#But the amount of back and forth needed to get simple tasks done on time

[baby-octopus]

i am ...starting to regret joining student gov....

[pibsboots]

I've always had chronic fatigue. I remember being twelve, and an adult mentioned how I couldn't possibly know how tired they felt because adulthood brought levels of exhaustion I couldn't imagine. I thought about that for days in fear, because I couldn't remember the last time I didn't feel tired.

Eventually I came to terms with the fact that I was just tired, and I couldn't do as many things as everyone else. People called me lazy, and I knew that wasn't true, but there's only so many times you can say "I'm tired" before people think it's an excuse. I don't blame them. When a teenager does 20 hours of extracurriculars every week and only says "I'm too tired" when you ask them to do the dishes, it's natural to think it's an excuse. At some point, I started to think the same thing.

It didn't matter that I could barely sit up. It was probably all in my head, and if I really wanted to, I could do it.

When I learned the name for it, chronic fatigue, I thought wow, people that have that must be miserable, because I am always tired and I cannot imagine what it would feel like if it were worse.

Spoiler alert, if you've been tired for a decade, it's probably chronic fatigue.

Once I figured that out though, I thought of my energy as the same as everyone else's, just smaller in quantity. And that might be true for some people, but I've figured out recently that it absolutely isn't true for me.

I used to be like wow I have so much energy today I can do this whole list for sure! And then I'd do the dishes and have to lay down for 2 hours. Then I'd think I must gave misjudged that, I didn't have as much energy as I thought.

But the thing is - I did have enough energy for more tasks, I just didn't go about them properly.

With chronic fatigue, your maximum energy is obviously much smaller than the average person's. Doing the dishes for you might use up the same percentage of energy that it takes to do all the daily chores for someone else.

If someone without chronic fatigue was to do all the daily chores, they would take breaks. Because otherwise, they're sprinting a marathon for no reason and it would take way more energy than necessary. We have to do the same.

Put the cups in the dishwasher, take a break. Put the bowls in, take a break. So on and so forth. This may mean taking breaks every 2-5 minutes but afterwards, you get to not feel like you've run a marathon while carrying 4 people on your back.

Today, I had a moderate amount of energy. Under my old system of go till you drop, I probably could have done most of the dishes and wiped off the counter and then been dead to the world for the rest of the day.

Under the new system, I scooped litter boxes, cleaned out the fridge, took the trash out, cleaned the stove, and wiped off the counter and did all the dishes. And after all that, I still had it in me to make a simple dinner, unload the dishwasher, and tidy the kitchen.

It was complete and utter insanity. Just because I sat down whenever I felt myself getting more tired than I already was.

All this to say, take fucking breaks. It's time to unlearn the ceaseless productivity bullshit that capitalism has shoved down our throats. Its actively counterproductive. Just sit down. Drink some water. Rest your body when it needs to rest.

There will still be days where there is nothing to do but rest, and days where half a load of dishes is absolutely the most I can do. But this method has really helped me minimize those, which is so incredibly relieving.

[knowltonsrangers]

haunted

TURN!George Washington x reader

[a/n: some gwash angst, m’ladies, gents, & friends!]

There’s a full silence that encapsulates the room, your hands making fast movements as they carefully shuffle around his lower body. Your eyes gloss over at the sight of so many wounds that cover his arms, torso, and legs.

Sitting, even still, the man is an intimidating shadow, his eyes staring intently at the side of your head as if willing you to speak.

You wouldn’t relent, not this time. With the way he looks down at you, it’s as if he silently wishes for you to chew him out, to beg him to be more careful.

He needed to figure it all out before you started to forget you weren’t supposed to care.

“y/n,”

Your gaze flits to his temporarily, then back to the task of bandaging his hand.

“Yes?”

You answer meekly, as if your simple reply would jumpstart this conversation.

“Why are you so angry?”

Is that the emotion that he decided was all over your face? Your brow furrows, grabbing the scissors off the table to cut the gauze when it’s reaches the end of his finger.

“I’m…not.”

You shrug your shoulders, sitting on the ottoman in front of him so you can stare at the floor.

“No harm in me wishing you’d take better care of yourself, though.”

George hums, sitting up a little straighter, as if he was weighing the consequences of his next words very carefully.

“No, there is no harm in that.”

There’s that uncomfortable silence again, and part of you just wanted to leave, and the other half wanted to grab his shoulders and shake him as hard as you possibly could, hopeful it would knock some sense into him.

“You do know that none of these things hurt me, right?”

You pause, mid-action, your hand running down his bandages to make sure they all laid flat.

“I beg your pardon?”

You wished you were a little more offended.

“These little cuts, the surface wounds. They don’t…hurt me.”

You swallow, finishing your survey early before standing, now just a little bit taller than the man seated.

“Good,”

Is all you can find, suddenly hyper-aware you’re playing with your own fingers.

“If that’s all, may I…?”

You haven’t the slightest in why you’re asking him, when you have the right to leave the room at any point.

But for some reason, some unknown rationale, you can’t move your feet from the floor.

“No, I’m not done.”

And that’s why you asked, subconsciously-you knew he wasn’t.

Sighing, his hands come to his knees as he stands, joints aching as he moves around the ottoman to stand in front of you.

“y/n, you’re clearly still upset with me, so may I ask what has you so troubled?”

Ah, there it is. He’s staring down at you, awaiting an answer you aren’t even sure you possess, fingers balling into tight fists at your sides, then releasing when you sigh heavily.

“I…don’t know.”

Your nose wrinkles, still not able to match his gaze, instead staring intently at the bandages along his hands.

“I think I get upset seeing you so consistently injured. Even if they don’t hurt you, I think they…speak for themselves.”

Suddenly stumped for words, the man hesitates, thumb running along his index finger as the words stumble forth with an astonishing amount of disbelief.

“They do?”

Your left eye twitches, tooth biting unceremoniously into your bottom lip, finally courageous enough to yank your eyes to meet his.

“That you don’t quite care for your own well being.”

It comes out softer than you intend.

For a moment, there’s nothing but a good staring contest, and when you’ve finally had enough, you break the contact by sighing and turning away.

“If that’s all, I’ll be upstairs. I’m sure you have much work to do.”

You begin towards the stairs, taking your opportunity in silently begging the man to chase after you, and when you hear one floorboard creek, your heart skyrockets.

And once more, you’re met with the gripping feeling of reality.

“I…good night, y/n. I will be there shortly.”

Just this once, you didn’t have the heart to joke and tell him that would be a lie. Instead, you swiftly take the stairs two at a time, insistent that he deserved no more comfort tonight.

And neither did you.

[delicatestudentanchor]

How HR Payroll Software Improves Accuracy and Saves Time

If you're managing payroll manually, you're probably used to late nights, endless Excel sheets, and double-checking calculations that never seem to end. Even when you think you’ve got it covered, a tiny error can throw off salary payments, tax filings, or compliance. It’s exhausting and risky.

Luckily, there’s a better way to handle it all. Many companies are now switching to HR and payroll software to cut down on mistakes and save time. If you're wondering how it helps, keep reading.

Manual Payroll Is Slowing You Down (and Stressing You Out)

Let’s face it, handling payroll manually is time-consuming. You’re stuck juggling spreadsheets, calculating deductions by hand, and keeping up with ever-changing rules. Mistakes are easy to make and hard to find. One wrong figure can lead to incorrect payments, unhappy employees, and even penalties.

Sound familiar? You’re not alone. Small businesses often don’t realize how much time and energy they spend on payroll every month until they switch to a better system.

What Does HRMS Payroll Software Actually Do?

Before we get into the benefits, let’s break down what HRMS payroll software really is. In simple terms, it’s a tool that helps businesses automate everything related to payroll. It connects with your attendance system, calculates salaries, handles tax deductions, and even generates payslips and reports without any manual work.

Good HRMS and payroll software also updates itself with the latest legal rules and compliance guidelines, so you don’t have to worry about staying on top of everything. It becomes your payroll assistant, available 24/7.

Fewer Mistakes, Less Stress

One of the biggest reasons companies switch to HR and payroll software is to avoid mistakes. When you’re calculating salaries by hand or copying data across spreadsheets, it’s easy to miss something. Maybe it’s an overtime entry, a deduction, or a tax rule that changed last month.

Software helps avoid all that. It checks and calculates everything for you. Many systems come with validation alerts to warn you if something doesn’t look right, before you process the payroll.

This means fewer corrections, fewer employee complaints, and more peace of mind for your HR team.

Save both Time and Money

We all know time is valuable. And when you’re spending hours on manual data entry, tracking attendance, or calculating bonuses, that’s time you could be using to focus on growing your business.

Here’s where HRMS and payroll software makes a big difference. It can:

Automatically pull attendance data from biometric or app-based systems.

Calculate salaries based on set rules and structures.

Handle PF, ESI, TDS, and other deductions correctly.

Generate payslips and tax forms with just a few clicks.

Send payslips to employees without any extra work.

With these tasks handled by the software, your HR team has more time for things that actually need a human touch like hiring, employee support, or team engagement.

Make Employees Happy with Fast and Error-Free Payroll

Employees don’t want to chase HR for payslips or wonder if they’ve been paid the right amount. They expect their salary to come on time, every time, and it’s correct down to the last rupee.

HRMS payroll software helps deliver that experience. Most systems come with employee self-service portals where team members can log in to view their payslips, download tax forms, and check their leave balances. There are no back-and-forth emails, no delays, just transparency and trust.

Happy employees = better morale and lower attrition. It’s a win-win.

Ready to Switch? Here’s a Smarter Way to Start With Opportune HR

If you’ve been considering moving away from manual payroll, now’s the time to make it happen. Businesses that use HR and payroll software often say they wish they had done it sooner. Less stress, fewer mistakes, and more time back in their day.

And if you’re looking for a trusted name to help you make that switch, Opportune HR is worth checking out.

They offer a complete HRMS and payroll software solution built for Indian businesses. From automated payroll to compliance updates and powerful reporting, Opportune HR takes care of everything. Whether you have a team of 20 or 2,000, their platform can scale with your needs.

[capyquest-logs]

Daily Log #20

Sorry for posting this so late!

11/7 - 11/8:

(Nearly) finished idle animations

Added swaying to idle animations

I know, it sounds like I didn't really get much done, but there was actually a LOT of effort put forth to get things working.

First off, the system I was experimenting with since the last daily log (seen below) was a BAD idea. It created an unnecessary amount of variables, it was cluttered, and it just didn't work. You see, I hadn't considered that being in an animation blend space would change the timing of the animations. So, even when I set a delay to the same length of an animation, it wouldn't always start at the beginning of the animation. So I would get the second half of the animation, then the first, and then it would just hard-cut back to the idle pose.

On the left is the bad version, and on the right I have the current situation, which is working smoothly.

You can see, now each of the animations plays as an animation montage, and the anim montage node has a length output, which made it super easy to plug into a delay node. I also, after MUCH research and trial and error, got the AI MoveTo function to work. For a while I thought I would have to do the random wandering through an AI behavior tree, and so after many wasted hours of creating sequences, blackboards, tasks, and doing research on casting and interfaces, I found out all I had to do was connect an AI controller to the capy actor. I didn't even have to do anything else, just make the controller and link it to the actor, and it just started working. Well, at least I learned along the way.

However! I can't figure out why, but the walk cycle animation isn't playing when AI MoveTo is active. Which will be a headache to figure out why, since everything looks right to me, but I'll get it figured out.

I also added some swaying to the idle animations, for the more ditzy capybaras, and I put a simple boolean toggle in the idle macro so I can easily turn it on or off for any given capybara.

So, with that I finished almost everything I had planned to this week. I just need to fix the walk cycle problem!

[beauregardlionett]

healing hands

Healing magic only did so much, especially when the wounds were deep.

There was a distinct...she wouldn’t say touch, but something to each caster’s magic. Like most of the arcane and divine, it took time to attune to the intricacies of the individual, to find those subtle and unique cues in the weave. By now, Beau could pin point how stretched Jester’s magic was by how intense the zing was through her veins. She knew Caduceus needed to rest by how deeply the warm curl of his magic traveled through her muscles. And if she didn’t sense it in the moment, she knew by how much she ached afterward.

A fair amount of healing meant sore muscles - like she had done a vigorous workout the day before. The best healing Beau got meant any lingering trace of stiffness was long gone by the time she finished her morning stretches.

This time though, a full day later, she sat up in her bed and winced. Her shoulder was tighter than it had been in a while. The joint stubbornly refused to move through her full range of motion without some kind of protest.

Beau raised her arm again, forcing herself to breathe as she did. Despite her best attempts, something pulled and protested and she dropped her arm again with a strangled curse. She couldn’t even put her fucking hair up. It seemed a miracle Beau got dressed this morning. But now she sat on the edge of her bed, frustrated at her inability to do this one simple task.

If she couldn’t even put her own hair up, what was she going to do if the group encountered hostiles in their travels? Without full mobility and use of her arm, Beau might as well be dead weight. The group would have to compensate and carry her weight, and what if they decided she wasn’t worth the effort? They had come a long way since Trostenwald, sure; but how far were they willing to go? Beau understood little about healing magic other than how it felt, but she figured it did little for old injuries. This one had been healed over with minimal magic and a night’s rest. Would magic even matter?

A knock on her door.

“Beau? Are you up?”

Yasha.

Beau debated staying silent, but that would likely only incite further concern and she couldn’t have that.

“Yeah,” she called back. “Just getting ready.”

“Okay,” Yasha said through the door. “Everyone is heading to breakfast. Do you mind if I come in?”

There was no reason to say no. Beau had stated that she was getting ready, so her unfinished appearance would not be unusual. Even if she pretended to be half dressed, the entire group had literally seen every one of them naked and soaking in a hot tub. Modesty did not exist between them.

“Yeah,” Beau answered without too much pause. “Come on in!”

She could not see the door to her tower bedroom from the edge of her bed, but she heard it open, then shut. The soft pad of Yasha’s boots against her floor followed, growing louder as she got closer. Beau tried for a normal expression and knew she fell painfully short when Yasha stopped in front of her and cocked an eyebrow.

“You look tense,” Yasha said without preamble. “Are you okay?”

Useless.

Beau bit her lip and tried for a grin, knowing before the expression even finished setting that she convinced no one. She held her limbs like she was in pain, like she might bolt with one wrong move. (Both of which were true.)

But what was she going to say? That she got hurt and was therefore useless to their day’s plans? That when they put the tower away after breakfast, Beau feared being left behind? They hadn’t even had a cup of coffee yet. It felt far too early to confess such massive insecurities.

Her silence must have been more telling than she meant it to be, because Yasha knelt in front of her and placed her big, warm hands on Beau’s knees. Her mismatched eyes were twin pools of gentle concern. One thumb rubbed back and forth over the uneven ridge of Beau’s kneecap. Every line of Yasha’s posture denoted attentiveness to Beau’s condition, a willing participant in her struggle. It was something Beau still struggled to comprehend.

Sometimes she wished she knew how to lie to Yasha.

Except she didn’t.

The thought alone left a foul taste in Beau’s mouth. Yasha had only ever been honest with Beau, and she did the same in return.

They had come a long way since Trostenwald.

Beau deflated with a heavy exhale, fingers picking at a hangnail.

“My shoulder hurts,” she muttered. Something aged and defensive curled with an unpleasant roil beneath Beau’s sternum. “I don’t think it healed all the way after that fight the other day. I can’t even raise my arm to do my hair.”

Yasha’s eyes tracked to Beau’s shoulder, something shuttering over her expression for a moment as if she remembered the nasty wound that had sat there. Her fingers tightened for a moment over Beau’s knees before Yasha smoothed over her ragged edges with a steady breath.

“You’re scared.” Not a question.

Beau nodded, finding her voice failing her.

“Would you like my help?”

This was why Beau could never lie to Yasha. Even after months and months of travel and trial together - there was never any assumption. She always asked, and she always took the word ‘no’ without question. Yasha was obvious in her desire to be close to Beau, but she still remembered to leave room for permission. She also held Beau’s fears with all the care she afforded her flowers, and promptly banished them with ease.

“Please?”

Yasha’s smile unfurled the way a summer storm came on. First, a shadow. Then, a slow, steady trickle of what was to come before it completely unleashed - full and inescapable.

She stood from in front of Beau and climbed up onto the bed behind her. There was a moment of shuffling, of rumpled sheets against shifting legs before Yasha’s fingers were in her hair. Her fingers combed through Beau’s tangles, working to unwind knots as tension unspooled from Beau’s shoulders. Her blunt nails against Beau’s scalp felt like permission to cease existing for however long Yasha would let her.

Beau became so lost in the repetitive, soothing sensation of Yasha’s fingers in her hair that she failed to process when Yasha finished. Her hair was neat and spun up into a braided bun, secured with her hair ribbon like always. Beau only realized Yasha’s hands had worked down her neck and over to her shoulder when a flare of pain pulled Beau sharply back into focus.

“Sorry,” Yasha murmured, her fingers lightening their pressure. “It’s been a long time since I’ve done this.”

“Done what?” Beau managed as the pain faded to a dull throbbing.

“This,” Yasha repeated, applying less pressure than before. “We did not have many healers in my tribe, so we all learned the basics. If it hurts too much, I can stop.”

“No,” Beau said, perhaps a little too quick. “No, it’s okay. It just took me by surprise.”

“Are you sure?”

Beau twisted enough to find Yasha’s eyes over her shoulder.

“I’m sure.”

With Beau’s permission, Yasha continued her work, tentative at first. Her fingers worked with more expertise than Beau realized she had, applying pressure to knots and spots of tension. She held her fingers in certain places, adding more weight in slow increments behind the press, rubbing to soothe the spot when it finally released. It ached, of course, but by the time Yasha had given attention to all of Beau’s shoulder, she was a limp, loose puddle of content.

Yasha cupped her hands over Beau’s shoulder, moving it in careful circles, testing the mobility. Her hands grew warmer, glowing in Beau’s peripheral.

Of course. How could she have forgotten?

Where Jester’s sang like an electric zest, a sugar rush, and Caduceus curled like sunshine and a warm drink, there was also Yasha’s healing magic. Yasha, who was not a healer by trade. Who raged quietly in battle and personified a storm. Her magic spread like the buzz of static electricity over Beau’s skin, but sunk into her muscles and her veins with the gentle heat of summer rain.

She was so caught in the familiar fever of Yasha’s balm that she offered no resistance when Yasha lifted Beau’s arm all the way above her head.

“That seems better,” Yasha said, voice soft.

Oh.

Beau blinked and looked up at Yasha and her arm.

“Much,” Beau agreed, voice hoarse. “Thanks.”

Yasha grinned, clearly pleased with herself. As she shuffled off the bed, Beau tried not to mourn the loss of her warm hands. But then Yasha stooped to press a quick kiss to Beau’s forehead as she grabbed her hand, tugging Beau to her feet.

“Breakfast?”

There were a million other things Beau would rather do than eat breakfast right now - every one of them involving Yasha’s hands staying on her. Perhaps they could explore all that later, when Beau’s brain remembered how to form a full sentence and Yasha wasn’t looking at her like that.

“Sure,” Beau croaked. “I could eat.”

She didn’t let go of Yasha’s hand for most of the morning.

[young-dumb-and-vaccinated]

Cult Girl: Doctorate (Hannibal x Pregnant!Female!Reader) pt. 13

Hannibal and cult girl make an executive decision about their family and their future.

@wisesandwichshark @pearlstiare

Trigger warnings: threats of violence

"What do you think, pumpkin?" You whispered to your bump, hoping that the jaunty music coming from your 3DS would make your one-sided conversion harder to hear. "Which starter should I choose?"

You put your hand on your belly. "Should I choose Treeko?"

A strong, enthusiastic kick followed.

"Wow! Treeko it is, then." You laughed, selecting the lizard Pokémon. "With kicks that strong, you're gonna grow up to be an MMA fighter."

Hannibal entered the room, trying to soothe his temper but failing. He was tasked with cleaning up the mess on the porch, and his sinuses were singed.

"My hero!" You cooed, trying to make him feel better about having to deal with what you dubbed the Bitch Petroleum Oil Spill.

"If she comes back on our property, she's dinner." Hannibal paced back and forth across the room, seething with rage. You didn't know if it was the threat against your life or the h-bomb of concentrated essential oils that got him so steamed. Probably both.

"Hannibal-" You said in a soothing voice.

"-if she runs into you at the grocery store, she's dinner. If I smell a whiff of that hideous Marc Jacobs concoction she bathes in, she's dinner."

"I don't think anything is going to happen, Hanni." You said, more for your sake than for his. If there was even a possibility that you or your baby were in danger, he'd do everything in his power to keep you safe. And he had quite a bit of power.

Hannibal released a tense breath and sat down on the bed. "How do you know?"

You shut your 3DS and put it to the side. "I just do."

"With logical reasoning like that, you'd make quite a lawyer, Mrs. Lecter." Hannibal teased, in that stiff, half-amused way he did when he was partially done working through tension.

"If it were Theresa, I'd be worried." You rationalized. "Theresa is an executor. Anna is a follower. She doesn't have the individual drive to actually, y'know, hurt someone."

"You did end her career and her marriage, not to mention her prospects of winning an obscene amount of money, in one ten-minute conversation." He recounted. "That is some serious motive. I wouldn't put much past her."

