think-” “Don’t worry about finishing, just worry about enjoying!” Delta spoke happily, sitting him down in front of the vast spread. Delta poured him a glass of apple cider with a familiar suspension of flowers and stood back out of the way. “Dig in, at your leisure!” The decision on what to try first was much too difficult a decision to make. After a few moments of idle looking, Dorian grabbed the first dish he could see and pulled it towards himself: a grilled salmon dish. Light, but no less delicious. With the first nibble, the meal began. The first six dishes went down with relative ease, though midway through bulging mouthfuls of blueberry pie, he began to slow. Thankfully, the cider seemed to relieve his aches each time he felt fit to burst, but the effects seemed to get less and less intense as he went on. Ten dishes in, he felt like a balloon. At fourteen, a bomb. His pants drew tight against his expanding waistline and his shirt slowly rode up over his swollen belly like a maternity top, pale belly bulging out to his thighs, bellybutton marked with an angry red stretch line. Seams struggled, buttons ripped. He panted and gulped down a powered cherry tart, belly groaning like an overfilled wine cask. He tried his best to at least finish off the glass of cider, belly pulsing out centimeter by centimeter with every guzzle, only narrowly finding the room for it. At last, his steam ran out, and he huffed against the chair. “A valiant effort!” Delta applauded, sitting up in his chair. His own meal, a meager slice of ham, was only half dissolved: he was too focused on the show beside him to finish it off. “Hrmph, huh…” Dorian grunted, incapacitated by his own sweat-moistened belly. “I’d certainly call this a win, and every winner gets a prize. That much you already know.” he smirked, coiling his body in a goopy slime pile as he lowered himself down to bring his body close to his stomach. Dorian flinched as Delta laid his hands on the overinflated sphere, for fear that even the smallest movements would make him go off. Instead, the soft touches, relieved the discomfort more than the mysterious flowers ever could, his yielding fingertips and jelly palms somehow finding each exact point of extreme tension and quelling it with smooth massages. “Just relax, gentle Dorian. Rest yourself; you’ve braved a fierce feast, like the prince you are.” he cooed, rubbing softly. Dorian’s cheeks reddened like his belly. He wanted to speak, but his shy embarrassment held his tongue. Slowly, Delta moved upwards, hands still caressing his belly. “Forgive me if this seems forward, Dorian, but I must say it: you are one of the most beautiful creatures I have ever had the honor of cooking for.” Dorian merely blushed harder and stared into Delta’s large, blue eye-like orbs, thinking that they looked like two great chunks of polished lapis lazuli.   “May I give the prince his gift?” he asked softly, reaching up to brush his soft hand against his cheek. Dorian nodded softly, practically melting his glasses off his face with his intense blush. Delta moved forward and kissed the blushing boy gently. Dorian slowly shut his eyes and leaned into it, the flavor of the chef’s lips addictively delicious. Try as he might, he couldn’t quite make out the flavor on his tongue, though only knew it as familiar and wonderful. After a few moments, Delta slowly pulled away, leaving a thick residue on the lips of Dorian, who instinctively licked them clean. “Did you enjoy your prize?” he smiled, rubbing his sides softly. “Uhn, mm…” Dorian gently nodded. “Y-Yeah…” In the momentary quiet, his belly gurgled loudly. The urge to burp quickly welled up inside of him, but was rapidly replaced by a strange sensation all over. Before he could properly analyze the source, his shirt buttons burst off his chest, leaving his belly bare and his new softened chest barely covered. Beneath him, his pants split in no less than six places, and his underwear squeezed hard against his cheeks. Thankfully, the burst of growth was as small and momentary as it was momentous, leaving him in a state he could properly call… fat. “Goodness!” Delta covered his mouth with one slender hand. “What a strange occurrence, to burst all but out of your clothes at once… don’t fret, I keep a tailor on call.” he assured, uncoiling himself to a standing position. Dorian poked his soft side, head spinning. “I can likely get him here as early as tomorrow; until then, do you have any exercise clothes that might fit you?” “I… I think…” Dorian spoke. ‘Might.’ he thought. ‘Might fit me. And to think, today was going to be my exercise day…’ “Good. Well, I’ll clean up here while you go get cleaned up for the night. If you need anything,I’m only a ring away.” he assured, patting his shoulder. Dorian heaved himself up and out of the chair. For somebody who just destroyed a medium sized shirt, he was glad he could even still walk without a waddle… for now. ‘Pool tomorrow, definitely,’ he planned. ‘And a run. And maybe…’ he was too tired to finish planning. What he needed was a nice bath, and a good night’s rest to clear his mind. Delta watched as he walked, wobbly, out the door, butt achieving a fresh bounce with each step. As he got to work dissolving the remaining food into himself, he looked out the window to the dusky red sunset and, privately, grinned.