"Please." You rolled your eyes. "All she's gonna do is beg Liam to let her in, take a bath and drink an entire bottle of chardonnay while watching Riverdale."

Hannibal took off his shoes and lied down next to you. He propped his head up on his arm and fixed his gaze on you.

"What?" You laughed.

"You're so delectably round." He commented, licking his lips.

"Hey!" You protested. "You can't make those jokes when you actually eat people, y'know?"

"Is that so?" He smirked, propping himself up over you on his elbows. He lowered his face down to your ear. "Am I scaring you?"

"No." You giggled. "But you might be scaring her!"

"Her?" He repeated.

"The baby, who else?"

His face turned from playfully mischievous to genuine wonder and awe. He stroked your hair and looked into your eyes.

"What?" You laughed. "Are you mad that I assumed the baby's pronouns? Cause I will read her Gender Trouble when the time is right-"

"You want to be a mother." He said, his voice in an optimistic upturn.

Your face turned hot. "I've been... considering it."

"You do." Hannibal corrected. "I hear you talking to her, teaching her all about Pokémon. Telling her all the things you want to do when she arrives."

You looked down at your belly and narrowed your eyes. "You snitch. I told you not to tell anyone."

Hannibal chuckled, his hand lifting your shirt to reveal your large belly. "You would be the most incredible mother."

"Not to harsh the buzz or anything," You said, breaking eye contact. "But it's not like I have a very strong foundation to build off of."

"That just means we have to build our own foundation." He said, his buzz not harshed in the slightest. "One based on love, education, compassion."

"Hannibal..." you sighed. "What happens when I go back to school?"

"You'll study. Hard, of course." He said as if it were that simple. "You'll focus on your career and I will be the primary caregiver until you've established yourself."

"You said it yourself, though." You shrugged. "Parenting isn't supposed to be some blissful retirement plan. It's stressful."

"I've come to the realization that if I want this child I need to do everything in my power to minimize the burden on you." Hannibal said. "My career is secured. Yours is just getting started. I couldn't live with myself if I denied you that."

"I mean..." your voice trailed off. "We killed two couples and turned them into tex-mex together. Is there anything we can't do?"

"That's my girl." He said, running his fingers through your hair.

"Of course, now we have a lot of planning to do." You tried not to sound too excited. "We need to buy a stroller, a carseat, a changing table-"

"Pick a name." Hannibal finished.

Your mouth hung open. "Oh, shit, you're right!"

"You haven't thought of it at all?" Hannibal raised an eyebrow.

You shook your head. "Once you name it, you start getting attached to it. I guess I wanted to avoid that."

"So you're telling me you don't have a singular notion of what you'd want to name our little girl?" He pressed.

You caved. "Something not basic."

Hannibal was a professional at keeping his emotions under wraps: and that included body language and vocal intonation. You learned to pick up on his reactions through the most minute of tells. For example, the tiny exhale out of his nose and the slight tightening of his lips roughly translated to "oh thank god".

"Something that would be befitting for the title of countess." Hannibal said, taking the opportunity to remind you of his royal lineage.

"Will she be privy to the title if she's born out of wedlock?" You joked.

"She will be. Because I say so." Hannibal's curled upper lip turned into a self-confident smile. "And so will you, my countess."

"Well, in that case," You said, staring dreamily off into space. "I've always liked the quiet majesty of Gaelic and Celtic names."

His eyes lit up. "Deidre, Isolde, Saoirse, Rowena?"

"Boudicca." You offered. "Countess Boudicca Lecter."

"The warrior queen." He placed his hand over your belly. "Just like her mother."

"Or what about Cordelia?" You posed. "It's elegant, but simple."

"Imogen?" Hannibal said, as if he were asking the baby for her opinion.

Another sharp kick followed. He would never get used to feeling her kick. It made him melt every time.

He lowered himself to bring his lips to your belly. "You like the name Imogen?"

"Imogen Lecter." You said. "I like the sound of that."

Hannibal kissed your bump and then looked up at you. "Now then, my love. You are to teach me everything you know about Pokémon."

Your eyes widened. You never thought anyone would ever ask that. "...I'd love to, but, why?"

Hannibal returned to your side and pulled you into his arms. "How am I supposed to keep up with you and sweet Imogen if I don't know how the game works?"

You laughed. "You really want to know?"

"It makes you happy." He nodded, holding you a little closer. "Why wouldn't I want to know?"

A smile spread across your face. "It's a turn-based roleplaying game. You catch and train magical creatures and the end goal is to assemble a diverse team that covers as many areas as possible."

"That sounds, admittedly, quite fun." He said, reaching for your 3DS. "Show me?"

You spent the rest of the evening together in a cuddle pile, walking him through how the game worked. For an evening, you forgot about your sore breasts, your aching back and your sadistic cousin. You just enjoyed being with Hannibal and with Imogen in the dim glow of a decade-old 3DS.

[beyondspaceandstars]

Knitted

Relationship: Din Djarin x Reader Warnings: N/A Summary: Din notices you've begun keeping something from him, constantly hiding away at night. Finally deciding to confront you, you give him the most adorable surprise. A/N: this isn’t exactly a Valentine’s Day but I thought it was just the right amount of soft and fluffy to post on the day of love :) MASTERLIST

Din realized something was odd the day you came back from the market lugging along two overflowing, large bags. You weren’t exactly one to just splurge for any reason having known way too well the importance of budgeting so to see you arriving back to the ship under the weight of items was confusing.

He tried peaking into the bag but was only able to make out a mirage of colors before you quickly closed it and starting shooing him away. Din tried asking what all that stuff was but you ignored it, attention now set on finding a place for your newly purchased items.

Stuff started to get even weirder with you when you began hiding away in the evening. If in motion, he’d find you in random areas of the ship, your back always to him as your hands worked away at something. When he’d call your name, you’d clean up your supplies and spend the rest of the night with him, very good at pretending nothing was going on.

While situated on some planet or another, you’d take your project outside, furiously working in whatever field you found yourselves in. You’d still make sure your back was to the ship, covering whatever you were doing.

Din would watch you sometimes, greatly confused but hesitant to ask. The last thing he wanted was for you to feel he was overbearing. He knew you could handle your own and hoped you’d come to him in time with… whatever was going on.

But things were even more peculiar when you began allowing Grogu to join you in your work, still denying Din even a hint. He was stunned when he realized this while looking for the child one night. Giggling coos came from outside, driving his interest, and sure enough, there was the little guy sitting across from you, absolutely captivated.

Suddenly, both of you appeared to be keeping something from him. While he didn’t exactly feel anger or worry (What could you possibly conspire with a child?) he certainly felt a tinge of jealousy. Din didn’t want to admit it at first but, yes, he was jealous of the green creature.

Still, though, he tried not to pry. He’d pretend to be just as busy or involved with one thing or another on the ship. You really didn’t seem to notice him faking tasks.

But he had to admit, the loss of your attention from time to time was driving him kind of insane. Sure, you’d accompany him throughout the day and sit with him chatting away in the mornings but the second the opportunity arose, you were off.

Finally, one day, Din decided he was going to at least ask what was up with you. He wasn’t going to be all demanding or intimidating he was just going to ask a simple question with hopes of you letting him in.

It was like any other night as you were seated outside the ship with your back to the ramp, per usual. The child was with you, seemingly very comfortable sitting on your lap. His big ears were peaking out, giving his position away.

Din could faintly hear you going on about something as he was making his way to you, but before he could get very close, you picked up on his presence and collected your items. Moving the child off your lap, you stood up, hands behind your back. You and Grogu stood watching Din as he approached.

"Hi, honey," you smiled innocently at the Mandalorian stomping his way towards you, clearly with a distinct purpose.

"Is everything alright?" He asked, watching your suspicious stance.

"Of course," you nodded. "Why? What’s wrong?"

"I- What’s wrong?" He scoffed but instantly regretted it, realizing his plans of asking a "simple" question were going off the rails very quickly. "I should be asking you that."

"Well, nothing’s wrong here," you said and looked down towards the child. He was glancing between you two. "We’re okay, right?" Grogu cooed in response.

Din just sighed. "What’s with all the disappearing and secrecy? I don’t mean to be nosy, cyar’ika, but it’s getting concerning-,"

"Give me an hour," you blurted out.

"Huh?" Din asked, suddenly dumbfounded by your response. He had just gotten back on his original goal ready with his speech and yet you were already stopping him.

"Give me an hour," you repeated. "I’ll show you what I’ve been working on."

He nodded, "Okay. One hour."

You smiled, nodding back all seriously as he had. "One hour."

***

Exactly one hour later, Din came marching back out only to find in standing in a different spot. The child was nowhere to be seen but from the way you were standing eagerly in front of what looked like some wood debris, something in him told him where he’d find the little guy. This did nothing but add another layer of complete bewilderment.

"So, you really want to know what I’ve been up to?" You teased, rocking back and forth on your feet.

Din sighed, "Cyar’ika…,"

"Okay, okay," you said and stepped to the side, arms outstretched in presentation fashion. "Ta-da!"

What you had to show was far from anything Din could’ve ever expected. There, standing on the debris, was Grogu draped in a long knitted sweater complemented by a tiny matching hat. He waved his little arms in equal excitement as you both looked to Din for a reaction.

"What…?" He was suddenly at a loss for words. Had you done this? Had you been putting together clothes for the child this entire time? A million things ran through his mind as his heart was melting from watching the pride in your eyes.

Kneeling in front of the child, he touched the sweater, almost in disbelief that it was real, and then turned to look back at you. You took a seat next to him, smile as wide and excited as ever.

"I made him some outfits," you said, reaching into your jacket pocket to pull out some more articles of knitted clothing. You handed some to Din for which he stared at, still speechless. "I thought the sweater and hat were the best to show you first but I also have some gloves, socks, even more sweaters-,"

"You made all these? That’s what you’ve been doing?" He finally asked, accidentally cutting off your rambling.

You nodded, "Yeah."

Din got quiet again as he looked over everything, gently inspecting the items. Suddenly feeling embarrassed by his lack of substantial words, you turned your attention to Grogu. You watched as he had begun picking up the tiny gloves to put on. You chuckled at his fascination for the pieces, grateful someone seemed to like them.

"Cyar’ika, I can’t believe it," Din mumbled, placing the garment he was holding back with the others.

"Is- Is it okay?" You nervously asked, still looking towards the child who had just figured out how to put on gloves. He let out little coos at his accomplishment.

"It’s incredible," Din finally answered, now joining you in watching Grogu enjoy the new outfit choices. Your heart nearly burst at his words. A rush of relief came over you as the fear of accidentally overstepping had been creeping in your mind. "You seriously did all this for him?"

You couldn’t help the smile starting to break out on your face again.

"Yeah, I did," you nodded. "I thought he deserved some kind of wardrobe and I got a good deal on the yarn at the market so, I went for it."

Din took one last glance at the clothes before fully turning to you. You just shyly met his dark visor’s gaze.

"Why did you keep it from me?" He asked, softly.

You chuckled, "Why would I tell you when we could give you a little fashion show instead?"

Din couldn’t help but give a small laugh at your explanation. Warmth filled you as you took in his reaction to your project.

"You’re so great," Din whispered as he brought his hand to face, caressing your cheek softly. The warmth was traveling to your face now causing you to unsuccessfully suppress yourself from blushing at his touch.

"Din…" you sighed, practically melting into his hand.

"I mean it," he mumbled, his thumb brushing over your lips. "I know I don’t say it enough but you’re the best partner I could’ve asked for."

You swore your heart skipped a full beat at his words. You pulled his hand from your face and intertwined your fingers. Leaning closer, you gave a sweet kiss to his helmet. Din let out a content sigh at the action.

"You don’t need to say it," you whispered. "You show it every day."

Din had half the nerve to rip off his helmet right then and there and finally soak in your glorious kisses when he heard those words fall off your lips. You must’ve known what he was thinking as you gripped his hand tighter and went in to give another kiss to his helmet — but, of course, someone had to pipe up beside you. Incoherent babbling put a halt to your actions.

You turned to find Grogu standing in front of you two, watching with those curious eyes. He was holding up another long sweater you had made, motioning it up towards you.

Din looked at him, trying to make out whatever he was trying to communicate. "What?"

"Someone is demanding a wardrobe change," you chuckled. "Models are such divas."

Din laughed along as he started helping you get the little guy into a new outfit. When he was content, the child did little spins showing off his little outfit, making yours and Din’s heart absolutely melt.

An arm was slung over your shoulder suddenly as Din pulled you into him. You happily accepted, wrapping your arms around him, nestling your head into his armor-covered chest. You two sat in some silence for a moment or so watching Grogu admire the pieces and work out different accessories.

"I love you, you know," Din mumbled. "A lot."

You giggled, I love you more."

He scoffed, "Impossible, cyar’ika."

[cherry-draws]

[Master Kohga x Reader] Fantasy Night

Warning : this One-Shot contains sensuality, but not sexual scenes or violence.

Here is my first x Reader text, I'm not fond of this kind of litterature so I decided to do one in my way. I hope you'll enjoy it, do not hesitate to leave me a comment if you have any question or suggestion !

It had been a while since you joined the yiga clan, and you had gotten used to it faster than you thought. Contrary to what rumors might suggest, it didn't sound so much like a cult, although headed by a leader, you were more like family. As a simple yiga footsoldier, you spent your days on a mission, roaming the endless and verdant plains of Hyrule. Fearing that you would be reprimanded if you came home empty-handed, you often made arrangements to bring back food or rupies. During your days off, you liked to alternate rest time and activities with your circle of friends.

That evening, a party was organized to celebrate an achievement: your clan had managed to steal the Thunder Helm, a sacred relic belonging to a people living in a distant city in the desert. It was a unique object, allowing protection against lightning, and which could be resold at a high price.

Some members, whith coocking habilities, had been busy preparing multitudes of banana-based dishes: pancakes, fruit chutneys, salads, cakes, etc.

Everyone was gathered, including your leader, Master Kohga, and everyone seemed to be having a good time.

The party had dragged on until late at night, and while most of the members had gone to bed, the more reckless ended up dozing off in the kitchen.

You were part of it, except you weren't asleep, you were pretending. You glanced fondly at a sleeping footsoldier in the arms of an officer. It didn't surprise you, indeed, you had suspected them of feeling an attraction to each other for some time.

You too were secretly attracted to someone from your clan. Lying on your side, your head resting on your left arm, your right leg drawn back to your chest, you watched in silence, almost holding your breath. You hadn't told anyone about it, you did everything to show nothing. The truth is, you weren't interested in the slim, skinny bodies of your fellow underlings, nor did you look at the sturdy, muscular figures of the officers, who tended to impress you. No, the one you were interested in, was him.

Kohga was different on this point. He had generous shapes, and that's what appealed to you.

You took a certain pleasure in watching him as he slept, full, his back leaning against the wall, his chin tucked slightly towards his chest. Those slender arms, that flat chest, that round belly, those broad thighs ... How many times had you wanted to get closer and curl up against his body, how many times had you hoped for a brief physical contact? Still, you didn't feel like you had romantic feelings, it turned out mostly to be respect mixed with fascination. You were just physically attracted to him, and you considered it guilty pleasure. Of course, everyone in the clan thought Kohga was charismatic, but did everyone else feel the same? A part of you was telling yourself that it wasn't normal to be attracted to this type of physique, that you shouldn't think of such things to your leader, but you quickly pushed the idea out of your mind. . You especially wanted to take advantage of this moment to watch it with impunity, while you gradually let yourself fall asleep.

Some kinds of complaints pulled you out of your drowsiness, you tried to ignore them at first, but their persistence prevented you from going back to sleep. Intrigued by their provenance, you stood up awkwardly, leaning on your hands and shook your head. Once you woke up, you realized Kohga was no longer sleeping. He was standing in a position of some discomfort and moaning loudly, which made you feel worried.

"M-Master Kohga ... is everything okay?" Are you hurt?

-Yes, I think .... that I am a victim of indigestion ... I should never have eaten so much tonight ...》

Looking around the surroundings, you realized that you were completely alone, the last members had probably ended up going to bed. You think for a few seconds about what to do.

“Um ... I think you'd be better in your bed. I ... if you wish, I can take you in your bedroom.

-Impossible, I can't even ... get up ... I'm going to stay here until it's over. Do not worry about me. You can go to sleep ... ah, ouch!”

Seeing him bend over in pain, for the first time since you joined the clan, you refused to obey. Your instinct seemed to take over your reason, and your body began to act on its own.You knelt down and grabbed his left hand in your hands, then your eyes met. Your heartbeat quickened slightly as you felt a new sensation run through your body. This physical contact, that you dreamed of so much had just happened, and you saw your chance to get closer.

"Sorry. I cannot leave if you are not feeling well. Let me heal you. I know a method, I know how to practice a kind of massage ... if it doesn't work, I will go and tell the others. Please.

-I'm really in pain ... do what you want but do not stay there doing nothing, it's an order!

-Shhh ... Calm down. All I need is you to relax and let me go. I promise you'll feel better soon. "

The impulses, which you tried to hide from the eyes of others since the day they manifested themselves, were felt more and more. At this point, you had no other choice but to let them express themselves.

The next moment you were leaning over Kohga, your face barely three feet from his, massaging his belly. Your hands were back and forth in circular movements, your thin fingers tapped lightly or bent back from time to time. You could easily feel his skin stretched through the fabrics, you weren't content just to contemplate his curves, now you could touch them. You had to restrain yourself to not undo his belts. Could you afford it? Was he going to let you do it without showing opposition ? Did you just wanted to keep its from hurting, or was it just to give yourself more freedom? On the other hand, you liked to see those bands of leather tightening more and more against his flesh, and seeing them burst due to pressure would probably not have displeased you. Your right leg came to rest between his, as you gently pressed your face against his stomach, kissing it.

Yoou didn't even knew if you were taking care of your leader, or if you let your fantasies taking life. The feeling of desire that burned deep in your being had now changed to an indescribable pleasure. You were alone, Kohga offered no resistance, and this was perhaps your one and only opportunity to gain access to this bulky body. In all your life, you had never felt so good, so relaxed, so free.

A whisper from him brought you back to reality for a brief moment. Intrigued, you leaned forward, almost lying beside him.

“I feel better, the pain has eased ... I think I'll be able to go back to sleep now.

-If you don't mind, I would like to stay by your side for the night. If you ever feel bad again, I would like to be sure that I can intervene quickly.

-Well, if you want to and if that can reassure you, okay. You just have to lie down here.

-Thank you. Rest Master Kogha, I will watch over you. "

After a long time devoted to this massage, you end up snuggling up against his body. You leaned your head against his chest, resting your right leg against his thick thighs, and hugged his plump belly with your slender arm. His steady heartbeat and barely audible breathing calmed you. You felt his hand rest on your shoulder, which made you shiver slightly, but gave you a sense of security. Regardless of whether he made the gesture consciously or not, you could finally sleep peacefully.

Entwined.

When you woke up, you weren't sure where you were anymore. When your eye got used to the brightness of the room, you realized that you were completely alone in the kitchen. You got up slowly feeling as though you had slept wonderfully. Then everything suddenly comes back to you. You looked your way, walking nervously through the hallway. What if everything you've been through was nothing but the fruit of a fantasy? If this really happened, what were the consequences going to be? What would happen if Master Kohga realized what you had done? Lost in your thoughts, you heard a voice calling you.

"Hey, oh, Y / N, what are you doing, are you daydreaming?"

-Who me ? Oh uh excuse me Mahy, I was lost in my thoughts, what were you telling me?

-In fact, I need you to do me a favor. We were about to get ready for the day when several members started complaining about having a stomach ache, some even didn't want to get up. It hurts me seeing them like this, so I decided to prepare a medecine to relieve them. I would like you to boil some water, during that time I will check if there are any herbs left in the storeroom.

-Of course, you can count on me! "

You picked up an abandoned torch that you brought up to a lighted candelabra before returning with a determined step towards the kitchen and lighting the fire under the container. Finally, you poured in a generous amount of water and knelt down while waiting for Mahy to return. If you were focused on your task, in your head, everything was jostling. The fact that some of your comrades were also sick indicated that what you had not dreamed. Of course, you didn't regret what hhappened, but you feared possible consequences. You heard the quick and lively footsteps of your friend coming towards you. She appeared, her arms laden with grass.

“The harvest was good ! We're going to boil this for a few minutes and it'll be good. Thanks for your help anyway.

-That's not much. "

After filling the bottles with still boiling herbal tea, you headed for the dormitories. You walked back, still preoccupied with the events, hoping no one noticed anything. Once you got to the rooms, you stopped.

"Hello Mahy, hello Y / N, there you are finally. I decided to give you a day off for today, since most of the soldiers are sick. But I want it to be a lesson to you, next time avoid stuffing yourselves like boboklins!

-Do not worry about that Master Kohga, we have prepared herbal tea, soon everything would be nothing else but a bad memory!

-Well, I see we have two young doctors in our clan, that's good news! Y / N, when you're done, I'd like to talk to you.

-You can go now, I can take care of the distribution by myself, you have already helped me a lot.

-M… Thank you, Mahy. "

Anxious, you started to follow your leader. You walked hesitantly, apprehensively, holding your hands nervously. You took the opportunity to discreetly contemplate his back, remembering that last night, you snuggled up against this thick body. Once away from the rest of the group, he stopped and turned in his direction. You straighten up, standing straight, as if you were about to receive an order.

"Y / N, yesterday, I fell asleep before I had time to thank you, that's why I summoned you. You stayed awake for a long time just to heal me. So ... thank you for everything you've done.

-Oh uh ... if it was just that ... it's nothing, I couldn't sit back and do nothing. By the way, I wanted to ask you ... I ... did I hurt you yesterday? I'm not used to massages so I wondered. "

-Hey? But not at all, it makes me feel way better, as a proof the pain is gone. Looks like you've been doing this for years! Besides, why don't you practice this technique on our members, it would cure them ? Or then, there is only the strong, the burly, the one, the only, the Master Kogha, who deserved this ? "

There was silence for several long seconds. Then he burst out laughing.

“Mwahahahaha! I'm kidding, don't worry ! Now you can go. "

You left the room feeling happy, light, peaceful, as if you had relieved your conscience. You could now enjoy your day, and think back to that night without feeling guilty.

[novelconcepts]

fic: unexpected

a fill for @karatam’s prompt : “Five things Dani realizes she likes in bed (and one thing Jamie realizes she likes about being with Dani).”

It comes as little surprise to Dani Clayton, who has spent most of her life trying not to pay attention to the things her body craves, that time with Jamie has been unlocking some unexpected doors. It’s embarrassing, sometimes, but not in a way that feels too heavy to bear; the more time she spends with Jamie, the more time she spends feeling progressively better in her own skin, the more she’s bound to understand about what makes her tick. It’s kind of nice, actually. Kind of refreshing, finding situations where she doesn’t feel inclined to hold herself rigid, where she can let her guard down and just exhale. 

Still, there are some experiences which--until they sneak up on her--she absolutely does not see coming.

1

There is a rule in their house about cleanliness. Not because Jamie is a terrible mess, by any stretch of the imagination, but because a small space gets out of control fast. Especially given how much time Jamie spends with both hands buried in potting soil, Dani feels it’s important to set some ground rules. Things like “shoes stay on the plastic tray if you’ve been out gardening.” Things like “clothes caked in dirt go straight into the special hamper to get washed first.”

Things like “if you’re going to initiate anything requiring hands on bare skin, you scrub up first.”

Jamie takes it in stride, agrees wholeheartedly that this is the only safe and hygienic approach to life. She kicks off her boots, drops any mud-encrusted flannel in the proper receptacle, and works the grime out from under short nails without pressure. 

“I’d do this without the rule,” she tells Dani the first time after this conversation, eyebrows arched. “How filthy d’you think I am, anyway?”

Dani chooses not to dignify this with a response. It’s still early-days, all things considered, and Jamie poking her tongue through her teeth on a word like filthy sends her brain places that aren’t conducive to getting anything done.

Still, there are things that test her carefully-imposed boundaries. Not so much the gardening; gardening and Jamie are a singular entity, a packaged deal Dani was wholly aware of long before falling into the woman’s bed. She sees flowers and root webs and clods of dirt packed into pots and thinks, Yes. That’s Jamie. 

It’s the fixing she wasn’t prepared for.

There are things she is better at than Jamie around the house: remembering to pick up groceries, basic human chores like laundry and vacuuming and taking out the trash. And there are the things Jamie has an edge on: hot drinks, building furniture, and repairing just about anything that slips sideways. 

“Grew up without a lot to lean on,” she explains while Dani, feeling a little light-headed in a way she can’t fully explain, watches her replace a questionable light fixture. Her hands are nimble and steady, her eyes on the job at hand, but she’s smiling. “You pick up a lot of convenient tricks along the way, life like that.”

Dani, who grew up in a household marked by her mother having “a guy”--usually neighborhood men with bad facial hair who scrubbed her around the head and called her “little lady”--for just about every little hiccup, can only watch with fascination. Jamie, it seems, has a sixth sense for problems. By the end of their first year together, she’s fixed the bathroom sink, the AC unit, innumerable lightbulbs, and the vacuum cleaner. Never once batting an eye. Just a simple smile and a “give it here, then.”

Dani, for her part, tells herself she’s watching closely to learn. To pick up these convenient tricks Jamie mentions like they’re nothing. To be able to one day make similar repairs while Jamie is busy or out of the house.

She tells herself this, even as her skin grows warm and her mouth goes dry, because there is just something about watching Jamie work. Something she can’t put her finger on about the way Jamie tips her head musingly, inspecting every inch of the problem area like her attention belongs nowhere else. She moves methodically, deliberately, never frustrated, never slamming or swearing. Her hands squeeze and slide, her brow furrowed, and Dani...

Likes this. 

She keeps it to herself, careful not to distract Jamie from the task at hand, even as her own face flushes at the sight of Jamie working a screwdriver or sifting through a set of drill bits. It’s stupid, she thinks with a hot thread of embarrassment, that her legs are weakening at the mere image of Jamie on her back on the bathroom tile, knees bent, arms working to seal some hidden leak in the piping. 

“You want to try?” Jamie asks, head and shoulders in the cabinet below the sink. Dani clears her throat. 

“No, thank you.”

“Suit yourself,” Jamie says absently, the muscles of her stomach flexing as she arches for that little extra strength to finish up. Dani leans her forehead against the wall, struggling to find some measure of calm before Jamie can extricate herself and catch sight of the look on her face. 

She manages to keep it quiet for months, this strange heat that springs up whenever Jamie’s hands are greasy and her face has that serious cast of inspecting a complicated problem. She might have kept it quiet for months longer--indefinitely, perhaps--if not for Colorado. 

Colorado is, like so many of their trips, a spur-of-the-moment decision. They rent a battered Jeep from a questionable agency, intent on seeing the Rockies as man was always intended: hopped up on a decent amount of bad gas station coffee, a pack of cigarettes, and each other. It’s a good day, cheery sun beaming down from a sky scattered with soft clouds. Dani has been having more and more of these kinds of days, and is starting to think maybe this is the new normal. Less fear. Less tension. Just her hand in Jamie’s as they bump over an endless road in the middle of--

“No,” Jamie says in a low, frustrated tone. Dani, who has been gazing distantly out the passenger window, snaps back to reality. 

“What’s going on?”

The Jeep is slowing. Jamie steers it toward the side of the road, which is to Dani’s eyes the most abandoned place on earth. 

“Something’s off,” Jamie groans. “Engine light came on.”

Engine light came on is one of those phrases Dani intellectually understands is in English, but it might as well not be. She’s grateful for how much Jamie enjoys driving; cars are something of a mystery to her, loud, rattling machines she’d prefer not to ever deal with on her own. 

She steps out onto the road now, arms hugged tight around her body, and watches Jamie pop the hood. The day is as warm as it is beautiful, and it isn’t long before sweat is trickling down the back of her neck. Jamie, in jeans and a flannel shirt, rolls the sleeves up past her elbows and grimaces. 

“Gonna be a minute, I think. But maybe...”

She’s muttering words Dani wouldn’t understand even if she thought Jamie was speaking to her and not a busted set of gears and pistons. Jamie, thankfully, seems to know what she’s talking about as she pushes the hair out of her eyes, ties a bandana around her head, and sets to work. 

She’ll fix it, Dani assures herself, rocking back and forth on her heels in the sunshine. Jamie fixes everything. 

And, in the meantime, it’s not like there’s anything wrong with the view. The horizon is endless, the land green and gorgeous and sprawling out as far as she can process. Dani could stand here for hours, head tilted back to take it all in, letting the clean air bathe her face. 

She could also, she notes, eyes sliding back to Jamie, watch this for hours. Jamie, up on her toes, an emergency set of tools open on the ground. Jamie, sweat beading on her upper lip and trickling down her temples. Jamie, pink-cheeked, the muscles of her forearms from years of groundswork standing out in sharp relief as she jams a wrench beneath the hood and twists.

It is...very hot out here, Dani thinks dazedly. She snaps her eyes away, searching the sky for birds, searching the world for anything that could be more interesting than the sight of Jamie with grease halfway up to her elbows, a dip of skin tantalizing between her shirt riding up and the waistband of her jeans. 

Dani swallows hard. Tries to remember that they are, in fact, currently stranded on the side of a road in Colorado. Tries to remember that they are, in fact, not in a situation that should be excruciatingly appealing. 

Jamie makes a low noise in her chest, pulling hard on the wrench. Something in Dani, already strung tight enough to make her pulse race, seems to snap. 

“Hey,” Jamie protests as the tool drops from her hand and clatters against the pavement. Dani has her around the wrist, dragging her with firm intent away from the open hood. “Hey, Poppins, I don’t think--”

Dani, unable to stop herself, catches her around the back of the neck and kisses her hard. Jamie’s protests go slack against her lips, her hands windmilling uselessly as she tries and fails to locate somewhere safe to place them. 

“I--Dani, what--”

“Can’t explain,” Dani says, muffled, mouth a bit occupied with trying to kiss Jamie stupid. “Just. Need this.”

“Right now?” Jamie asks, plainly bewildered--though, Dani notes, not exactly arguing. Her hands rest gently on Dani’s hips, as though the desire to hang on and the desire not to ruin Dani’s skirt are locked in fervent battle. 

“Right,” Dani groans, licking at the sweat running down the side of Jamie’s neck, “now.”

She fumbles them toward the backseat, pausing every couple of steps to push Jamie hard against the car. There’s something about it--something about the sun beating down, and her hand caught between the hard shell of the Jeep and the soft skin at Jamie’s back, and the way Jamie is making surprised breathy sounds against her ear. Something, most of all, about Jamie trying so hard not to get her dirty while being utterly unable to keep her hands to herself. 

“There’s a rule,” Jamie says, like she’s reciting a play she couldn’t possibly care less about. “Your rule.”

Dani, pulling the back door open and sliding along the gray leather, shakes her head. “House rule. Don't care.”

Jamie’s laughing, but there's something nervous about it, something like she sort of expects to get into trouble for this. “Poppins, you are...something else today.”

Dani pauses, leaning back on her elbows, watching with dark desire as Jamie climbs in after her. The door latches with a soft click, Jamie hovering on her knees over her in the small space. 

“Something okay?” Dani asks, her voice smaller than intended. Jamie grins. 

“I’m okay if you’re okay.”

Dani grabs for her again, unable to pin down the roaring pleasure in her chest as Jamie’s smile lands against her skin. Her hands are wild, roaming creatures with their own agenda, sliding under Jamie’s collar, fisting around Jamie’s shirt. When Jamie kisses the hollow of her throat, she sighs, arches, liking the weight of Jamie between her bent knees. 

There is a rule about dirty hands, it’s true, and they both know it’s for a reason--which is why, eyes on Dani’s face the whole time, Jamie grasps her by the hips and lifts, shifts, eases Dani until her back is pressed against the window. Jamie hooks her fingers into the waistband of underwear already too ruined to be of use, sliding them down Dani’s thighs, shoving them restlessly into the back pocket of her own jeans. 

“Jesus,” she breathes against Dani’s skin, already soaked through with sweat and want. “This much from--”

“Watching,” Dani groans confirmation. One hand is gripping the back of the seat, her knuckles stark against the dark leather. Jamie makes a noise she thinks might be amusement, or utter helpless desire--maybe some mad combination of the two. 

“Didn’t know you had a thing for--”

“Jamie,” Dani interrupts, a sharp plea that snaps Jamie’s attention back where it belongs. They can talk about this later, Jamie teasing her for an unexpected mechanic kink, Dani hiding her face and laughing. Right now, she can focus on nothing but Jamie’s hands, creased with engine oil, gripping her thighs. Sliding smooth down to bracket her kneecaps, up to hold her hips steady. Jamie, mouthing at her slowly, trying to make it last, teasing her with soft flicks of her tongue and warm, soft kisses. 

“Jamie,” Dani repeats, her voice cracking, her free hand winding in Jamie’s hair and pulling. Jamie concedes, head bobbing gently between her legs, body coiled in a position that will probably feel fantastic tomorrow--but, if she cares, she certainly doesn’t show it. Her fingers dig into Dani’s skin, leaving dark stains behind, her mouth drawing Dani tighter by the second. 

Sex with Jamie has never been what Dani would call boring, but something about the sight of her here--eyes closed, breathing hard, fingers pushing Dani’s skirt up as she strains to keep from putting those hands directly between Dani’s legs--has an effect they’ve never quite managed before. Dani, biting hard into the back of her own hand as her hips jerk out of control. Jamie, making the most of the moment, kissing her clean with long, sweet strokes. 

“Jesus,” Jamie says again, sitting up and staring at her. “If I’d known--”

“You’d never have finished a repair around the house,” Dani points out, breathing hard, head lolling back against the glass with a light thump. 

“You’ve been feeling this at the house?” Jamie looks stunned. “Poppins, you’ve been wanting this for months, and you’ve just been letting me fix things instead of taking you to bed? Where the hell are your priorities?”

“Didn’t want to distract you,” Dani mumbles, the drowsy delight of a good orgasm wrapping comforting hands around her good sense. Jamie’s jaw hangs open.

“Poppins.”

“Mm?”

“Distract me. For the love of god. Distract me.”

2

Dani doesn’t go back to teaching. It’s not that she doesn’t love it, not that she doesn’t know she’d still be good at it; it’s more that the world is too unpredictable now. That she is too unpredictable now, unable to tell what tomorrow will look like inside her own head. She’s been feeling better, admittedly--Jamie has a way of making the ground stand still under their feet, of leading her by the hand into warmly-lit places where she feels less like there’s something following at her heels--but it’s not the same. Even before the Lady, before Bly, before fleeing to Europe in the first place, teaching had been heavier than school had prepared her for. So many kids, with so many expectations, so many needs one person couldn’t possibly fulfill. 

So, no--she doesn’t go back to teaching. Teaching feels like the old Dani in some terribly sad way she can’t define. The new Dani turns her attention toward a different kind of cultivation, toward learning how to make people happy with the art of living things. It’s a creative outlet she hadn’t realized she needs. It brings her closer to Jamie, gives her a better understanding of Jamie’s way of seeing the world. It’s different, but she does love it. 

It does not, for all of that, erase old habits. 

She doesn’t really realize she’s doing it, at first. Some things are just so naturally ingrained, so much a part of her daily experience, that she doesn’t think about what she’s saying. 

Until Jamie just stops and...looks at her. 

“What?” Self-consciousness, not a particularly new song, hums under the word. Jamie is gazing at her with head slightly cocked, lip between her teeth. 

“Nothing. Nothing, just...”

Dani reels back the last five minutes, searching for whatever might have put this truly unfamiliar look on Jamie’s face. It’s not teasing, exactly; not bothered, either. It’s...pleased?

Jamie had just passed her with a basket under her arm, laundry rescued from the dryer and folded before Dani had even realized they were ready. She had turned, watched Jamie amble by with a spring in her step that said I have done the thing, and the thing is good, and she had said...

“Oh.” She can actually feel the color draining from her face. “I just, uh. I mean. Habit.”

Jamie grins, still looking a little surprised, but not exactly upset. “No, no, it’s fine, Poppins. Got no argument with being a good girl now and then.”

She winks, throwing an exaggerated little swing into her walk as she makes off toward the bedroom, and Dani sags against the couch. Has she done this before? Has she been absently calling Jamie a good girl upon the completion of  little tasks this whole time, and only just realized?

It is a very particular kind of embarrassing, and Dani does not have the first idea what to do with it. 

“Have I been doing that?” she asks over dinner, picking awkwardly at her pasta and studiously not looking Jamie in the eye. Jamie, midway through pouring a glass of wine, pauses. 

“Doing what?”

“Calling--uh--I mean--”

“Praising me for my efforts about the house?” Jamie is too pleased about this, Dani has decided. Entirely too pleased for her own good. 

“Hey, I can take it back,” she mutters. Jamie snorts, setting a full glass beside Dani’s place and kissing the top of her head. 

“Uh uh. I’ve earned my gold stars, Poppins. Pry ‘em from my cold dead hands.”

Dani downs half the glass in a single swallow, eyes rolling toward the ceiling. Jamie is really laughing now, the full-body laugh she reserves for poking fun at Dani with absolute affection. 

“Oh, don't be like that. It’s sweet. Can’t say anyone’s had nice words of the like for me much before you.”

Dani looks up to find Jamie leaning across the table, her expression heartbreakingly earnest. The tension melts slowly out of her body; she realizes she’s made a fist under the table, her thumb tucked into her fingers. Old habits, indeed. 

“You don’t have to be embarrassed about things like that,” Jamie says, her voice softening. Her hand slides under the table to close over Dani’s flexing fingers, like she knows what Dani was just doing, that Dani was just sliding back to anxieties she’s long tried to bury. “I take no offense at being called good at anything where you’re concerned, Dani. Trust me.”

She does, very much, but even so, she tries to keep a handle on it. Isn’t it condescending, she wonders, speaking to Jamie that way? Why on earth would Jamie appreciate a pat on the head, a gentle assertion of good work?

She gets it under control. Reminds herself she is not a teacher anymore, and Jamie is very appropriately an adult who doesn’t need to be confirmed in her choices at every turn. 

She gets it under control--until one night. One night, spent celebrating an exceptional year at the shop, with too much wine in her system and too many hours spent in a too-public setting to be allowed to touch Jamie properly. They’d sat at a table with a few well-meaning shopkeepers from down the street, and they’d laughed, and drank to hard work and good fortune, and all the while, she’d been watching Jamie out of the corner of her eye. Jamie, shirt unbuttoned at the collar, hair mussed from hands Dani understood as wanting to be on her body, sifting through her hair. Jamie, chain-smoking cigarettes Dani ached to take from her and place between her own lips, if only to taste Jamie. 

By the time they make it home, her hands are tingling, her body desperate. Jamie, watching her with the smug smile of a woman who knows Dani’s hand has been flexing between her own knees for two hours, makes a show of stretching. Her shirt pulls up from her belt, flashing a glimpse of stomach. 

“Bit tired,” she says. “What do you think, time for bed?”

Dani makes a powerfully undignified noise, and Jamie’s laughter rings bright in the otherwise-silent apartment. She catches Dani by the hand, eyes shining. 

“Honestly, Poppins, you are too damn easy.”

They fall into bed--into couch, really, the bed being far too many steps away--and the world shrinks to the polished buttons of Jamie’s shirt popping open under her tripping fingers, the material of Jamie’s slacks shoved awkwardly down her legs, the trace of Jamie’s tongue around her earlobe as she tries desperately to focus on intricate details like zippers. Jamie, bless and damn her, never seems this clumsy, even with all the wine in the world in her blood. 

“I like it,” Jamie breathes, grinning. “You only get clumsy when you’re desperate.”

She climbs over Dani, curling behind her to better get at the zip on her dress. Dani leans back, dizzy with the rush of Jamie pressed against her back, grinding her hips slowly as if to intentionally drive Dani up the wall. The dress peels away, and Dani hears herself swear. 

“Could you go any slower.”

“Could if I tried,” Jamie murmurs, nipping at her neck. “Why? Don’t like it?”

She splays a hand beneath Dani’s breasts, pressing in tight against her back, rocking against her with little sign of picking up the pace and putting those hands where they’re most wanted. Dani groans, lets her head fall back against Jamie’s shoulder. 

“You,” she says without thinking, “are being a bad girl tonight.”

Jamie freezes. Dani, head buzzing with the aggravation of Jamie playing her little game, Jamie’s fingers toying across her belly, doesn’t hear herself. Not at first. Not until Jamie says in a voice almost like a growl, “That so?”

Oh, Dani thinks. Oh no. I did it again. 

“Tell me, please,” Jamie goes on, hand slinking lower, “how I can get back into your good graces.”

It should be weird. It should be so uncomfortable, slamming the brakes on this whole evening--but Jamie’s hand is on a mission, Jamie’s hips rocking against her faster, and Dani finds she doesn’t care nearly as much as she should. 

“You--know--”

“Tell me anyway.” Jamie’s hand is circling, refusing to continue its descent, and Dani almost wants to laugh. This is insane. This is insane, and stupid, and if she doesn’t get Jamie to keep going, she might just kill her. 

She turns her head, finds Jamie looking at her with pupils blown and lips parted. She reaches back, grabs Jamie by the jaw. 

“Touch me,” she says, her voice firmer than it’s been in a long time. “Now.”

Jamie’s eyes roll back in her head, her fingers dipping between Dani’s legs with obedient speed. Dani sighs, moving to meet her strokes. 

“More,” she hears herself say in that same commanding voice, and Jamie shudders. “Harder.”

She’s never done this before; it’s never crossed her mind to tell Jamie what to do, how to touch her, what she needs. Jamie is intuitive, naturally taking the lead on nights like these, and she’s damn good at it--but this feels incredible in an entirely new way. Her hand slides down to join Jamie’s, curling around Jamie’s fingers as they slide in and out in a series of increasingly rough thrusts. She finds herself arching back, Jamie’s hips bucking as she strains for friction of her own, and when Jamie curls her fingers deep, she curls with her. 

“Fuck,” Jamie groans, shifting her hand out from between Dani’s legs and replacing it instantly between her own. Dani rolls, pushing her flat against the cushions, grabbing hold of Jamie’s wrist and stilling her fingers. 