#male weight gain #male stuffing #my art #slime weight gain #belly rubs #fat boy #gay fat fic

[thegreenhorseman]

As with everything all things must come to an end. For the past year Zeno Bay and Vai Via have been in my care and I have loved and adored them as they if were my own. They are incredible horses, full of love, and I have been blessed to be part of their rehabilitation in all aspects; physically, emotionally, and spiritually.

Zeno Bay has put on weight.  He has blossomed into a loving, amazing, very genuine horse. Vai Via has overcome a lot of anxiety. He still needs some time on certain things but he is a completely different being than when he first arrived at my home.

Unfortunately the time has come for them to move on as I am parting ways with the rescue group for personal reasons. I am heartbroken to lose them but it has been a long time coming from behind the scenes.  The horses have been wonderful.  Perfect.  I’ve enjoyed having them.  I’ve enjoyed training when I can.  I have enjoyed getting to know them.

With the two boys departing soon I am faced with a terrible yet exciting new opportunity to find blade a permanent sibling.

This has not been an easy decision for me.

I have two amazing horses right now that need and deserve my love and at the same time I need to do what’s right for me. With my next horse I have decided I need to be selfish. I need to find a horse that is young, physically fit, and sound to be my next partner for the activities that I currently enjoy.

I only live once and right now I can’t guarantee that I will still be riding like this later on in life and as we all know I typically bring animals into my home for life. When I adopted Blade he was for life; though his body cannot perform to my needs he is happy and healthy otherwise.  Until he’s no longer happy nor healthy he will forever be safe.  This is why I’ve decided to be selfish and this is why it has been such a hard decision for me.

Another problem I’m facing is that I don’t have savings for the purchase of a brand new horse. This is not something that I planned to do just yet, in fact, I was hoping to get the truck and trailer before I get my second horse. So my budget is very tight. Regardless I began my search to see what I could find.

Remarkably, I was overwhelmed by the amount of beautiful, sound, sane, horses that are available within my non-existent price range. Within a course of a week or two I had been offered about 20-25 horses.  I didn’t have to aggressively search.  There was a mix of people that reached out…people who know me, people who have never met me, people who have mutual friends.  

Most were people with whom I have mutual friends (and of course my friends serve as great references).  Everyone offered up some incredible options. I did not expect to have so many to choose from; though I’m excited about the options it makes it very difficult to walk away from a really good horse.

My search criteria.

Sound

Good brain

Under 15 years

Good size for a petite chunk like myself

Prefer gelding (but will consider the right mare)

Prefer barefoot

Any breed

Will be using horse for my next partner to do hunter paces, jumping, and who knows what else.

I had a number of great contacts at first.

There was a beautiful paint horse that was in a lesson program and loves to jump.  He was 19.

…and a beautiful black QH gelding that also loves jumping.  He was 18.

There were a couple of friends who have some friendly lovable mares.

I sifted through all of the information.  Finally I began to visit a few…

I began my search with a friend who brought me to a wonderful family’s home that had some great horses available.

The first horse we saw was a little Mustang gelding named Vegas. He had the mustang shaped face which is not a deal-breaker but it’s not lovely. He had a solid little body.  He was a decent height but he was little pigeon-toed. Looking closely you could tell his legs were straight but his hooves had not been trimmed for a long time. Perhaps regular trims would correct the issue.  He also had a divot on his right shoulder.  He didn’t flex as well to the right either which made me think perhaps it caused him discomfort.

Looking at his face he had kind eyes, but he had a worried look. He wasn’t so sure of himself or the situation. I did not have much space to work with him but he could tell that I was a leader and wanted desperately to stay with me.  

I tried to teach him to lunge but he didn’t want to leave my side and with limited space, there is only so much I could do.  I asked him to back up and he resisted; a few times even reared up. He wasn’t a bad horse but I don’t believe he was the one for me. I don’t know how his body would handle training and I don’t know if that was a project that would have worked out for me.  There’s a lot of uncertainty here.

VEGAS

Another horse we saw was a sweet appaloosa gelding. He was a great size and very friendly.  We were told he is extremely herd bound.  I’m unsure of his age because we didn’t look at him very long.

Another horse was a handsome red dun quarter horse about 11 years old named Reggie. I am a sucker for red dun.  His training under saddle is unknown. At the time somebody had already decided to buy him but I believe he became available again shortly after we saw him.

Regardless I’m not sure I want to devote time to training an 11 year old horse.