“That,” she breathes, lips brushing Jamie’s softly enough to burn, “was very good work. Gold star.”

Jamie whimpers, letting her hand drop away so Dani can return the favor. It doesn’t take long at all; Jamie’s pretty far gone even before Dani brushes against her with a hand that no longer feels clumsy. 

“That,” Jamie says when they’ve collapsed in a sweat-slick mess of limbs, “was new. Teacher voice always just sort of on tap, huh?”

Dani resists the suddenly-overwhelming urge to hide her face. ���I don’t know where that came from.”

“Don’t much care,” Jamie says, rather happily. “It works for me, as it turns out. I am gonna line these gold stars up on the fridge.”

3

There is something engrossing about being wanted, something Dani never really understood before Jamie. Being wanted before wasn’t exactly a positive sensation; men looking her up and down in malls and bars, eyes like brands on her skin, made her feel like crawling under a table. Women, on the rare occasion she crossed one who met her eyes, were somehow even worse--their smiles were thin, brittle reminders that Dani wasn’t Normal. That, if she ever were to jump from that ledge, these women wouldn’t be there to catch her. Their want was an ice bath, a horrible reminder that there was something wrong with her ability to be wanted. 

And, with Edmund, it was worst of all, because she wanted to want it. Wanted to want the way his eyes started following her out of rooms before they were even in their teens. Wanted to want the way his hands would reach for her as they grew older, as his body began sending signals that she was right, and hers developed an alarm bell that only ever screamed stop, please, go away. 

She should have listened to that alarm bell sooner, probably, but Edmund--for all the horrible suffocating sense of him draped over her life--was also a shield against the rest. With Edmund’s arm around her, she felt caged, but strange men let their eyes slide off her like rain. With Edmund kissing her cheek, she felt wrong, but strange men stopped trying to brush up against her skin. 

The line, however, she had to draw somewhere, and she drew it at marks. Eddie accepted her unwillingness to climb into his bed as classic “good girl” behavior; Danielle, he thought with ease of understanding, wanted to wait until they were married. Sure, fine, good. His mother would approve, and hers would leave them both un-defenestrated by their wedding day. Perfect for everyone.

Still, he wanted to touch her. Wanted to press his lips to her skin. Wanted to make sure she--and anyone else who chanced a look--knew he was always there, etched into her. 

She hated it. Hated the way he’d lean back after leaving a hickey hot on her neck, looking faux-apologetic and more than a little smug. Hated the way, no matter how many times she told him it wasn’t professional for an elementary school teacher to stroll in with love bites, he always seemed to “forget.”

She hated being marked. 

With Edmund.

With Jamie, it’s an entirely different story. 

“Shit,” Jamie sighs. “Shit, I’m so sorry.”

Dani, shirt slung over the back of a kitchen chair, shifts in Jamie’s lap. There’s something about being able to do this at their own leisure, about Sunday brunch fading into charred bacon and lost-chance waffles as she and Jamie sink into long slow kisses on the other side of the kitchen, that she thinks she’ll never be over. 

Jamie, looking more than a little irritated with herself, is now brushing soft fingertips across Dani’s collarbone. Even that much sends sharp little thrills up her spine. She tips her chin down, tries to see the spot Jamie is pressing against. 

“Left a mark?”

“Yeah.” Jamie sighs again. “Sorry, Poppins, I don’t know my own goddamn--”

Dani laughs. She really doesn’t, is the thing. Jamie, who couldn’t be more unlike Eddie if she tried, genuinely doesn’t ever mean to mark her skin. And it’s not like it happens often. She’s normally pretty good about self-control in ways Dani suspects have to do with a history of punishment and consequence following every action. 

Jamie is grounded. Jamie is restrained. 

Except when Jamie isn’t. And, lately, Jamie has been restrained with her less and less. 

It started the day she told Dani she was in love with her. A thing Jamie had been saying without words for a long time, Dani knew, but it was so good to hear the phrase fall from her lips anyway. So reassuring, to see the nerves in Jamie’s face, the way Jamie’s eyes shone with a desperate need to make Dani understand. 

That day, in the back room of the shop, Jamie had marked her for the first time. Heat still pools in her belly when she thinks of it, even now: how Jamie had shoved her up against the door, hands fevered, mouth a hot wet slide against her throat. Jamie’s touch had felt good; Jamie’s devotion, even better. And something about the sum of it--of being in the shop, where precautions had been taken, but they were still rather public, of Jamie’s nerves still holding the reins, of Jamie’s words still fluttering between them: pretty in love with you, it turns out--had both of them nearly high. By the time they broke apart, giggling and heaving for air, the deed was done. A single red mark, low on Dani’s neck, burning bright for anyone to see.

Jamie had touched it lightly, kissed it gently, face flushed with embarrassment. “I didn’t mean--”

And, somehow, that had been the thing to do it. The thing that sent Dani’s arousal over the edge. Not just Jamie leaving the mark on her skin, but the apology in Jamie’s eyes as she realized. Jamie, never intending to force ownership. Jamie, never striving to show the world she owned Dani’s body. 

Every time since, she’s tried to explain it to Jamie, tried to bring clarity of word to the hot pulse of pleasure she feels. How there’s a wild delight to watching Jamie want her. How Jamie is, as the time passes, getting worse at pretending to be cool about it. 

It isn’t kind, exactly. Isn’t the nice, sweet, orderly thing to do about it. But all the same, Dani finds she’s having trouble not coaxing Jamie along when it’s clear she’s starting to lose control.

She’s taken to loitering in the bathroom while Jamie showers, for example. Most days, it’s innocent; Dani will post up on the counter with a book, or a cup of tea, and they’ll just make small talk through the thin curtain. Jamie will wash quickly, with no sign of needing assistance, and Dani will hand her a towel when the water shuts off. Perfectly fine. Perfectly civil. 

But there are days--usually when the shop has been particularly stressful, when customers have been needy and shipments have been delayed--when Jamie will gesture for her to follow under the spray. Days where Jamie’s nerves are so frazzled, her control over all the tiny little details of owning a business so slim, that she’ll invite Dani to join her. These days, with Jamie loving her under hot water, with Jamie whispering her name into the steam, Dani thinks it is good to be wanted. So good, to be the small bright spot of control in the world for Jamie, who likes understanding how things work, who likes being able to set things right. With her back against the shower wall, Jamie’s mouth sucking sharp hot bites into her shoulder as her fingers stroke and rub between her legs, Dani thinks there’s nothing better than giving Jamie that measure of control. 

She notices it other times, too--usually when the world is bigger than the two of them can stand. When a snowstorm blocks off the whole street, stranding them inside, and the power goes, and it’s just the two of them moving together under a stack of blankets to make their own warmth. When it’s Jamie, fearful of how long it will take to dig them out again, leaving sharp, nervous marks on her breasts only to be dragged back up by the hair to kiss her as her fingers work Dani to orgasm. 

Or when they make the mistake of turning on the news, signs of war and violence and politicians making unacceptable calls about the bodies of their constituents, and the only way to bring Jamie back from the brink of hopelessness is to coax her into shutting it all out. Pinned against the counter with her hands braced, with Jamie biting hard and kissing soft, Dani forgets for a long stretch of matching heartbeats that anyone else exists outside their walls. 

Sometimes, the mark is gone by morning. Sometimes, Jamie ruefully kisses the spot on her throat, the underside of her jaw, her breast, and says, “You really should yank on my hair or something to stop me.” 

Dani can't quite find the words to tell her how much she likes it. How the brief flare of delicious pain, soothed so soon after by Jamie’s tongue, the pad of Jamie’s thumb, Jamie’s soft embarrassment, grounds her in the strangest way. Not because it shows the world anything--she’s good at wearing sweaters that hide the spots nicely, to keep anyone from questioning her “roommate” in the aftermath--but because it shows that Jamie doesn’t need to keep her head when Dani’s around. That, sometimes, the act of giving Jamie full control over their bed and the way their bodies come together, feels as good as the first nervous time Jamie had said she loved her. 

Jamie shows her with every act, every day, that this is love. Jamie in these moments of unrestrained passion is showing her something else. That she’s safe with Dani. That she doesn’t need to hold anything apart from Dani anymore. 

And there is something else to it, as well. Something entirely different. Something about the rare occasion she rolls Jamie onto her back, holds her wrists to the mattress, gazes into Jamie’s eyes in search of permission. Jamie likes to give, in all ways that matter, but sometimes, Dani likes this, too: to give back more than she takes. To grant Jamie not just control, but release. 

On this kind of night, left hand pinning Jamie in place, right hand setting a brisk, rough pace between damp thighs, Dani lowers her mouth to Jamie’s throat. She kisses slow, tasting sweat and that undefined thing that is Jamie alone, and waits for Jamie to chase her hand. Waits for Jamie to writhe beneath her. Waits for the moment where the right twist, the right pressure, sends Jamie over the edge. Then, only then, does she bite down. 

Because Jamie is embarrassed by marking her, but she’s seen the way Jamie looks at the rare mark she receives in the mirror. The way the collar of her t-shirt will slip, revealing a maroon blemish on pale skin. The way Jamie’s eyes grow dark, her body leaning against the counter like she’s suddenly lost all the strength in her knees. 

She really does prefer giving Jamie control, giving Jamie the gift of building a safe space for them both to land. But every so often, it is beyond worth it, to see the look of surprised delight in Jamie’s face when she flips the script. 

4

There are things, though. Things she didn’t know, before Jamie. Things she’d never thought to glance at, before Jamie. 

“I don’t know about this,” she says. Jamie doesn’t look the least bit perturbed. 

“It’s only an idea, Poppins. Can absolutely veto it at any time.”

Dani frowns. “I don’t--I mean, what made you think--”

She’s going about this all wrong. Jamie shakes her head, some of that old shuttered guard dropping into her expression in a way Dani decidedly does not like. 

“I’ve embarrassed you,” Jamie says. “I’m sorry, Dani, I wasn’t trying to--”

“No, It’s just...won’t somebody notice?”

Two women walking into a shop like that. Two women looking around a shop like that, having conversations about what they’d like or like nothing to do with. Somebody is bound to overhear, Dani thinks. Bound to report it down the line, and what then?

They’re in San Francisco, and Dani knows that’s the main reason Jamie’s even talking about this. They’re in San Francisco, have just bought a brownie that, yes, makes her feel more inclined than usual to drop her guard. She’d thought maybe they’d partake of that brownie in the comfort of their hotel room, that she’d follow the buzzing of her body right into the bed with Jamie, and that would be their afternoon spoken for. It had seemed a good idea at the time. 

Jamie, evidently, has other ideas. 

Which is how Dani, with a bit of a body high and the grip of anxiety tight around her throat, finds herself gazing at a Californian sex shop. 

“We do not,” Jamie says, watching her carefully, “and I cannot stress this enough, Poppins, we do not have to go in.”

“There’s...stuff in there.” The brownie is certainly doing its work. Dani swallows hard, searching for words more befitting of the situation. “Toys and things.”

Jamie looks as though she's suddenly trying very hard not to laugh. She seems considerably less high thus far, less inclined to disappear into this sidewalk if only someone were to let go of her arm and allow her to lie down. 

“It’s the brave new frontier,” Jamie says, managing to keep her amusement tamped down in the face of Dani’s wide eyes. “We’re in the 90s now, Dani Clayton. The world is changing.”

“It is,” Dani repeats in a stage whisper that sounds very loud to her own ears, “a sex shop. In California.”

“Bit better stocked than one in England, I’d wager,” Jamie says through a smile that might yet dissolve into giggles. Dani squints at her, trying to stop the street from performing a gentle rotation around her. 

“Whose idea was this again?”

“The brownie,” Jamie says, “was yours, actually. Haven’t tried this, Jamie, that’s what you said. We’re on an adventure, Jamie. I thought a nice spot of grass would do the trick fine enough, but...”

Dani slaps at her shoulder, misses somehow, almost tips over. Jamie catches her around the middle, and there’s a flash--the briefest, there-and-gone flash--of that night. Of Jamie holding her up. Of watching the world spin for a very different reason. 

Life, she thinks with a stab of unease, is very short. 

“Okay.”

“Okay?” Jamie repeats, a bit bewildered. She adjusts her grip, helping Dani find her feet again so she can let go. California is better than most anywhere else--at least this part of California--but it still isn’t good to give the universe an open shot. 

“We can...” She can’t say it. Isn’t quite that high. “We can--”

“Explore,” Jamie supplies. “See the sights. It’s an adventure, after all.”

And it does feel adventurous. There is a bravery in Dani Clayton she never seems able to predict--the things she’s capable of, the things she even finds she enjoys, tend to come out of left field and catch her unawares. Some of these things have a tendency to work out better than others. 

(Example: kissing Jamie. Truly the best snap decision she’s ever made. Inviting a ghost into her body? Maybe not so high on the list.)

But the sun is bright, and the buzz beneath her skin feels good, and there is no sign of ghosts in California. Just a surprisingly well-lit shop with a clerk who gives them a bored nod and a tiny hand gesture that says, Go on, couldn’t care less what you do, long as you’ve got cash. Dani smiles at him, too wide, and wonders if he’s like them. If he, too, has spent a lifetime unable to show off in the world. 

There isn’t much time to think about it, not with Jamie taking her by the sleeve and guiding her through neatly arranged aisles. There are costumes here that make Dani’s skin go white-hot to imagine trying to be serious wearing. There are items designed to vibrate, items designed to bind wrists, items designed for things she really feels better off not thinking about at all. 

“What d’you think?” Jamie asks at one shelf, eyebrows raised, and Dani thinks she’s joking. Probably joking. Must be joking. 

“Have you--I mean, I’d have no idea how to--”

“You could,” Jamie says in a low voice that sends a shiver down her spine. How Jamie can do this to her without even trying, even after years together, she can’t explain. Jamie isn’t even working at it now; her hands are tucked into her pockets, her head tilted pensively as she considers the array of options laid out before them. She’s barely even looking at Dani. 

“I could,” Dani repeats weakly, “what?”

“Try it out,” Jamie explains. “If you wanted. If you were interested. But that’s not really what I’m suggesting. See...I know how they work. I’ve, uh...I mean, if you’re interested in...that.”

Her voice trails off, her eyes darting to steal a brief glance at Dani’s face, and Dani’s not entirely sure what her face is even doing. Judging by the way Jamie licks her lips, she suspects it isn’t subtle. 

“Interested,” she says in a very small voice, gripping Jamie’s hand with convulsive force. “Yeah. Little bit.”

They don’t try it out in the hotel room; that is, Dani says once the brownie has worn off some, entirely too bold, even for an adventure. They make absolutely certain the package is tucked away in the bottom of the suitcase, as far as possible from prying eyes that never come to call. They don’t even talk about it again until they’re safely home. 

Dani’s suddenly so nervous, it’s like the first time. Like stumbling up to her room with Jamie pressed close behind, every touch the kind of electric she’d thought might take her out before she had a chance to get Jamie’s clothes off. She walks into their apartment, this place they’ve called home for almost four years, and she thinks, I have never been terrified here before. 

Jamie, seeming to sense her mood, sets the bag by the door and pulls her into an embrace. She kisses the side of her head. “Hey. We don’t have to. Can just put it in the closet for a rainy day.”

Dani senses the truth of this statement, that Jamie is perfectly fine pretending they never bought the thing at all. That Jamie would be perfectly fine sliding into bed with her like always, relying on skilled hands and searching tongue, loving Dani with everything she’s got as she has for years. Jamie would be okay with this. Jamie would never push. 

But life is short, and sometimes, a person can surprise herself. 

Jamie switches the lights off. Jamie almost never switches the lights off, not since the first time she ever told Dani she was the most beautiful person she’d ever seen. Still, Dani is relieved. There is something reassuring about Jamie’s willingness to take her hands in the dark, about Jamie’s eagerness to please her binding tight to Jamie’s devotion to keeping her safe. 

“Slow,” she promises Dani, sliding into bed and cradling her face. She is still just Jamie, Dani recognizes, though anxiety is playing tricks on her heart rate. Just Jamie’s hands, soft on her cheeks, brushing her hair back. Just Jamie’s mouth, raining small, light kisses across her face. Waiting for her to decide how far this goes. 

And Dani would be lying if she said she wasn’t nervous--if she said the brush of cloth harness around Jamie’s hips and the silicon between her legs wasn’t a surprise, even knowing what to expect. She would be lying, too, if she said it wasn’t a thrill. That Jamie is just laying alongside her in familiar sheets, thumb drawing soft arcs across her cheekbone, down the line of her jaw, tipping her head back so Jamie can kiss her neck. That Jamie is touching her like always, not pushing, not rushing, fingers playing along her skin like she’s the world’s most well-loved instrument. 

Jamie, breathing soft words into every kiss. Jamie, exhaling, “Lead the way, okay? Tell me. Anything you want.”

Dani finds her own hand sliding down, exploring the familiar curve of Jamie’s neck, fingering the chain that rests against her collarbones, drawing down, down, until she’s taking a handful of something not Jamie in the least. Testing its weight against her palm. Curling her fingers loosely. Jamie, though this object is not possessed of skin or nerve endings, sucks a breath in through her teeth anyway. Like Dani taking the time to explore is doing something maybe Jamie herself can’t even explain.

“Okay?” she says, breath warm on Dani’s skin, and Dani nods. She finds her body is searching Jamie’s out, pressing in close, and Jamie’s hand is covering hers. Even as she moves Dani gently to her back, even as her hips are coming to rest against Dani’s, her hand is there. A grounding force, as ever. Guiding in. 

Dani draws a hot breath, knees bent, and Jamie pauses. Moves only when Dani’s eyes open and she nods, one arm around Jamie’s neck, pulling her down to kiss her parted lips. 

“Slow,” she agrees, and Jamie makes a noise she likes more than anything else in the world as she shifts her hips, slides all the way in. The world is dark around them, made up of little more than the careful rock of Jamie’s body against hers, the instinctive way her own legs come up to pull Jamie deeper, the wonderfully small, uncontrolled noise she can hear herself making against Jamie’s shoulder. The method is foreign, but it’s still Jamie’s body behind each thrust, still Jamie’s rhythm making her whimper and clutch at Jamie’s neck. 

They move together, and it’s been four years, four years of learning every inch of how Jamie is capable of moving with her, but Dani finds this is something other. Something perfectly matched. Not better, not a completion she’s never found before--Jamie has never been lacking--but new, anyway. 

She hears her own hitching breaths, hears the fevered, reverent way Jamie says her name over and over, the bed knocking against the wall again and again. Jamie, true to her word, goes slow the whole way, until Dani is biting her own lip against a cry, until Dani is clenching and shuddering under her. 

“Good kind of adventure?” Jamie asks, having carefully extricated herself, stripped off the addition, curled up against Dani’s chest. Dani hums. 

“Thank you.”

Jamie raises her head. “For what?”

Dani mulls it over, her body spent, her mind already on its way to sleep. 

“For,” she says at last, nuzzling closer, “not getting sick of me. Not getting sick of walking with me through the parts I’m not...prepared for.”

She doesn’t say what she means--that, someday, the parts she isn’t prepared for won’t be trying a new toy in bed--and knows she doesn’t have to. Jamie signed on for the whole adventure the day she took Dani’s hand, kissed her knuckles, promised her company for good or for ill. 

There’s a promise like that, Dani thinks blearily as she sinks into sleep. For better or worse. People say that to the person they’re going to...

5

Living in America when you can’t share the love of your life with the world is, sometimes, a lot more frustrating than Dani would have given it credit for before finding Jamie. Back in her old life, walking around with Edmund’s hand possessively wrapped around her waist, she’d felt like no one should want to lean into PDA. It was embarrassing, she felt. Horribly awkward, having someone else’s arm around your shoulders as you tried to fall into step with their much longer legs, or trying to find the right produce at the grocery store with someone insisting you hold their hand. She’d thought it would be a relief, in its own horrible way, not to have that opportunity. 

And then Eddie was gone, and Jamie’s was the hand in the grocery store, the arm hesitating before reaching her shoulders. Now? Dani gets it. Dani gets it, and can’t have it, and it makes her crazy.

She thinks Jamie knows this. Knows Jamie, too, longs for a world where no one would look twice if they curled close together in a movie theater, or lay with Dani’s head pillowed in Jamie’s lap at the park. Jamie wants the constant contact at least as much as Dani does, because tactile environments are where Jamie shines. 

It is, before Jamie ever said the words aloud, how Dani knew for a fact Jamie loves her. 

It is, before Jamie ever admitted as much, how she knew for a fact Jamie has chosen this for good and for all. 

And it is, as time marches on and strangers remain staunchly bigoted, making her crazy not to be able to embrace. 

Jamie feels it, too, she knows, but Jamie has a very particular way of coping with her inability to just behave normally with Dani in social situations. A way that is, in its own way, also driving Dani crazy.

She just keeps getting more and more handsy. 

The thing is, she’s doing it in the most absent-minded way possible, like Dani has watched girls--straight girls, girls who are allowed to cuddle close to other women and touch their hair and play with their jewelry without anyone caring to judge--do her whole life. In ways Dani herself can’t imagine. Jamie will just sidle up behind her, hand brushing her shoulder and falling away again before anyone can question it. She’ll touch two fingers lightly to the soft inner stretch of Dani’s wrist to get her attention at dinner, and by the time Dani’s fully registered it, her hand is gone, flagging down a waiter.

At first, Dani thought she was doing it on purpose. A kind of game to keep them entertained in boring public situations. She’d thought it was another brand of adventure, of Jamie being comfortable in her skin so long, she feels capable of sneaking past strangers. 

Now, after weeks of increasing torment, she thinks Jamie is just doing this. Somehow toeing the line between what is dangerous and what is fraying at Dani’s sanity. 

“How are you doing that?” she asks when Jamie brushes the tips of her fingers just under Dani’s blouse, catching the strip of skin before her jeans begin, though they’ve got seven customers milling around the shop. Jamie looks confused.

“How am I doing what?”

“You’re--” Dani bites down on the words as old Mrs. Morgan, who comes in twice a month for arrangements to present to her daughter-in-law, shuffles up to the counter. Jamie smiles her best customer-service smile, as polished and somehow genuine as anything, and sets to work ringing her up. Dani, free for the moment, leans back with thumbs folded tight into her fists.  

“Sorry,” Jamie says a few minutes later, once more wearing that lightly-perplexed look she gets when Dani points out something of which she has not been conscious. “What’ve I been doing, now?”

“You’ve been...” Dani makes a concerted effort to lower her voice, which seems like a wise idea right until Jamie takes another step and bends her head to hear the next words. She’s right there, barely three inches away, and Dani’s never clenched her fists so hard to keep from grabbing at thin black suspenders. “Touching me. In public.”

“Have I?” Jamie looks genuinely startled. “More than is normal, you mean?”

Dani shakes her head, unable to stomach the difference between what is normal for them and what is normal for women who are not sleeping together. Not in love. Not sharing every inch of a life that deserves to have songs written about it. 

“I’m sorry,” Jamie says. “Honestly, Dani, I didn’t mean--am I making you uncomfortable?”

You’re making me want you, Dani thinks helplessly, in places I absolutely cannot have you. Which is, in its own way, worse. 

“I’ll be more careful,” Jamie assures her, completely missing the point. She reaches as if to touch Dani’s elbow, catches herself, smiles wryly. “A lot more careful.”

Dani wants to tell her that isn't what she wants, isn’t what she’s ever wanted, that there’s only so much time in the world for careful--but that’s the fire talking, the one running through her blood each time Jamie looks up from repotting flowers and gives her a little once-over, a wink. The real world requires careful. The real world requires walking lightly, hands swinging a little apart. 

The real world requires, when Jamie leans over her to recover paper towel from a higher shelf, breasts pressing into Dani’s back, her to keep her goddamned head. 

It requires, when Jamie reaches around her for a drinking fountain in the park, bare skin of her arm pressed flush to Dani’s, her to keep her goddamned self-control in check. 

It requires, when Jamie laughs and bumps close in line at the airport, her fingers brushing the hair behind Dani’s ear to keep it out of her eyes, for Dani to keep her goddamned pulse from skittering into adrenaline overdrive. 

It’s been years, she reminds herself furiously as they settle in on the plane. They’re off to see Owen for the first time in ages, and it’ll be good to get away--there have been feelings she can’t collate inside her head, dreams in black and white she wakes from gasping. A little time away should help bring her back down. 

Back down from worrying over ghosts, anyway. 

Jamie’s wandering hands, on the other hand...

“Jamie,” she hisses, because airplane seats are really not spacious, and though they don’t have a seatmate on the aisle, there’s an elderly couple across the way with a perfect view of Jamie’s hand resting on her knee. Jamie looks down, jumps a little, tucks the offending hand under her own leg. 

“Shit. Don’t know what’s wrong with me...”

Nothing, Dani wants to say, is wrong with you. It’s them. They’re wrong for asking us to hide. They’re wrong for asking me to ever pretend, even for a second, that you’re not the most important person in my life. 

“It’s all right,” she whispers instead, like the pressure of Jamie’s palm sliding off her kneecap hasn’t left scorch marks. She closes her eyes, leans her head back. There’s a long flight ahead for someone already on fire. A long flight, and she thinks with truly feral madness, There’s a bathroom. Small. Cramped. But we could fit, maybe. I could get her in there, maybe. 

She lets the image unspool for a moment: Jamie propped against a tiny airplane sink, muffling filthy sounds against her arm, Dani on her knees before her. No. No, best put that away for now. Even if they weren’t caught, by some insane miracle, they’d just have a bigger problem afterward. A problem labeled we’ve proven we’re willing to test this. 

Dani isn’t, not really. Not if there’s a chance of blowing up their whole life. 

Still, it’s hard to scrub the idea away. Jamie is looking at her with some concern, and it’s fair: Dani’s aware her cheeks are pink, her breath coming in sharp hitches. She forces a smile.

“You all right?” Jamie asks quietly. “Don’t feel sick, do you?”

“Not sick,” Dani says. She presses her lips into a thin line, gaze flicking unintentionally from Jamie’s eyes to her mouth, and understanding breaks slowly across Jamie’s face. 

“Ah.” She looks so smug. Dani wishes that made her want Jamie any less. 

“Don’t tease,” she mutters. “Can’t help it.” She really can’t, either. Jamie’s been there, right there, touching her everywhere for such short bursts, but the shop has been crazy. They’ve been tired. There hasn’t been any real time together in far too long. 

Jamie looks at her, a long look that Dani thinks for a heart-stopping second will end in her simply saying, “Fuck it” and leaning in to kiss Dani on this plane. Can’t, she warns her silently. Can’t do that, Jamie, because if you start, I won’t be able to stop--

“Bit chilly,” Jamie says conversationally to someone over Dani’s head. She turns, catching sight of an airline stewardess just as Jamie adds, “Wouldn’t say no to a blanket, if there’s one handy.”

Oh, she’s made a joke, Dani thinks, staring fixedly at the ceiling. Heaven help me, she’s made a goddamn Owen pun, and they don’t even know. 

The blanket, when it arrives, is thick, made of a somewhat scratchy dark gray material. Jamie spreads it laboriously across her own lap first, then makes a show of looking at Dani. 

“You cold? Only, this is huge, and I’d feel terribly selfish hogging it the whole trip.”

Across the aisle, one of their elderly neighbors nods as though Jamie is the wisest, kindest person she’s ever seen in the wild. Jamie gives a returning nod, says blithely, “Ask for a blanket, flight’s always frigid once we get going.”

She’s pulling the blanket across Dani’s lap now, somehow making it look as though her hands are not sliding up Dani’s thigh in the process. Dani nearly bites her tongue trying not to respond. 

She does believe, with her whole heart, that Jamie did not mean to start this. That Jamie’s wandering hands in public are entirely a thing of habit built at home. Jamie is always touching her at the apartment, always squeezing her arm or stroking her cheek or kissing whatever part of her is within reach. It’s the most natural thing in the world. She certainly hasn’t been putting them at risk on purpose. 

But right now? Right now, on this plane, tucking the blanket carefully around Dani so there’s no way prying eyes can catch a glimpse of what’s going on beneath it?

Jamie is absolutely doing this on purpose. 

“Are you crazy?” she hisses, trying to look as though she isn’t seconds from flying out of her own skin. Jamie is smiling so calmly, so rationally, tucking her hands under the blanket.

“Nope. Just chilly, as I said. Aren't you?”

Dani thinks she’s never been warmer in her entire life, not with Jamie’s rebellious left hand dragging the skirt up over her knees. From an outside perspective, it’s impossible to see; Jamie looks perfectly calm. Even friendly, should anyone catch her eye. She smiles like she doesn’t have Dani’s skirt rucked nearly to her waist.

She smiles like her hand isn’t sliding down the curve of Dani’s thigh now, cresting against the front of cotton underwear. 

“Jamie,” Dani breathes. Jamie leans over on the pretense of trying to glance into the aisle for persons unknown. Her lips graze Dani’s ear. 

“Keep quiet. Just pretend you’re looking out the window.”

Looking out the window, Dani thinks wildly, right. Like nothing’s going on under the noses of their fellow passengers. Like nothing whatsoever is happening under this blessedly-thick blanket, Jamie’s left hand tracing shapes into the apex of her groin. Jamie, with the calmest goddamn smile she’s ever seen, saying, “This is going to be good for us, y’know. Haven’t been out to see the sights in ages. America’s really gotten under my skin...”

How, thinks Dani, fists clenched against her own thighs under the blanket, is she talking? How can she possibly be holding a perfectly sane, perfectly serene conversation with her fingers sliding up, pulling aside the elastic of Dani’s underwear, moving the material aside just enough to press against slick skin. Dani swallows hard enough to hurt. Her own fingers are leaving impressions against her legs, bruises she’d rather be digging into Jamie’s skin. 

“You’ll like it,” Jamie says in a placid, low voice, like her fingers aren’t currently tracing a spot particularly wet and warm. Like Dani’s hips aren’t twitching as she fights the urge to press into Jamie’s hand. Like she doesn’t know Dani’s nails are biting into her own thighs, dragging grooves that will burn later. 

“Jamie.”

“Mm?” Like she doesn’t know. She’s grinning a crooked, cheerful little grin that makes Dani want to kiss her blind. If only they weren’t on a plane, if only there weren’t so many damn people around, she’d be out of this seat and riding Jamie’s lap, paying her back for this, making her squirm--

“You,” Dani says through clenched teeth as Jamie teases with one finger, slowly sliding in and easing right back out again. “You are in so much trouble when we land.”

“Yeah,” Jamie agrees, eyes shining. If anyone bothered to look at her properly, they’d see the hunger etched all over her face, even under the easy smile. “Yeah, reckon I am. But that’s hours off, yet, Poppins. Might as well enjoy the ride.”

Dani moves a hand to grip Jamie’s knee as hard as she can, exhaling through her nose to keep from whimpering as Jamie sets a slow, dangerous pace. 

This, she decides, will certainly be the thing to drive her insane. 

6

She's learned a lot about Dani over the years. A lot of wonderful, invigorating, sexy things about Dani--and a lot of simple ones, too. How much garlic Dani prefers in just about any dish. How good she is at decorating a house so it looks safer than anywhere in the world. How bad she is at pretending not to stare when Jamie walks out of the bathroom in nothing but a mis-buttoned flannel shirt. 

A good relationship, Jamie has determined--all too aware that this is the first and last truly good relationship of her life--is constant education. Learning what your person likes, and doesn’t like, and didn’t think they could ever tell you they liked until the moment arrived. Learning when to keep the lights on, when to hold them in the dark. Learning what moods beg a kiss, which ones require hands wiping away tears, and which ask only for silence. 

She’s been with Dani a long time. Hopes to be with her a lot longer. Decades, if she can trick the universe into granting them that long a reprieve. Years, if she can only steal that much. Any time with Dani is cherished. Any time with Dani is more than either of them expected. 

She’s been with Dani a long time, and there’s a lot she knows now. Where Dani’s ticklish in ways that will derail sex entirely by way of hysterical laughter; where she’s ticklish in less aggressive ways that will, in fact, enhance the experience when Jamie kisses those spots. She knows that Dani likes to relinquish control, because it makes her feel safe in Jamie’s hands, and that she sometimes likes to sneak control back when Jamie isn’t looking, because she likes the way Jamie forgets how to speak when she’s surprised. She knows the way Dani likes her neck kissed, the way Dani likes to be held through a particularly intense orgasm, the way Dani gets the right kind of embarrassed when something unexpectedly obscene comes out of her mouth at just the right moment. 

She knows a lot about Dani, every last detail precious, but she doesn’t know everything. Sometimes, Dani still surprises her.

Like the day she comes home with a sad little plant. 

She doesn’t recognize the look on Dani’s face, and a part of her--the part that’s been waking more and more as Dani jerks restlessly in her sleep, as she carefully averts her eyes from the bathroom mirror, as she gives that old tired not-quite-present smile Jamie remembers so well from their last week at Bly--worries. Dani is still full of surprises, but some of those surprises have teeth. Some, Jamie fears she’s not strong enough to lift from Dani’s shoulders. 

This time, though, the look is less hunted and more...quietly nervous. Jamie is distracted, failing miserably to secure dinner for what feels like the thousandth time in this kitchen, but something about the way Dani is hefting this plant cuts through her focus. 

Dani, rescuing plants off the side of the road. Be still her heart. 

Something about the way Dani glances at her as she takes over at the stove, something about the way Dani brushes past like she’s running on something electric, nearly ruins the surprise. Nearly. Except Jamie is distracted, and there's something green and not entirely lifeless to repair, and Jamie has always been up for getting to the heart of a problem. The roots, she sees without really needing to dig. The roots are...

“Dani,” she hears herself say. “Why’s there a...”

And then Dani is using words like best friend, love of my life, words so big and so wonderful Jamie wonders if she’s really awake right now. And there are other words, scary ones--don’t know how much time we have left--but Dani chases them quickly with the best words Jamie’s ever heard. Words like spend them with you. Words like we’ll know. Words like it’s enough for me, if it’s enough for you. 

Jamie can’t imagine this not being enough. 

She’s half-crying, kissing Dani, half-laughing, wholly effervescent. Dani’s hair is soft under hands that suddenly feel too small, too clumsy, holding on to something so fragile. Dani’s whispering I love you against her lips, and Jamie recognizes some fear in the way she’s pulling Jamie closer. Some fear, and a huge amount of relief, too. 

“Did you think I’d say no?” she teases when the tears dry up enough to let her speak again. Dani, forehead pressed against hers, shakes her head minutely. 

“I don’t think anyone knows what the answer will be. But...no. No, I didn’t.”

“Good,” Jamie says, trying to look like she’s not sniffling. “Think you know me better than that.”

“I know you better than anyone,” Dani says, so honestly, Jamie feels something crack from deep inside. She slides the ring onto her finger to distract from this feeling of being dunked under by some enormous wave, by feelings she truly once thought she’d never have the space for in her body. 

Dinner is decidedly not salvageable by this point, and Jamie finds she isn’t hungry, anyway. She leads Dani to the the couch, curls up close to her, eyes straying back to that sad little potted plant. 

“Tried to grow it, didn’t you?”

“No,” Dani says, with exactly the same inflection she once used at six in the morning in a greenhouse. Jamie laughs. 

There’s an energy between them tonight unlike anything Jamie’s ever felt before. It’s been hinted at over the years--in a bedroom at Bly, in a diner in the Midwest, in the middle of their shop--but never quite so clearly as in this moment. Dani, who has seemed less and less content lately, has an arm around her shoulders, her breath coming easier than it has in weeks. Jamie doesn’t like thinking about that, doesn’t like looking too closely at what might be pulling Dani back down that particular road.

This, she decides. Just this. Just today. The rest can wait. 

Dani has her hand in her lap, is fiddling with the ring like she can't quite believe she had the guts to actually give it to Jamie. Dani is always so much more surprised by her own courage than Jamie has ever been. It was always, she thinks, watching Dani idly twist the gold band back and forth, going to be Dani doing the proposing. Dani, whose relationship with marriage is so complicated. Dani, whose relationship with time is so complicated. 

There’s a lot in the relationship Dani leaves in Jamie’s hands. Repairs around the house, ideas of how the shop could run more smoothly, most nights in the bedroom. There’s a lot Dani doesn’t feel like she needs to grip in tense fists, a lot Dani has never felt the need to control. Jamie’s not sure control is the word she’d choose for herself, either, but there’s a certain natural leadership to her posture in the world. Maybe because, for a time, there was no one but Jamie herself calling the shots. Maybe because she’s used to making hard choices, unable to drop them on anyone else’s shoulders. 

It makes her feel an unexpected kind of strong, that Dani trusts her with so much. 

But this always felt important to leave to Dani. Jamie would have been all right if they never had this conversation; the way she sees it, not much would have changed. Dani is still her most important person, ring or no. She’ll be here as long as Dani will have her, even without vows or witnesses.

But for Dani to have done this--for Dani to have planned it out, kept it a secret when she is absolutely terrible at keeping secrets from Jamie (”I never know,” she says, making a horror into the sweetest thing in the world by virtue of pout alone, “how much time we have, why would I keep anything from you?”), dropped it smoothly on a sunny evening like this--is perfect. It’s small, and it’s private, and it’s the bravest thing in the world. 

“I love you,” Jamie says, because there is no amount of saying it that would feel like enough. Dani smiles until the corners of her eyes crinkle. 

There are things that have surprised her about Dani over the years, and things that may have surprised Dani even more--but the thing Jamie finds most surprising of all comes from this. From the way her whole body relaxes in Dani’s hands. From the way her eyes close and her breath shallows out when Dani’s nearby. She’s never been good at vulnerability, not with anyone, but the minute Dani entered her life, it’s like vulnerability became her life’s mission.

Never consciously. Never with intent. Just...organically, the way cells know to age, the way plants know to seek sunlight. Dani walked into her life with shoulders tight and more love in her heart than she seemed to know what to do with, and suddenly, Jamie wanted only to give. Her time, her affection, anything Dani needed. Anything Dani could ever want. 

It should be exhausting. It should take everything out of her. It should wring her out and leave nothing in its wake. 

Instead, it seems to make her stronger every day. It seems to make her more with everything she gives to Dani: her love, her hope, her reassurances. She gives, and Dani, who could so easily take, gives back, and Jamie thinks, It’s this. It’s the exchange. Not just the caring, but the being taken care of. 

“What’re you thinking?” Dani asks. Jamie winds their fingers together, brings their joined hands to her lips. 

“That I’m lucky. Incredibly, illogically lucky.”

“Should I have--” Dani hesitates. “I don’t know, done it sooner?”

Sand in an hourglass, Jamie thinks. In the end, it’s all sand in an hourglass, and no amount of rushing can change it. 

“It was perfect,” she says, leaning across Dani to kiss her lips. “Truly. Couldn’t ask for better.”

Dani looks like she may be considering pressing--there’s a particular crease she gets between the eyes when self-consciousness is at the wheel, and it breaks Jamie’s heart every time she sees it. Jamie pushes her back against the arm of the couch, dropping with her until they’re laying flush, cupping one hand under Dani’s jaw to kiss her properly. 

“Perfect,” she repeats, brushing her nose against Dani’s, sighing when Dani’s hands move reflexively to slide the strap of her overalls off her shoulder. 

There’s less verbal reassurance from there, considerably more work done via hands and sighs and lips. They’re laughing even as Jamie shifts too far to the left and rolls them both onto the very-solid floor in a half-dressed heap. Dani’s still laughing--half-wild with what Jamie reads as untempered relief--even as Jamie helps her wrestle out of her jacket, even as Jamie is sliding down her body, kissing her way back up again through the impossibly-deep slit in her dress. 

There are times with Dani that feel like the pair of them will burst into flame if they aren’t touching, if they aren’t setting a rhythm together in that very moment. There are times where it’s all hunger, all heat, where Jamie thinks the very act of loving Dani might set her ablaze. And then there are times like this: times where Dani watches her with half-lidded eyes, smiling even as Jamie is undressing her, even as Jamie is coaxing cloth aside and pulling Dani to her mouth. Smiling, sighing, shifting under Jamie like there’s nowhere else in the world she’d rather be. 

Times like this, tasting Dani, grasping blindly for her hand with eyes closed, are secretly Jamie’s favorite. Times like this, feeling Dani move beneath her, tracing Dani’s knuckles with the pad of her thumb, Dani’s voice the only song in the room, are the absolute ideal. It’s only here, in their home, knowing Dani would give anything to keep this safe, that Jamie thinks she’s her absolute best self. 

It’s here--curled on the floor with her back against Dani’s chest, Dani’s hand tossed lightly over her hip, both of them covered with a very badly crocheted blanket Dani picked out at a flea market--that she feels most real. 

“I want this,” Dani says sleepily, words muffled with her mouth pressed against Jamie’s shoulder. “For as long as possible.”

“Sleeping naked on a hardwood floor?” Jamie shifts her face against her bent elbow, grinning. Dani’s arm slides tighter around her middle.

“Holding you. Anywhere.”

“Think that can be arranged,” Jamie says, voice unexpectedly thick with emotion. Dani nuzzles against her shoulder again.

“Promise?”

Something releases in her chest, the duality of Dani now--a Dani who is starting to get scared again, but still brave enough to ask Jamie to marry her--and Dani then--a Dani terrified already, but so brave in asking Jamie to stay--coalescing into one. She inhales, shuddering, pressing back into Dani’s arms as hard as she can. Dani squeezes like she understands, like she knows Jamie needs nothing like she needs to know Dani is the most solid thing in the room. 

This is the thing, Jamie thinks, that surprises her most. Not just being taken care of, but needing it from Dani. Needing to be held, needing to feel the weight of Dani’s body against her own. Needing to be reminded that for all her good humor, all her confidence, all the times Jamie can’t help putting Dani first--Dani’s doing the exact same thing. 

“I’m gonna marry you,” she hears herself say, turning in Dani’s grasp and pressing her face against Dani’s neck. “Someday. Minute it’s even remotely legal.”

Dani makes the most content noise she’s ever heard in her life. “One day at a time,” she says. To Jamie’s ears, it's the purest kind of vow. 

[anarchy-and-piglins]

Summary: Technoblade spends some time in Pandora’s Box. It goes about as well as you’d expect.