The same family also showed me their standardbred mare, Duchess. She is 15, very sweet, and a good size. She was well trained though she had not been ridden in at least five years. I lunged her a little bit and even decided to get on her for a walk around the pasture. She was extremely good especially considering she had not been ridden in years. She was looking around a lot it seemed like she would be a reactive type of horse but we all know Blade has gone through his reactive moments too. It’s what I know well.

My biggest concern is how attached Blade might become with a mare.  He was devastated to lose Happy even though he had Zeno Bay and Vai Via.

  DUCHESS

With Duchess lived another Mustang; a 12 year old appaloosa mustang gelding named Coco. Coco is owned by somebody else but has also not been ridden in 5 years. I really liked this horse a lot end fell in love with his face and personality.

He has a gentle eye, solid body, and was very smart. I lunged him for a couple minutes and he responded really well and was in tune with me. I decided to get on him as well.  He was not nearly as reactive as Duchess and I liked his willingness; it was a vastly different feeling I got on him.  He gave me the “let’s explore” vibe. 

Unfortunately, I learned that the owner is not yet ready to re-home Coco…that he might be in the near future but not on this particular day.

I have kept Coco on my list among the top in case the owner changes his mind.

  COCO

    Shortly after our first excursion I was offered a gorgeous large paint who came from Hawaii. In fact he was probably at Kualoa Ranch when Zac and I went to Hawaii in 2013.

First… I love paints…especially ones with solid markings and a perfect blaze.

Second…how ironic that I was at the very ranch he came from 5,000 miles away?

Hawaii 2013

Nahe is 14 years old, has big solid body, and has great feet.  I LOVE his markings and he has a perfectly kissable face (and that blaze!).

He has some sensitivities to bugs and slightly crooked legs but he’s sound regardless. He had a great personality and I got along well with him. He has jumped at a foxhunt recently.  I loved that he was challenging but willing and not mean at all. He’s set in his ways and I can’t fault him for that.

We took him on a trail ride and I was amazed by his sure-footedness. Being the chicken I am we descended steep hill coated with dead leaves; I was concerned about slipping but this horse knew exactly what to do and took care of me.

This is what made him stand out from everybody else immediately. I was very happy with him.

NAHE

On the same day I visited the farm Blade came from. I had the opportunity to meet Blade’s half-sister, Abby,  who is 2 years old and just back from the trainer.  I was told she was one of the quietest foals they’ve had and a pleasure to work with.  It seems so cool and rare that I could have siblings living with me.  

Unfortunately she has a small windpipe. She roars. I was told the vet said this should not limit her riding but it will cause some noise. She certainly cannot race and be ridden flat-out, but I wouldn’t do that anyway.  She has had surgery to help correct her situation as much as possible.

I could call the vet and talk to them one-on-one regarding Abby’s long-term ability as a riding horse. I’ll repeat this a lot…for this second horse I am being selfish and I want to make sure that the horse I choose will be my partner for the long term.  

I am aware that things happen but I can at least choose the horse that will give us the best chance of long-term success in writing. I was concerned that this beautiful little filly could not hold up to hunter paces or whatever else I may want to do with her.

It was really nice to visit this farm again.  I can’t believe it was just over 4 years ago I first visited and met Blade here.  It’s an absolutely stunning property.

While I was visiting I learned Blade’s dam, Jet Black Magic, is available and unfortunately may be put down if not given a good home. This is the part of horse shopping that hurts me the most. I can’t provide a home for all of the horses and I hate that even though I have a space open I have to turn my back on them.  I’m sure Blade’s mom is a great horse though I don’t think she’s truly a riding horse and she’s 18 years old. Putting her to sleep may be the most humane thing if a safe permanent home cannot be found…but it’s still sad regardless.

  …and another broodmare that will be available once her foal is weaned!

As I continued my search I applied for New Vocations Racehorse Adoption Program.  The program rehomes horses from the track, both thoroughbreds and standardbreds alike.   Unfortunately I was rejected because I don’t have stalls. Of course I would confine them to a stall if stall rest was required but I don’t believe keeping them in a box for hours entirely necessary.

I have nothing against stalls and Blade lived in a stall for years but I don’t see how it should be detrimental to my ability to provide a great home.  This was a bit frustrating especially considering I successfully kept 3 thoroughbreds happy and healthy (2 were older with bad teeth mind you) all throughout the worst of winter.

My second mom (my mom’s childhood friend and the lady who got me into the horse world) has a number of horses on her property.  She had reached out to me about a filly she rescued last year from the slaughter pipeline.  The filly is about 1.5 years old, bay, and growing to be a decent size already.  When I visited she immediately ran to greet us, ignoring her herd-mates.

  FILLY

She spent time with us, picked up her feet for us.  She was a lovely young lady growing up nicely.  She moved nicely.  She LOVED Zac.