(Read on AO3)

He skimmed his hand along the obsidian, the surface smooth beneath his touch. Some parts of it were seemingly warmer than others, but Technoblade didn't know if that was because of the lava running somewhere deep within the walls or just his tired mind playing tricks on him. He tapped the volcanic glass once, an action that fills the cell with a light ringing sound. But the layers ran too deep for Techno to tell where hollowness hides beneath.

Which was a shame, because knowing the structure's weaknesses would already go a long way in him figuring out his escape plan.

With no tools and the mining fatigue weighing heavy on his bones, getting through obsidian might be a fool's errand. But it was a better way to spent his time than waiting for a rescue party that would most likely never come. Or better yet, stay put and sit pretty like Dream seemed to want him to.

Technoblade couldn't see any other reason for him still being here.

The sky tore open, lightning forming a spiderweb of fractures evaporating as quickly as they had taken shape. Rain beat down on them relentlessly and made it impossible to see more than a few feet in front of them. Another crack – a flash of blinding light – and it carried the glint of a sword at Phil's throat, the steady hand of Dream holding onto the base of Phil's neck and keeping him in place.

Technoblade stilled in an instant.

The thunder rumbled ominously as Dream's impassive mask grinned ever wider.

The trade-off had gone quick and easy, an unspoken agreement that Techno would sign again in a heartbeat. He nodded curtly at Dream, who pressed the blade firmer against skin to make his point. Techno dropped his own weapon, holding up his arms to show goodwill. Phil's eyes widened as he realized what was happening, helpless to stop it.

"Wait-" But Dream curled his fingers tighter around Phil's neck, the sword inches away from slicing a jugular and Techno shook his head, internally begging for the other man to stay quiet.

He didn't know if he could do this if Phil asked him not to with that pained look in his eyes.

It was impossible to tell how much time had passed since he was locked in Pandora's box, but Techno had a rough estimation. Sam brought him food and by counting the minutes between deliveries he had narrowed it down to two meals a day. Almost twenty meals had come and gone since his arrival.

During this time Dream had not come to see him once, was the thing.

It made a tight coil of worry pull in Techno's gut. One he stubbornly pushed down and shoved into a corner of his mind where he put all emotions he deemed worthy to be re-examined at a more opportune time, preferably over a cup of tea and some of Phil's freshly baked bread. There were only so many reasons he could think of for Dream to wait this long to state his demands – because that's what they had to be. Demands. Dream didn't do anything in half measures, always had some ace up his sleeve or a grand scheme to connect by pulling little threads of manipulation.

Dream had to gain something from putting him in prison.

Techno sat down on the small bunk that served as the room's only furniture, both bed and table in its function. The thin blanket that hardly did anything for him was balled up and shoved to the side. He started running down the list out loud so Chat could follow along. For all their strange tricks that eluded him, they still couldn't read his thoughts. Thankfully.

"Reason one: Dream thinks leaving me in here long enough will make it easier for him to get what he wants from me later."

Psychological warfare was the oldest trick in the book, but no method quite as effective as solitary confinement to break a person. Or, well, that would be the case for most others. Between the voices and a natural tendency towards extreme introversion Technoblade probably was the worst target for this approach. If the accommodations weren't so shit, he might have even enjoyed his stay.

Dream would most likely know this. Cross it off the list.

"Reason two: he needs to keep me secured for a future ploy."

A possibility, but the uncertainty tugged at Technoblade all the same. If Dream was planning to use him as a bargaining chip – or worse, a flunkey – down the line, then Techno would have had the honor of his presence by now, even if only for Dream to gloat. That man was utterly lost in his own superiority complex on the best of days, there was no chance he would pass on an opportunity to rub Techno's face in his future plans. Leave him stewing in misery with knowledge of what was to come.

A moment's hesitation, but he crossed it off the list.

"Reason three: he's forgotten I'm in here."

His joke made Chat agitated and he winced at the stab of a headache that brought forth as their yelling got louder, more jumbled. "Yeah, that would be pretty cringe of him," he agreed with their repeated outcries.

"Well, that only leaves the last option I can consider..." He trailed off, staring at the slightly shimmering surface of the obsidian. Techno could see his own reflection in the translucent facets. The crown on his head stood out starkly in the cell's dim light.

In chess, the best plays were always those that went for the strongest pieces first. It might be tempting to take a rook or two to start with, but you can't feel safe until that queen is removed from the board. Then it breaks open for you to do whatever you want with, essentially.

"He's leaving me here to rot."

Phil had stared at him, the shadows cutting across his expression. Techno couldn't look him in the face, keeping his focus on Dream instead. Not breaking eye contact even as his hands were tied behind his back. The useless gesture was only meant to humiliate him, Dream knew he wouldn't budge an inch with Phil's last life still in danger.

They had marched him straight to the prison, not taking any risks and all the while Technoblade had already been glancing around, committing any important leverages to memory. With every security measure they passed, his heart sank deeper in his chest.

Forty meals had come and gone.

Technoblade was chipping away at the wall, not for any real reason except it kept him busy. He wasn't stupid enough to believe it would actually amount to anything. Not when the walls were made of obsidian, not when the mining fatigue strained his movements and made his muscles contract under the pressure of forcing them into cooperation. There was less strength to his punches, flexing his fingers against invisible weights suspended from them by strings.

And even if he managed by some miracle to mine away a block, Sam would know and come replace it instantly.

"Chat," he addressed the voices. "You're familiar with the story of Sisyphus, right?" A mess of responses, mostly the repeating of their favorite letter which Techno chose to take as agreement. "Yeah, sure, I've read it to you before."

His claws broke through another inch of the solid stone. Obsidian wasn't a mineral, the composition wasn't right for it. But it splintered in brittle ways and cut open Techno's palm, making the blood run slick through his fingers. Chat went into a frenzy.

"This is what he must have felt like with his boulder," Techno concluded.

They stripped him of his tools, his weapons, his communicator. Technoblade was vaguely grateful they let him keep his clothes at least, though he suspected it was merely because Sam hadn't been prepared for the prison to already be put to use.

The creeper-hybrid looked at him in vague apprehension and Techno shrugged back.

Placing him in the highest security cell could have been a compliment if Techno didn't think it to be completely overkill and awfully dramatic on Dream's part. The rows of doors they passed on the way to the bowels of the box were concerning, enough to contain at least half the residents of the server.

Dream had officially lost his marbles.

High security turned out to be a euphemism for 'violation of human rights'. The cell was barely three by three blocks, with nothing but the bed tucked against one wall and a heavy-set door that didn't even have a handle on the inside. At floor height, there was a thin slot just wide enough for the occasional bowl of stew or a baked potato to slide through. The warden didn't have to interact with his prisoners.

"Cozy," Techno remarked dully before the door was shut behind him. It hadn't been opened since.

He had lost count, but he had to be nearing his eightieth meal now.

More and more often Technoblade found himself slumbering through the opening of the latch, only to wake up to a stale steak that had been left on his floor hours ago. It wasn't real sleep, merely a state of exhaustion both mental and physical that left him wandering the borders of consciousness, drifting somewhere between awareness and disconnect. Which he knew was probably not the best sign.

The lack of physical activity was wearing his muscles down, making even the simple act of pacing circles in the room send aches through his legs. For the first time in longer than he cared to recall Techno returned to the exercise routine they had done every morning in the Antarctic Empire – or at least the parts of it he could match in the limited space of his cell. It wasn't enough though and he felt himself grow weaker every day. There was no sunlight, no fresh air, and the food left something to be desired.

His mind too wandered more and more, having trouble staying on task. The voices gradually grew more agitated, bored by the same scenery each day, the lack of excitement. A permanent headache had taken residence and didn't show any sign of intending to leave soon, making its presence known through a constant throbbing and the occasional stab of pain when he thought too hard. Closing his eyes, Technoblade started to count out loud. Give them and himself something to concentrate on. Chat came apart into a tangle of numbers, noises, buzzing. He winced.

"Okay, new plan, new plan-" He curled up on the bunk, drawing his knees up to his chest. The blanket was on the floor. "Story time, what would you like to hear?"

More chaos, but one answer stood out among the others. Its irony was not lost on Techno.

"Thus, the first mortal woman was born and she descended down to earth." He hushed them and was grateful when chat fell away into quieter murmurs. "Her name was Pandora."

The door opened.

The sound made Technoblade flinch, the creak feeling so horribly foreign in the stillness of his cell that he had come to know like the back of his hand. He stared and didn't know what to think when he saw Phil outlined in the opening.

"Wha-"

His friend was at his side in seconds, one hand holding his wrist and it was nearly painful. An absence of touch suddenly set ablaze. Techno did his best not to shy away from the contact.

"We need to get out of here," Phil said urgently, eyes wide and panicked and the words died on Techno's tongue. "There isn't much time."

Techno could only nod, throat raw and hurting as Phil pulled him to his feet. He nearly fell over.

The hallways seemed different, longer and winding in strange angles. Door upon door upon door and Phil didn't say anything, just tugged Techno along. His head was filled with cotton. Why wasn't there any lava? Where was the redstone?

When they came outside, the sun was blinding him.

"Wait, Phil." Techno stopped moving, dug his heels into the ground and Phil stopped too. He turned around, skin pale and expression worried and it killed him. It killed Techno. "What's happening?"

"I came for you," Phil answered simply. "Of course I did, mate."

Techno felt like he was breaking.

He woke up in his cell.

"At the bottom of the box, only Hope remained there in an unbreakable home."

Technoblade missed his home.

He missed his farm and his pets and the feeling of the breeze running through his hair. He missed the winding of the river across the land, small sounds of trickling and running along the shallows with Wilbur and Tommy in tow. He missed Phil putting logs of wood in the fireplace.

He was tired.

The voices wouldn't stop screaming. Pressing his hands into his closed eyes, relieved when the pressure took some of the edge off, Technoblade grunted. "What has you guys excited now, hm?"

He didn't really care. The room was small and endless and he couldn't breathe within these walls, couldn't think. He just wanted them to shut up so he could go to sleep again.

But Chat didn't mind his protests, a litany of noise and somewhere in there, Technoblade could have sworn he heard Phil's name. He blinked back into awareness, struggling to get his stagnant mind into motion again. Too exhausted to move.

The door opened.

Technoblade couldn't even bear to tear his eyes away from the ceiling.

Somebody shook his shoulder and said his name and it hurt, it all hurt too much to be real. When warm arms wrapped around his body Techno wanted to sob but couldn't do that either.

"Hey, hey-" Phil was brushing his tangled hair from his face, fingers skirting along Techno's cheeks. He leaned into that touch subconsciously, needing it like a lifeline. There was time to be self-conscious about such vulnerability later. "It's okay, I'm here."

The noise that wanted to come out of him was a low whine, but Techno cleared his throat instead. "Took you long enough."

Phil let out a short laugh, not quite sincere yet but still music to his ears. "Yeah, you can complain about it to me later, once we get home."

Home?

Techno nodded, the minimal motion already enough to make him dizzy. But that didn't matter with Phil steadying him, holding onto him, helping him.

Coming back for him.

"Please," he said. "Home would be great."

[sassyhobbits]

Could we have an oln extra from elorcan pretty please *doggy eyes*

it would be my pleasure ;)

this takes place about a year before the ons epilogue!!!!!

elorcan ons oneshot pt1

~~~

Lorcan Salvaterre considered himself to be a level-headed man. He had immense patience and rarely let his emotions, positive or negative, get the better of him.

That’s why it was so surprising that anxiety had been roiling in his gut for the past week.

In the two years he had been living in Terrasen, so many things had changed.

Aelin had given him a job in security at the palace and he had recently been promoted to the head. His relationship with Elide had been growing stronger and stronger with each passing day. They had recently moved in together, Elide moving away from her native Perranth to work more closely with her family in the capital.

Lorcan never would have expected that the chore of traveling to Terrasen with Remelle would lead to so many wonderful things in his life.

He knew that he was in love with Elide. It was like nothing else he had ever felt in his life. He had never cared for anyone the same way he cared for her. It only meant one thing.

Which was why he was anxious.

Lorcan held no doubts about the fact that Elide loved him just as he loved her.

Yet the idea of proposing to her was utterly terrifying.

It hadn’t been a dramatic moment when he realized he wanted to marry her.

It had been a lazy morning in the apartment, and Elide had started on some eggs. Lorcan remembered leaning back on the kitchen island, admiring how she looked in his shirt, her dark hair glistening in the golden morning sun. And… he had just known. That he wanted to marry her. It hadn’t felt like a new idea, instead something he had discovered deep inside of him, as if it had always been there. Elide was it for him, that he knew.

But to propose to her, he would first need to get a fucking ring.

It was much more daunting a task than he would have expected.

Lorcan didn’t truly have an eye for finery, he never had, but he knew Elide deserved the very best.

Which was why he was calling for backup.

He made the call as he was driving towards the palace for work, dialing the number of someone he knew would be there. The other line rang for a few moments, and Lorcan wondered if he wouldn’t answer. But, there was finally a click and an irritable voice barking through the speaker.

“What the fuck do you want, Lorcan?”

Lorcan couldn’t stop himself from grinning at Rowan’s anger. There were only a few times when his friend would give in to his frustrations.

“I’m sorry, was I interrupting something?” Lorcan asked coyly. Rowan had confided in him earlier that month that he and Aelin had finally decided to try for a baby. Which meant they were having a ridiculous amount of sex.

“You know you did, you ass,” Rowan grumbled. Lorcan heard a soft, feminine laugh from the background followed by the shifting of sheets. It seemed whatever had been happening was now over. “What do you want?”

Lorcan simply blurted it out. “I need to buy a ring for Elide so I can propose but I don’t know where to start.”

There were a few heartbeats of all-encompassing silence on the other end of the call. “Oh. Wow. That’s big news, Lor.”

“Yeah… but, are you busy today? Can you help?”

Rowan released a long sigh. Lorcan could practically envision him running a hand through his short, silver hair. “I would, but to be honest, I wouldn’t know what to do either. I didn’t even pick out Aelin’s engagement ring myself.”

Damn. Lorcan had forgotten about that. They were so damned in love with each other that it was easy to forget about the rocky start to their originally arranged marriage.

“But,” Rowan continued. “I know someone who could help, if you want to call in the big guns.”

“Yeah. Anything. I need to get this right. Elide deserves it.”

“Damn right. I’ll let her know.”

…

The big gun’s Chanel heels clicked noisily on the marble floor of the jewelry shop she had picked out. As princess, Aelin Galathynius held a lot of sway and managed to get them a private shopping appointment at the shop she insisted would have what he needed.

She had spent the morning and the entirety of the ride to the shop giving him a basic understanding of jewelry and what women wanted. He hadn’t even thought about how the band color should compliment skin tone or that there were better ways of cutting diamonds. Some women didn’t even want diamonds as the main stones. Aelin’s own was an emerald. It was far more complicated than he had hoped.

Lorcan had never really spent much time one-on-one with the princess, but he liked her well enough. Her attitude had grated him the wrong when they had first met, but it soon found out that she was actually a good person. Tough as nails, too. She would make a fearsome queen one day.

“I’m not going to pick the ring out for you,” Aelin said shortly, smoothing out her silk skirt. “Elide deserves better than that. But, I can point you in the right direction.”

“Whatever you say.”

The princess gave a curt nod and motioned towards a glimmering display, filled with stunning, beautiful rings. He watched as Aelin ran an expert eye over them.

“These are the best designers,” she explained. “The rings are beautiful and crafted perfectly. Quality. If you want to get Elide something nice, this is where you’d get it.”

Lorcan nodded slowly, looking back towards the countless rings. He felt his nerves build up again as he looked towards them, wondering how the hell he was supposed to know which one was the right one. He felt Aelin’s eyes skipping back and forth from the jewelry to him, and he had no doubt she had already decided which one Elide would like best. He didn’t know if he wanted to thank her or strangle her for not telling him which one it was.

Lorcan took a deep breath, trying to tame his pounding heart. He studied the rows slowly, attempting to find one that he knew would encapture the woman he loved. He was just beginning to think that it was hopeless, that he’d fuck it up no matter what, when his gaze finally caught on one.

It was made of a bright, gleaming silver that twisted gracefully, supporting an oval-shaped diamond. A few smaller diamonds embraced the middle one each side. It was simple, but elegant. Lorcan knew Elide wouldn’t want the ring with the largest diamond on it, wouldn’t want it to be too loud or ostentatious. But this… this was perfect. He could already practically see it perched on her finger.

“That one,” Lorcan said confidently, pointing towards the ring. “That one is perfect.”

He looked towards Aelin, finding her lips spreading in a slow smile. She gave a pleased nod. “That’s an excellent choice. Elide’ll love that one.”

It was in that moment that it fully settled on Lorcan that this was real, that this was happening. He was going to propose to the women he loved. And hopefully she would say yes.

“I’m happy for you, Lorcan,” Aelin said earnestly. “For some reason, your miserable ass makes Elide very happy, and I can see she does the same for you. I’m glad you found each other.” With that, her eyes narrowed slightly and she leaned closer, lowering her voice. “That being said if you hurt her, what I’d do to you would make what I did to Hamel and his men seem merciful. Understand?”

It was easy to forget that under that golden hair and pretty clothes, Aelin Galathynius was a certified bad-ass. One that even Lorcan didn’t want to get on the bad side of. Not that he would ever admit that to her aloud. It would make her already enormous ego that much bigger.

“Believe me when I say,” Lorcan began. “That I am going to do everything in my power to make Elide happy until the darkness claims us.”

Aelin seemed satisfied with that answer. “I do believe you. Now, let’s get that ring.”

…

Buying the ring was only half of the struggle. Now Lorcan had to figure out the best way to propose to Elide.

It was constantly on the back of his mind, no matter what he was doing. At work, in the shower, lounging around the apartment with Elide… it wouldn’t leave him alone.

Neither would Aelin fucking Galathynius. Every time she saw him in the halls, she would bother him with questions about it. Whether or not he had picked a time, or if he was ever going to pull his head out of his ass and ask her at all. It was annoying as hell. He wasn’t going around asking her every thirty minutes if Rowan had finally knocked her up. But… although she was mildly infuriating, it was somehow a pretty good motivator.

After a week and a half of the idea of the ring burning a hole through his mind, Lorcan finally decided it was time.

It was Lysandra’s birthday, and they had all gathered at the palace to celebrate with friends and family. It was a small, private affair, but it didn’t make it any less enjoyable. In fact, Lorcan preferred it over large parties any day.

They enjoyed a nice dinner, everyone wishing Lysandra a happy birthday. She was beaming the entire night with Aedion by her side. Their own wedding was only two weeks away.

Lorcan had struggled to pay attention to the others around him all evening. His attention had been pinned on Elide the entire time. She looked lovely tonight in a silky, violet top and high-waisted white trousers, dark hair falling down her back in a gleaming sheet.

If anyone noted his distraction during dinner, they didn’t say anything. By the time desert had been consumed and they had moved to the parlor for cocktailing, he was nearly jittery. Or as close to jittery as he would allow himself to become.

He had finished one drink before he decided it was time. He was done with playing around.

“Elide, love?” he murmured into her ear from where he was sitting next to her on the couch.

“Yes, Lor?” she asked, turning towards him. Her fair cheeks were flushed from either the wine or laughing with her friends, dark eyes practically sparkling with happiness. The sight made his heart swell.

“Will you come with me for a bit?”

Elide raised a dark brow in question but nodded, placing her glass on the low table before her. Most of the room was too lost in conversation to notice them slipping quietly away, but Aelin’s sharp eyes landed on him. She was tucked under Rowan’s arm, lips spreading in a slow, knowing smile. As soon as Elide’s back was turned, the princess mouthed, Good luck.

Lorcan refrained from scowling at her, slipping his hand into Elide’s and guiding her gently out of the parlor.

The halls were dark and quiet, the light of the full moon bathing the marble floors in a pale glow. It almost felt as if they were the only two people in the world. Lorcan wouldn’t have minded that one bit.

The ring box felt like a massive weight in his pocket as he held Elide’s hand tighter.

“What are you up to, Salvaterre?” Elide asked playfully, leaning into his side.

“You’ll see soon enough.”

“A surprise?”

“You’ll see.”

Elide narrowed her eyes suspiciously. He could practically see the wheels turning in her mind. She was too smart for her own good. It was one of the things he loved about her. Lorcan wouldn’t put it past her to figure out what he was about to do before he did it. He could only hope that the gods were on his side tonight.

Lorcan led Elide outside towards the gardens. They were a beautiful space, taken meticulous care of throughout the year, filled with trimmed bushes and aromatic flowers. The summer air was comfortably warm, filled with the scent of night-blooming jasmine. With the light of the stars above them and the privacy, it was a perfectly romantic spot.

Lorcan led Elide over to a low, white stone bench situated before a tinkling fountain. He urged her to sit, taking the spot beside her, refusing to release her hand. He rubbed his thumb in slow circles over the smooth skin of her knuckles.

Lorcan tried to will words to his mouth, but it seemed the nerves had finally taken hold, making it far more difficult than he was used to.

“Elide,” he finally managed to rasp out, lifting his gaze to meet hers. “You mean the world to me. I love you more than I have ever loved anything in my lifetime. You know that, right?”

Elide smiled softly and nodded, placing her palm on the side of her face and looking deeply into his eyes. “I know. And I love you just the same.”

He didn’t think ELide would ever understand just how much those words meant to him. He was undeserving of a woman like Elide, but he would try every day of his life to become worthy of her.

“Elide…” Lorcan breathed. “You’re the love of my life. I treasure every day, every moment, I get to spend with you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you… if you’ll have me.” With that, Lorcan slid from the bench to the ground, getting down on one knee on the soft grass. He pulled the velvet box from his pocket, prying it open and holding it out towards Elide, feeling as though he was holding his very heart out in his hands.

Elide gasped and slapped a hand over her chest, eyes wide.

“Elide Lochan…” Lorcan said lowly, watching her face as her lips pressed together tightly and her eyes began to glisten in the silvery moonlight. “Will you do me the honor of marrying me?”

The single second of silence that followed his question was excruciating. But, eventually Elide relieved his suffering by choking out a sob and nodding.

“Yes, Lorcan,” she gasped. “Yes, of course I’ll marry you.”

Lorcan released a breathy laugh, almost unable to believe that she had actually said yes. He recovered from his shock quickly, taking Elide’s hand within his own and slipping the ring on to her finger. He had been right, it did look perfect on her.

“It’s beautiful, Lorcan,” Elide whispered, looking at the diamond for one more moment before launching herself at him. Her arms wrapped around the back of her neck as her lips came crashing down upon his. Lorcan didn’t hesitate before sweeping her up in his arms and rising, kissing the woman he loved, his fiancé, deeply.

“I love you so much,” Elide murmured against his mouth, laughing and crying and kissing him.

“I love you too, Elide. So much.”

Lorcan’s heart had never been fuller.

…

They stayed in the quiet gardens for a bit longer, lounging in the peace and privacy they provided. Lorcan held Elide the entire time, whispering in her ear about how beautiful she was and how excited he was to marry her.

But, eventually they decided to head back inside to their friends and break the news.

Elide wore a smile on her face the entire walk back. Lorcan had a matching one of his own.

As they reached the threshold, the low murmuring of voices faded away, all eyes on them. Neither he nor Elide said anything at first, only wearing those grins.

Eventually, Aelin sat up straighter, and demanded, “Well?!”

Lorcan looked down at Elide as she slowly raised her left hand higher, showing off her new ring. “We’re getting married!”

The room erupted into shouts of surprise and congratulations. Not all of them had known what Lorcan had planned to do. He figured the less people who had known the better, especially since Fenrys had a big, fat mouth.

Lorcan dealt with the attention the best he could, accepting a hug from Lysandra, clasping forearms with Aedion and Rowan, and shoving Fenrys away when he placed a smacking kiss upon his cheek.

Once the initial surprise had gone away, they all moved to sitting down once more. Aedion grabbed a bottle of champagne and popped it open to celebrate.

“Being engaged is all fun and games until it comes to the wedding planning,” Lysandra sighed dramatically. From across the room, Rowan gave a tiny grunt of agreement as Aedion nodded solemnly. “It’s so much work. You just want everything to go perfect. I’m still stressing about ours.”

“I’m sure everything will be great,” Elide assured her. “For both of us.”

“Yeah, and just think about it,” Aelin added, running her fingers through Rowan’s short hair. “No matter what happens at either of your weddings… it won’t be nearly as bad as our first one.”

A beat of silence.

Lorcan watched as Rowan looked up towards his wife disapprovingly. “That’s still not funny, Aelin.”

“It’s a little funny. It’s okay to laugh.”

Although Rowan didn’t take her up on that offer, the rest of them released tiny chuckles. It wasn’t much longer that they were back to rapid-fire conversation and rambunctious laughter. Rowan and Aelin as well as Aedion and Lysandra shared stories about the woes of wedding planning. Although it did seem daunting, Lorcan held no doubt in his heart that they would persevere.

He glanced back down at Elide, the woman that he loved, before brushing a kiss over the top of her hair. She leaned deeper into his side, snuggling close.

Every minute of work would be worth it to call Elide his wife.

[quillandink333]

Scarlet Carnations ~ Part I

BotW Link X Zelda ~ Detective AU

Rating: T

Word Count: 2.9k

WARNINGS: death, murder, loss, trauma, blood and gore, terrorism, organized crime, self-harm

Summary: Inspector Zelda Hyrule, assisted by the faithful Constable Link Fyori, is infamous for cracking the most confounding of cases in a town dominated by crime. Her latest assignment is to solve the murder of her own godmother, Impa Sheikah, the late CEO of Sheikah Tech. Incorporated, while staying under the radar of the dreaded Yiga organization.

Part I • Part II • Part III • Part IV • Part V • Part VI • Part VII • Epilogue • Masterlist

A deafening blast jolted me out of my slumber. I snapped upright.

As a member of law enforcement, I was painfully familiar with the sound of a gunshot, and that was exactly what I’d just heard.

I strained my ears with bated breath, trying to hear over my own thundering heartbeat.

Loud, frantic footsteps raced down creaky, wooden stairs. Then a terrified scream filled the halls of my childhood home.

I tore away the sheets and rushed to where the scream seemed to have come from. When I reached the parlour was when I stumbled upon the scene. There, right at the foot of my mother’s memorial, was my godmother’s cold, lifeless corpse. Kneeling beside her was her granddaughter, Paya, weeping into her open palms in shock.

Only a minute or two had passed since I’d awoken at the sound of gunfire. “Wait here,” I ordered, then made a break for the front entrance, the nearest and most instinctual escape route.

But when I threw the doors open, there wasn’t a soul to be found.

I returned to the parlour with my tail between my legs. Then my toe hit something heavy and metallic that clacked underfoot. When I looked down and saw what it was, I froze. With caution, I ever so slowly stepped away from the weapon.

“Great...” I muttered, seeing as now it would have my toe prints on it. But the longer I looked at it, I realized I’d seen this revolver somewhere before.

Then it hit me. It hit me like a two-ton train car.

I quickly made sure Paya’s head was turned. Then with terribly trembling hands, I did what I had to do and carefully tucked it away in my nightgown.

I’d feared the precinct wouldn’t allow me to participate in the investigation seeing as I’d been on the scene at the time of the crime. However, it seemed they trusted me enough to even appoint me as the lead investigator. Granted, I had done a lot to earn their trust over the past three years, but this was unheard of.

Nevertheless, I decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth. The next morning, at seven o’clock sharp, I returned to the scene of the crime equipped with all the necessary tools of my trade.

I looked out the window of the cramped police buggy at our destination in utter astoundment. There were already droves of officers there, awaiting the arrival of me and my partner. The sight of the place I’d once called home being chained off and hidden from the public like this was jarring, to say the least. Of all the strange crime scenes I’d seen, this was the strangest. I never could’ve imagined I’d be returning here, not to eat Auntie Impa’s delicious pork buns or to hear Auntie Purah talk about her latest technological endeavours, but for work. How could I have?

“Zelda! Good—good morning!” greeted a rather skittish Paya when she opened the door for us.

“Good morning, Paya.”

She nearly lost her smile when she noticed Constable Fyori standing beside me. “Please, come in.” She stepped aside, and he and I entered into the low-ceilinged yet stately vestibule, removing our shoes and leaving them by the door. “Can I get either of you anything? Some tea, maybe?”

My assistant opened his mouth, but I raised a hand, silencing him. “Thank you, but that won’t be necessary. We have important business to take care of.”

“Oh, yes, of course! Silly me,” she chortled. “I’ll let you get to it, then.”

The first order of business was to examine the body. In most cases, a specialist would be needed to perform an autopsy, but unlike most inspectors, I had the forensic knowhow to take care of it myself. One might have said this was a side effect of my hobbies and my avid interest in all things related to science that I’d harboured since grade school. However, a full autopsy complete with the weighing of the body and the removal of the organs would come later. For now, it would suffice to determine two simple things: the time of death and the cause of death.

But before I could even get close to the body, I was stopped by my assistant, who grabbed me gently by the arm.

“You don’t have to do this,” he uttered in his typical, mousy tone. “I can call for someone else to come and take care of it for you.”

The look of real and profound concern seated deep in his aquamarine eyes pulled at my heartstrings. It had been a year, roughly, since he’d first begun working under me. He was always so worried for me, and I always felt terrible because of it. I unhooked his hand from my arm, putting on a warm smile. “I’ll be okay, Link.”

He looked at me as if to ask, “Are you sure?”

“Really, it’s fine. Don’t worry,” I insisted. “Thank you, though.” This finally got him to return my smile, albeit only briefly.

I already had a decent estimate of the time of death. The period we were looking at was between half ten at night, when the last person awake (which had just so happened to be me) had gone to bed, and three in the morning, when the gunshot had given me that rude awakening. Really I should have examined the body as soon as I’d discovered it. In most other cases I worked on, I even wished I’d been the first on the scene, before the stiff had yet to even go stiff. Of course, the one time I happened to be one of the first to discover a murder, it had to be like this.

And yet, until I knew who was responsible for this atrocity, grieving could wait.

Right off the bat, I could tell that this had been a homicide. This may have seemed obvious to someone like Paya, but as a detective, I’d had to forcefully train myself to assume nothing and question everything. Based on the characteristics of the hole running straight through her neck, however, I determined that the gun had been shot from too far a distance for it to have been suicidal. Auntie Impa’s arms simply weren’t long enough.

But for a death caused by hemorrhage from a severed jugular vein, there was a shockingly small amount of blood. The rush-woven mat beneath her was nearly spotless, and I knew from experience how difficult it was to get stains out of these mats. Even when I checked underneath the mat, there was still nothing. No blood, and no bullet.

With a final nod, I stood up and signalled the other officers to take the body away.

“Now, let’s see here...” I said to myself, scanning the area immediately surrounding the corpse before approaching my mother’s altar. But when I laid eyes on the damage it had sustained, I stumbled back.

Though she hadn’t been a follower of the same faith held by the Sheikahs, my mother’s memory had been enshrined here because, like myself, they’d been like a second family to her.

With all due caution, I picked up what remained of her photograph. The glass was shattered, and a bullet had completely erased her face.

If this wasn’t a sign of the Yiga organization, I didn’t have a clue what was. Who else would’ve borne such ill will toward Hilda Hyrule, the town’s beloved last mayor who’d been dead ever since the tragic “accident” at City Hall eighteen years prior? That massacre had been what had ushered in their age of power, and with no one left to stand in their way, they’d been terrorizing the city ever since.

Before I’d even had the chance to begin my analysis, I heard Paya’s timid footsteps shuffling up to me. “Zelda?” she whispered, obnoxiously tapping her finger on my shoulder. “Excuse me...”

I turned my head and forced a grin. “What is it?”

“Umh, I didn’t know he’d be accompanying you today.” I didn’t even have to follow her gaze to know who she was eyeing.

I suppressed a sigh. “Constable Fyori is my partner,” I reminded her politely. “I take him with me on all of my investigations.”

“Yes, I know, but...” Now her gaze was nervously flitting back and forth between me and Link. “I-I wasn’t prepared to see him again after so long. What if—what if he says something to me?”

“He won’t,” I huffed. “Now, if you don’t mind.”

“Oh my, I’m so sorry,” she fretted. “I’ll get out of your hair.” I gave her a nod of the head in thanks, and she kindly stepped back and out of my space. But even after that, I could still feel her intense stare from across the room. I let out the sigh I’d been holding in. Sure, Paya was irritating, and I was going on maybe four or five hours of sleep at most, but there was no excuse for me to be irrational, especially since it would get me nowhere in my line of thinking. What I wouldn’t have done for a nice, hot cup of chamomile at that moment.

Based on the extreme angle of the bullet’s trajectory, one could tell at a glance where the shooter had to have been positioned. They’d have been standing above the altar with very little space between the two—definitely not enough for an entire person. Therefore the bullet that had taken the victim’s life had to have been a different one. This was backed up by the absence of any blood around the hole or anywhere else on the shrine. So why had I only heard one gunshot that night? And where in the world was the bullet responsible for Auntie Impa’s death if not on the scene of the crime?

After photographing the hole and scribbling my thoughts and observations down in my notebook, I began the procedure of extracting the bullet from the altar. This was a delicate task, one that I admittedly had a hard time trusting anyone else in the force with. Once I’d succeeded in retrieving the bullet, I determined it was of the same calibre as the one that had passed through the victim’s throat, meaning it was likely that it had been fired from the same gun. Unfortunately, all these facts corresponded with the weapon I’d found on the scene mere hours ago, two chambers of which were empty. There may have been no prints left on the trigger, but even so, I simply didn’t have it in me to run a striation comparison.

Standing up straight and taking a quick, deep breath, I turned to my assistant, who seemed to be investigating the mantelpiece. “Right, then, Fyori.” He turned his head as I approached him. “Anything to report?”

“No, madam,” he replied solemnly, avoiding my gaze and peering straight ahead over the top of my head.

“Is that so...?” I tapped the end of my pen against my chin habitually. “We seem to have a dreadfully diligent killer on our hands.” I gave the room another once-over from where I stood beside him. “You’ve been thorough in your search as always, I presume?”

“Of course.”

“And you found nothing? Not even a fingerprint?”

“No, I’m afraid not.”

“Then let’s move on,” I sighed, turning toward the doorway leading out into one of the building’s many corridors. He followed, just a few paces behind me. “There’s something I’ve been wanting to check since we got here.”

“That’s strange...” muttered Auntie Purah as she jumped through the footage captured by the front entrance’s security camera. “Symin, did I miss something?”

The Sheikah estate’s security supervisor shook his head. “Not that I could see.”

“Let me check it again.”

But even when she rewound and skipped through it a second time, the only person to appear was still myself on my initial search for the killer. Link gave me a furtive glance. I smiled at him in reassurance.

“Perhaps the other cameras caught something,” I suggested. “It would make sense that the culprit wouldn’t want to simply waltz right in through the front door.”

Auntie Purah looked to Symin. “Well, there are three other cameras, but two of them are so far removed from the scene that I doubt they’d be of much help.”

“And the third?” I asked, reaching for my notebook and something to write with.

“That would be the courtyard camera.”

“Ah, perfect!” The courtyard was located at the very centre of the property and served as an intersection between the four main hallways. “That one’s bound to have caught something. Let’s see.”

But this, too, would turn out fruitless. Throughout the night, there wasn’t even the shadow of a clue as to the killer’s movements.

“This...” I gaped. “This is impossible.” I knew for a fact that this particular model of camera was designed for the very purpose of protecting its footage from being altered or obstructed. Could the killer have made themselves invisible somehow?

“I don’t believe it.” Auntie Purah shook her head creakily. “Our company takes great pride in the reliability of our security cameras!”

Enraged, the tiny, old lady tried to stand up from her seat. Then a loud crack resounded throughout the cramped surveillance office. She screamed.

“Miss Purah, please calm down,” urged the kindly Symin, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Are you alright?”

“Yes,” she seethed, adjusting her glasses. “Thank you.” I didn’t know the man as well as I did the rest of the family as he had become a part of it a few years after I’d left the nest. However, it seemed like he would make a fine successor to Auntie Impa’s role of keeping her elder sister’s enduring impulsivity in check.

“There’s no reason to worry, Auntie. This is no fault of yours or your company’s,” I said, hoping to ease her pain a little. She’d suffered a terrible loss, and it was taking a great toll on her. It was difficult to watch such a brilliant mind come undone because of something like this. But after hearing my words, she looked up at me with a wrinkly smile. “My partner and I will just have to do an even more thorough inspection of the property tomorrow.”

The ride back to the precinct wasn’t a pleasant one. By the end of the day, my own mind had deteriorated into a swirling whirlpool of confusion, resentment, and woe. The investigation so far had borne so little results, it was hard to imagine that tomorrow’s search would be that much more successful. Of course there was still so much more that needed to be looked into, but right now, I just couldn’t see this turning out well. I still hadn’t solved the mystery behind my mother’s death in eighteen long years. Why, in this case, would I prove to be any less of a failure?

I curled my fists against my legs, trying my hardest to forget about the empty feeling in my stomach. Despite this, I knew I didn’t have the energy to do much more rational thinking today, if any at all.

Then my colleague broke the silence. “She was important to you, wasn’t she?” he asked, but such a personal question was strangely out of character for him.

“Yes.” I smiled sorrowfully into my lap. “I never really thought of her as a mother figure,” I admitted, “but she did put a lot of time and effort into raising me, in my actual mother’s stead.”

“She must’ve been a wonderful person.”

This made me laugh, to both his and my surprise. “Well, she would often scold me and Paya with the strictest attitude you can imagine, but I suppose she always had our best interests at heart.”

The longer I thought about Auntie Impa, the more I mulled over who could possibly have wanted her dead. She had already been getting on in age. Had the perpetrator’s need to kill her really been that dire? The only time people ever went that far was when their victim’s life would’ve put them in danger somehow if they’d have allowed them to go on living. But then again, there was the Yiga organization. They went around committing murders a couple times every week for seemingly no reason other than to flaunt their power. Perhaps Auntie Impa really had been just another one of their prey. Even so, I couldn’t shake the suspicion that there was more to it than that.