  I have never trained a young horse before.  I’m sure I could do it, and I know I’d start her the right way.  Lots of groundwork.  I like the idea that I can still give her plenty of time to grow and mature before riding her…that perhaps I’ll have a truck and trailer by the time she’s under saddle.

She is standing behind Casey.  A wonderful QH that I used to ride.  They match!

The last horse I looked at was owned by a family my trainer placed me in contact with.  Their daughter went off to college and they were looking for a home for their 6 year old thoroughbred gelding.  I began talking to them and at first they were concerned about my 24/7 turn out situation. My trainer reached out to them unbeknownst to me and personally vouched for me along with my ability to provide excellent care to my animals. Within the next week they reached out again and told me I was welcome to come meet him if I was still interested.

I grabbed my childhood friend who shares my love of thoroughbreds and we visited R Tom Cat at a gorgeous equine facility less than an hour south of me. I admit I felt very self-conscious visiting this barn.  It was stunning; picture perfect with picture perfect riders.  I am a good rider and I claim to not care what others think but I can’t help that it still crosses my mind.  I’m heavier that I want to be.  I don’t wear pristine clothes….heck I’m lucky I even have a pair of breeches (thank you Ashley!). 

When I got in the saddle I instantly felt at ease. 

R TOM CAT, the photo that was initially sent to me.

R Tom Cat and I clicked immediately and became one being; together we moved around the ring. He was soft, willing, and brave. We took a cross rail effortlessly.  At that point my insecurities held me back from trying the vertical and the oxar in front of everybody. In truth I would have done fine but I got in my own head…and my head is not a good place to be while riding.  After a few laps around and changing directions we decided to take it outdoors.

I was told he was more forward outside. True; he was forward…but he was in no way like Blade forward. I felt in control of the entire time and he moved effortlessly through the field. My dream came true riding through an open grassy field, something I’ve always wanted to do and we were doing it! At the end of the field I reined him in some and he adjusted his stride to a much more collected canter.

Just like that.

No fuss.

No arguments.

He just came back.

I finished our ride smiling and was honored to hear the farm owner say he liked me.  It was great news because I really liked him too.  At this point I wasn’t 100% certain his owners would select me since there were several other people interested in seeing him.  At the very least I can say I’m super happy to have had a chance to ride this horse.

THE FINAL LOOK

I have been given a lot to think about.  My future may be vastly different depending on the horse I select (or the horse that selects me) to become my next permanent family member. 

WHO WILL COME LIVE WITH BLADE?

VEGAS

DUCHESS

COCO

ABBY

NAHE

FILLY

R TOM CAT

VEGAS

PROS: Mustang, Good height, good age, kind, trusting

CONS: Crooked legs/pigeon toed, lacks training, lacked confidence, rears when confused

THOUGHTS: Concerned about long-term rideability and soundness

COCO:

PROS: Mustang, great body condition on pasture only, great feet, great mind, soft eye

CONS: Owner not ready to part with horse

THOUGHTS: Mustangs are a very hardy breed, bred by nature the way nature intended. 

DUCHESS

PROS: Good height, kind, good body condition on pasture only

CONS: Mare, possibly reactive, cow kicking during ride

THOUGHTS: Hard to decipher pain vs bugs in one ride. Concerned Blade might get too attached to a mare

ABBY

PROS: Blade’s half sister, great build, perfect height, great age, good temperament

CONS: Small windpipe

THOUGHTS: Concerned about long-term health and soundness, would be cool to have siblings

NAHE

PROS: Surefooted, great build, calm, kind, comfortable, sound, great hooves,

CONS: Sensitive to bugs, might resist direct reining, can be stubborn

THOUGHTS: I love paints.  I’m not worried about training, as long as he’s willing to try.  Medication for allergies is cheap

FILLY

PROS: Young, nice conformation, great personality

CONS: 1.5 years old, never started a horse, Blade might get attached

THOUGHTS: Having a baby will give me time to get my act together and get a truck and trailer before we are ready to go do things.  I’m concerned I may get in over my head starting a young horse.

R TOM CAT

PROS: Ideal age, ideal height, great temperament, trained exactly for what I want to do

CONS: Shod, Other interested parties, well trained may be out of my league

THOUGHTS: I loved this horse but shoes can be expensive and I need to make sure I ride often as he is accustomed to a certain standard

Fast forward a bit…my new horse is coming home tomorrow morning.

WHO WILL IT BE?

The Green Horseman’s Latest Quest As with everything all things must come to an end. For the past year Zeno Bay and Vai Via have been in my care and I have loved and adored them as they if were my own.

#Blade #equine #EquineTherapy #Horse #horselover #Horses #HorseShopping #MajorLifeChanges #TheGreenHorseman #WarriorsBlade