“Don’t you think it’s strange?”

The constable cocked his head, but kept his eyes on the road.

But then I stopped myself. There was still no proof of the Yiga’s involvement, so there was no point in bringing it up now. “Well, all of it is quite strange, frankly,” I amended. “The lack of blood, the missing bullet...”

“Could the killer have moved the body from somewhere else, perhaps?” he tentatively suggested.

“Very good, Link. That’s exactly what I’ve been theorizing.” The tips of his ears flushed, and he seemed to shrink back into his seat a little. “Oh, but then...wouldn’t that make it more likely for the cameras to have caught something?”

“That is true,” he concurred. “And there’s still been no sign of the murder weapon?”

I swallowed hard. “No...” My eyes flickered down toward my briefcase. “None.”

[drxwsyni]

Prey ︱ Yandere Keigo Takami x f!Reader

@theladyshinigami asked: “Hello! First of all, I've been looking for an account like yours for a long ass time, so thank you for existing. Second, may I request a yandere Hawks pinning for a foreigner with a siren quirk that can hypnotize people when she sings? Thanks again”

a/n: thanks for the request babes! hope you like how this turned out!

warnings: swearing, drugging, mild violence, mention of mutilation

2.9k words

It had been no surprise when the people around you deemed your future to be damned after hearing about your quirk.

Like the mythical siren, you could hypnotize people just by singing to them. It put them under a trance, allowing you to do whatever you saw fit with their mindless bodies. As much as you knew it would be more honourable to take the high road and contain your abilities, the potential it held was too great to pass up.

Now, you weren’t a ruthless killer or anything of the sort. No—you simply used your abilities every so often on the unsuspecting lowlife who probably deserved a little bad luck. Almost like a vigilante of sorts.

For the longest time your actions went unnoticed. You were smart—never staying in one place for too long. The fruits of your labor even brought you to different countries.

But good things could only last for so long, and much to your dismay—a certain avian hero picked up on your actions.

In any other case, this would’ve meant the end of your less than honourable career. But instead, the man you came to know as Hawks chose to turn a blind eye to your antics. You should be grateful—your slip up didn’t end with you in prison.

But the reality you faced now was by no means preferable.

Since being initially caught in the act, you could feel an almost constant looming presence above you. Distant, but there nonetheless. You never actually saw anything that would hint at a shadow, but the blanketed weight of instinct was undeniable. Most notably so was when you were forced to lure in unsuspecting criminals to make ends meet.

A once simple and painless task was now something you dreaded.

The crimson vale of feathers would flash before you, their owner taking a stance when you had the job done. By then you’d swiped any necessary valuables from your latest victim—but that never seemed to bother him. Like the visible vacantness of any belongings from them wasn’t a problem whatsoever, the winged hero would tie up your loose ends. Even said you were helping him out, despite your assistance not exactly being legal.

It lasted like that for a long time. Slowly, you grew to hate the means in which you kept yourself on your feet. Not because your sense of morals were shifting to hold concern for those unfortunate enough to be caught in your sights. Rather, it was because of the sights you were caught in.

Those narrowed and piercing—searching eyes always found you in your worst times. And his attitude, it was enough to give you an aneurism. So nonchalant with his dismissal of your behaviour, such a thing that goes against everything he stands for.

But perhaps, this should’ve been the first red flag that showed you he wasn’t the hero everyone knew him to be—something you were supposed to pick up on and use it to your advantage.

You didn’t have time for that though. It was more important to simply erase his taunting words and carelessly intrusive behaviour from your mind for the sake of your sanity. That, and you were much more concerned with making your next move—one that’d hopefully lead you out of the country.

Or at least far enough away from Hawks.

The back and forth to the pawn shop wasn’t the most enjoyable outing, but it was necessary. You could sense that the owners were at least a little suspicious of how much you frequented their establishment—especially given the items you’d exchanged.

Thankfully, the shop was on the bad side of town, meaning they were quite used to people like yourself. Slowly but surely, the stash you kept hidden in a floor vent in your shambly apartment grew steadily. It wasn’t much at first, but as of late you were making a point to be increasingly active with your efforts.

Everything finally came down to one night—you being immensely grateful to your recent catch. The old man was practically dripping with sin, along with undeserved riches to boot. You’d followed him from the luxurious nightclub, where you knew some less than honourable individuals did depraved things to the vulnerable.

It was just your luck—the man was mind numbingly drunk, stumbling back and forth on his feet in an attempt at a walk in a straight line.

While your quirk wouldn’t get rid of his uneasiness, it would give him more motivation to make his way towards a certain direction. One that led him right into your hands, along with his overpriced belongings.

The deed was done in less than a minute—speed being essential in not getting caught. But you weren’t the only one who held that strength to a high standard. Just as you were pocketing the last of his trinkets, you glanced upwards towards the pitch black night sky. Your eyes focused on the abyssal expanse for a few seconds—now was about the time you’d expect the crimson of his wings to grace your presence. It’d be followed by his unbearably confident remarks, and the frustrating way he’d disregard you as a threat.

But the last minute arrival never came. For the first time since you met him, Hawks didn’t show up to court off your latest prey to the police. Frankly, you didn’t mind it.

The man would never know it was you anyways, you being safe enough to keep your face hidden from prying eyes. It just meant you could return home, one very successful haul in tow with complete peace befalling your mind. No dealing with Hawks’ irritating antics—just a quiet walk back all by yourself.

Naturally, the night’s events had you in high spirits. If your calculations were correct, this would be just enough for your stash to equal out to an amount sufficient enough to get you moving again.

The thought brought a smile to your face, and with a spring in your step you trailed back to the cheap and small apartment complex you called your temporary home.

Every time you opened the front door you cringed at the sound of rusty metal rubbing together on the hinges. Now was no different as you shut the rickety frame back into its closed position, sliding the lock into place.

Removing your shoes with a sigh, you trudged to the back of the apartment where your bedroom was stationed. A cold breeze washed over you as you pushed the slightly ajar door open fully. The window was open, causing the curtains to sway under the wind's influence. Shivering slightly at the sensation, you threw your bag onto the bed and made your way to the worn down looking window.

The lock never worked on the damn thing, so there was never a need to care about if it was closed or not. But on a chilly night like tonight, you mentally cursed yourself for not taking more care in regarding it before you left. It got hot in the daytime, often resulting in it being left open for the most part. It’s only expected that every now and then you’d leave the damned thing like that, now mentally cursing yourself for doing so as the room’s temperature was unpleasantly low, shutting it with a thud.

You moved back towards your bed, unzipping your backpack and emptying the contents atop the duvet. Sorting things was always the most interesting part of your night—seeing just what people were willing to spend their money on. You picked up the wad of cash first, being decent enough not to just take his whole wallet. After thumbing through the stack, you took a bobby pin laying on your nightstand and clipped it over the papers, holding them all together.

In your early days of using your quirk to your advantage, you made the mistake of keeping all of your findings in one place. Call it karma, but at one point you were the one being robbed, both cash and other luxurious items going missing.

Now, you were smarter than that. Learning from your mistakes, you kept the two piles separate. At the moment, all cash was hidden in the floor vent.

Getting on your knees in front of the grating, you lifted the top off, letting the light from the room’s lamp flood into the small space.

The cash was gone.

Your hand dived into the metal-lined crevice, sweeping back and forth frantically. There was no way it could’ve fallen back further into the vent. The heating didn’t push that way, and even if it did you always kept the cash bundled—it was too heavy to be blown away out of arm's reach.

Your heart sunk into your chest, a gut wrenching despair taking hold of you.

“Looking for something?”

That voice—you knew who it belonged to before your head whipped around to face the direction it came from. Standing in the doorway to the bedroom, wings outstretched almost threateningly was the avian hero you’d come to hate.

And god, that smirk plastered across his face. He always wore it, like the damn thing was a permanent expression solidified into his being.

You stilled your actions, eyes unmoving from him. “Where’s my cash?” In a way, you could almost take pride in how you managed to keep a calm and steady voice. The rage was still there, but it was contained—for now.

Hawks moved past the doorway, casually stepping towards the closest nightstand. Like he hadn’t even heard you question, he idly picked up a framed photo—the only one you had of your home town that was thousands of miles away. You’d taken the shot at sundown, showcasing all its best features in the honeyed lighting cascading over it.

“Y’know, it’s almost impressive—the money you rake in.” He was still looking at the photo, eyes searching the minuscule details your camera picked up—one that you had to sell for some extra cash in the early days.

He set the frame down, smirk falling ever so slightly. It was the first time he looked even remotely serious—the casual leaned back stance doing nothing when you saw the dangerous glint in his eyes. “I simply...took it upon myself to donate the cash to a better cause.”

Your blood ran cold, the constricting feeling in your chest tightening at his words. For a moment you couldn’t respond, too mortified by his statement. The room was so quiet that you could hear a pin drop, until forcing yourself out of a stupor, you responded. “...You did what?”

In the most condescending tone of voice you’d ever heard, the winged man replied. “Hey, don’t look so surprised. I mean what were you even gonna do with it anyways?”

Still kneeling on the floor, you felt pure, seething hatred for the hero in front of you. “What was I—I was going to use it to get away from your deranged ass!”

The sound of your raised and angered voice reverberated off the walls, him paying no mind to it. “Oh, were you now?”

Almost in a lazy manner, Hawks pushed off the nightstand he was leaning on. “C’mon, you didn’t really think I’d let you get away with robbing people.” The sound of his boots hitting the floor seemed louder than they should’ve as he stalked towards your frozen form. “I mean that would be so...unheroic of me, after all.”

Even in the dim lighting of the room, his eyes were almost inhumanely bright as he looked at you like you were a piece of fresh meat.

You should’ve known this would happen. All this time spent putting together enough cash just to get yourself out of this city and far away from the man looming over you—none of it really mattering in then end.

Not if you couldn’t get out of here.

The stash of money might be gone, but you still had the belongings on your bed. They would go for a good price, and if you played your cards right it’d be enough to get you far enough away from him. It would be tight—but it’s possible.

As far as you were concerned, Hawks was no more virtuous than the lowly individuals you entranced with your quirk. It may have taken this moment to solidify it, but now you knew who he was.

Not a hero, just a man pretending to be one for his own gains.

You opened your mouth, prepared to voice whatever melody came to mind. The feeling of a hand clamping over it came before you could manage a noise, and then your back colliding with the cold hardwood.

The feeling of Hawk’s weight on your body felt crushing, rendering you completely immobilized underneath him. He had you hands pinned above your head with his free one in an almost bruising grip, you unable to move away as he sat on your hips.

“Ah ah ah—little bird.” He grunted through the words, still steady as you made some final weak attempts to throw him off before resigning to your predicament for the moment.

Hawks let a few seconds go by after you stilled, eyeing you warily in a way that you could only assume was to make sure you were fully calmed down. He let out a breathy sigh, “So, here’s how this is gonna work…”

He paused, lips upturning ever so slightly before continuing. “I’m gonna take my hand off, and if I hear so much as a peep from you, I’ll rip your fucking vocal cords out. Got it?” The casual look to his face gave a stark and disturbing contrast to his gruesome words.

You swallowed dryly, tears prickling in your eyes. He knew how much weight those words held—your quirk riding on the fact that your means of speaking were intact.

The winged man tilted his head slightly, a look of what felt like fake concern flashing across his face. “Hey, don’t go looking so scared. I don’t wanna do that, I promise.”

His words did little to ease your worries—the promise meaning absolutely nothing to you.

“Now, if you behave then maybe I’ll consider keeping you awake on the way home, okay?”

On the way home—what the fuck is he talking about?

A crease formed between your brows in confusion, mind racing from unknown sentiment. One might think you’d been running for miles with the way your heart beat was hammering inside your ribcage. But it would turn out that fear was much better at producing the same effect.

If you could manage even a second to use your quirk, he’d be done for. You shakily nodded your head, the grip on your face making the action somewhat difficult.

Hawks seemed pleased with your forced compliance, smirk widening in satisfaction.

“There’s my good little bird, now—”

His hand lifted from your mouth, and without hesitation you activated your quirk.

Or at least you tried.

You should’ve known, the man pinning you to the ground was notorious for being incredulously fast. So much so that you didn’t even see him move, only registering the feeling of a cloth sealing over your mouth and nose.

That smell—sickeningly sweet. Your eyes blew wide at the realization, body thrashing beneath him. Looking at him pleadingly didn’t work, especially when the tears running down your face blurred your vision. In the midst of you violently kicking and attempting to throw him off you, Hawks effortlessly dealt with the consequences to your actions.

“Don’t be like that, I tried—”

Even in your weakening state, you managed to knee him hard. But it was no more in force than a kitten scratch. It may have taken him off guard, even interrupting his train of thought, but he was still the one on top.

You knew you would have bruises later on, but that was the least of your worries right now.

“I tried to warn you, and it’s only fair that I hold up my end of the deal.”

The strenuous efforts of your resistance had you sucking in involuntary gulps of breath in exhaustion. You could feel your mind spinning, not being able to focus on any one thing in particular. It was a lightheaded sensation, you not even realizing that your limbs fell almost completely limp in his hold.

Your focus drifted away from the avian human above you, landing on the once opened bedroom window. Your eyelids felt increasingly heavy, once loudly muffled screams turning into defeated whimpers—and then silence.

Hawks released his iron hold on your wrists, leaning back with a deep and relieved sigh. The cloth was shoved back into his pocket, and he mentally thanked himself for bringing his car so he wouldn’t have to fly you back to his apartment for everyone to see.

It wasn’t the first time he regarded your sleeping form, face peaceful and distinctively not contorted with fear—and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. He’d known your caution well, seeing it in action the countless times he’d pry his eyes into your life. Whether it be from above on those late nights of you scrounging for cash, or through your window as you sifted through the stockpile of valuable collections. Always thinking that your efforts of evasion were enough.

Surely, after going so long with the same routine—laying low and moving against those who had bad luck coming when the opportunity arose—this new stop in your travels would show no need for change. Even when he made his presence obvious, you stayed set in your ways.

You didn’t deem him a threat. You thought that you were the apex predator, and he was nothing more than a scavenger reaping the rewards of your latest catch.

And now, he would teach you that no—he was the predator, and you were the prey.

[gottawriteanegoortwo]

Mermay - Dilliam - Getting To Know You

William and Damien want to get to know each other, but these things take time. There are more important matters that need to be addressed first.

Read the first part here!

Word Count: 2,159

--

Sure enough, early the next day William hobbled down the steps to the shore. He kept his balance with one hand, and gripped a flask with the other. Unlike the previous day, he wore more layers to keep warm. It made the chilly morning more bearable as the pair sat on the picnic bench. Even so, Damien's high energy and energetic gesturing as he told William the story of when he first met his extended merfamily was infectious. William kept the hot flask in both hands as he sat forward to take in everything and encourage Damien with more questions.

At one point, Damien seemed to snap out of the moment and throw William a concerned look.

"I'm sorry… this, this isn't too much, is it? I don't get to talk about my experiences too much -" He was cut off when he felt a warm hand on his.

"Keep talking. I want to hear everything." William's smile was so wide, it could be seen either side of his bushy moustache. He gave Damien's another reassuring squeeze before lifting his hand away; and Damien had to rapidly suppress the instinct to snatch the hand back. It was such a simple thing, yet Damien felt comfortable enough to keep going.

As it turned out, it was very easy to talk to William. He knew nothing about the world of the ocean, except a small selection of fish names… and even that wasn't right:

("Oh yeah! An orca! That's the one with a horn, right?"

"No. It's the large whale that is black with white markings."

"... Then what am I thinking of?"

"Either a unicornfish or a narwhal, I'd imagine.")

However, as William would later argue, it was because he was normally assigned to tasks on land and was better acquainted with recognising animals, something that Damien was not too confident on:

("But what about that big cat with the hair? You know, the one that has the hair all around its head like this!"

"... Damien, that's what I've been telling you about. Male lions have manes, see?"

"... I knew that.")

Back and forth the conversation went, and Damien could feel a pang of disappointment when Mark came down to accompany them when he returned from rehearsals. Then, to make matters worse, William got a call from Celine regarding something that needed to be reassembled ASAP, so he had to scramble back up.

"Hey… Damien?" Mark broke the silence that had descended on the rocky coast. "I know you were told William was staying for a day or two, but if he gets the all-clear to take off the boot at his appointment tomorrow he has offered to stay longer to help us with odd jobs around the house. Would you be okay with that?"

"Why are you asking me? I don't live here." Damien made quite a considerable effort to give a calm response, and he could only hope that Mark couldn't see through the flimsy act. "It doesn't really affect me what happens up there."

"Well… I wasn’t sure if you were going to continue on your travels soon. If you need to keep on track of your itinerary, don't let our possible change of plan mess with that." Mark's response had Damien cursing his sister. Did both Celine and her partner know about his plight? But Damien knew Mark. If that was the case, there would be obvious teasing. Maybe it was genuine concern on the actor's part. 

"It's alright. I'm not under any time restriction, remember?" One key difference between humans and merfolk was how humans were obsessed with time and schedules, whereas merfolk were more flexible and carefree. "I don't mind staying a little longer. It's nice to be with family again. I'd be a fool to hurry off too fast and miss out on this." Mark's face lit up as he turned to pick up a bag Damien hadn't noticed originally. It was passed to him without any hesitation.

"Speaking of being with family - here. I had this commissioned for you. Consider it a 'new home' gift from both myself and Celine." The merman gingerly opened the present, surprised when he pulled out a small stacked stone ornament on a waterproof pedestal, complete with aqua blue natural sea glass for decoration. "I know you enjoy travelling the seas. Just know that we want this to be your home as much as it is ours when you are in the area. I might only be your brother-in-law to be, but you are still family, and this can be your home if you want it to be. There’s nothing too hard for us to do to make this your home. Just say the word - I have a credit card." Mark reached forward to ruffle Damien's hair, earning himself a dramatically offended hiss in response.

When Mark left, Damien took the decoration in his hands. It was beautiful, and he was enamoured by it… But it made something in his stomach twist. A home… such a concept was different between a merfolk and a human. If they wanted this to be his 'home', were they going to make some sort of enclosure and expect him to ‘settle down’? Celine wouldn't, he knew she never would. Even so, there was the worry if she felt sorry that he would never have a 'home' in the way a human can.

He put the gift into the chest to keep it safe and slipped into the water. He needed time to think about this.

--

"You sure you want to help out? I was kidding about working you to the bone." Celine accompanied William back to the car after his appointment the next day. The crutch and boot were gleefully returned as he was given the all-clear. Now all that was needed was to simply not break it again any time soon.

"Of course! You expect Mark to move things around for you? Or are you planning on killing your fiancé by letting him try his hand at wiring a new light in one of the empty rooms?" He threw Celine an accusatory glare when she laughed at the suggestion. Thankfully, the conversation returned to the matter at hand as they spent the drive to the hardware store deciding what needed to be done in the seafront cottage. 

"Can I ask you a favour?" Celine had stopped in the middle of the 'outdoor' section during their shopping expedition. William screeched the shopping cart to a halt so he could reverse and see what caught her attention. "I want to make the rock pool a place Damien feels comfortable to call home. The positioning of the rocks means it's sheltered from the tides, but I don't know how safe it will be from winter storms. I don't suppose there's anything you can do about that?" William's eyes went from Celine to see what inspired her to request such a job. It was a rock waterfall, an ornament for a garden. The colour of the rocks matched the ones by the sea.

"I'm not sure, only because I've not seen much of it. It'd depend on if the 'pool' is shallow or not. I could try and add some extra support to those rocks that frame the water, maybe check what supports are normally put along beaches to protect coastal towns?" Celine nodded as William spoke, fetching several LED lamps and dropping them into the cart.

"We should ask Damien when we return. I didn't want to bring it up too soon after we moved in because I know he's not one for staying in one place for too long. I suppose it's the mer instincts at play." When she noticed William's confusion, Celine continued, "When we grow up, we normally want to settle down in a house of our own, right? Merfolk might have nesting grounds or communities of their own, but they tend to travel since they can cover large distances in a short amount of time. It's why Damien would often disappear for months at a time." She sighed as she shoved her hands into her pockets. "I wanted a house by the sea so Damien would have a place he could call home too and feel he can stay longer. I can't protect him if he's forever travelling."

"Protect him?"

"You've heard the stories, right? Where people have exotic 'pets' that are categorised as 'mythical'? Having a merman as beautiful as Damien is one thing, but one with fluency in English and an awareness of human behaviours would be a valuable asset to American collectors… Or worse." Even if her hands were hidden, William knew her fists were tightly clenched in anger at the thought of something bad happening. "I don't want anyone to hurt him. Even if he travels the seas and has plenty of connections, he's still my little brother."

"Hey," William braved putting a hand on Celine's shoulder, "It's okay. He'll be okay. We can go back and see how he feels about rubber duck decorations." He pulled back to lift the item in question. They were tiny LED lights on a string, but each light was encased in a small model that resembled a toy rubber duck. "If we got a few of these and draped them around the rocks, it'd really look like home. And look! They're half-price. It's meant to be, Celine." Though still worried for her brother, the distraction worked as Celine finally cracked a smile and lightly shoved William. "What? Oh! You're right. That's far too ambitious. Just the one will do." That was that as it was innocently dropped in, followed by an actual rubber duck toy.

"Trust me. I might not be an outside landscaper-person, but I know we'll be able to make the rock pool the most spiffing place this side of the seven seas!"

-

To William's credit, he had only gathered a handful of impulse purchases that he paid for himself, including a pair of small hanging mirror shaped like a crescent moon and a star as a belated housewarming present ("Mark is the star 'cause he an actor, and you're the moon 'cause of your magic stuff."). Everything else was relevant to the required home improvement jobs that William would be working on over the next few weeks. Once they had brought everything inside, it was then the turn of Mark to bring William out of the house and make the drive to William's family home. William could grab his tools and show his elderly parents that his leg had fully healed. His mother insisted they take a loaf of homemade bread and some cupcakes with them once she had smothered William in hugs and kisses and made him promise to come by while he was in the area.

Meanwhile, the twins sat on one of the large rocks, gazing out over the sea. Damien rested his head on Celine's shoulder as she told him about how her job was going and some of the ideas for the home renovation now that William was staying and ready to work. Damien held her phone, idly scrolling through the photos as she explained what was going on, until he realised the next few photos were of the area they were in.

"- some sort of way to make this place a little safer in the storms. Do you think you could have a think and see what can be done?"

"I'll think about it." Damien returned the phone to Celine as he sat up straight. "Whatever happens will happen, I suppose."

"But this is your home. Whatever happens here is your choice first and foremost."

"Yeah, sure."

"Damien. I'm serious." She reached out to put a hand on his shoulder, only for him to pull away. The fins on his collarbones flared briefly in agitation.

"This is your home, Celine. You don't need to pretend that I have a say in any of this, or that you'd even listen to what I'd want anyway. I don't need your pity because I can't go buy a house like you can."

"That's not what this about-"

"Isn't it? Don't think I never heard those conversations you had with Mom and Dad about wishing I could 'settle down'. I'd bet you even want to build me some sort of little enclosure to make up for that fact."

"Damien, stop that!" But it was too late. He had slipped into the water. Confused and frustrated, but wanting to avoid further argument, Celine stormed back up to the house.

Mark and William had decided to cut into the bread when the back door opened. Their argument on what would best accompany their snacks was abruptly cut off as Celine marched past them and down the corridor, before a door slammed shut. A silent nod was swapped between the men. Something happened between the twins. Food could wait. They needed to get to the bottom of this. ---

(I normally don’t stick these notes on the bottom, but I’m planning on spreading out this story over the month. It’s currently 20 pages on g.oogle docs total, so there definitely will be more. However, I will be putting the next part up tomorrow since 1. I’m not mean to leave it on a cliffhanger for several days and 2. It was waaay too long to put everything as one chapter)

[sirloozelite]

A Review of SWTOR

So, not too long ago, a pair of friends (frenemies more like) of mine were playing SWTOR... and suffice to say they would not shut up about it.  I’d always been aware of the game in the back of my mind, but it had never really appealed to me. MMO’s don’t really, as I would always be worried about random players sticking their nose in whilst I was trying to keep to myself. 

Still, my friends would not shut up about it, and they kept recommending it to me, despite my internal aversion to it.  Now, considering that they had both foolishly taken my advice on games to play in the past, I decided to return the favour and give SWTOR a chance. 

And boy was I glad I did.  Is SWTOR a good game? Yes... and no... and yes. It’s not perfect, it’s got problems, but it’s still a lot of fun, and I’m glad I’ve done at least one playthrough of the game. 

Upon loading up I of course had to choose what storyline I wanted to follow. Since both of my buddies had gone Jedi Knight, (though I’d argue that a certain someone made their Jedi about as deplorable as Anakin) I decided to be the awkward one and went Sith Inquisitor instead, and honestly... I think I chose perfectly!

Oh and... for those interested... here is my Inquisitor:

His name is the Sixteenth Brother! What’s his backstory? Well... that depends on who you ask! Some say he’s the 16th sibling of a Zabrak family... others say he chose the name to hide his true one. Some even say he’s a time traveller from a distant future sent back in time after accidentally finding a Sith relic in his time. Whatever the truth is matters little. All that matters is that he was great fun to play as. 

Oh and for the record, this review is based on a Free To Play experience and completion of the class storyline only. I’ve not touched the expansions yet, but intend to at some point. Any criticisms I have that are solved by subscribing are a moot point. Furthermore, it goes without saying but all of the below is my own opinions of the game. Doesn’t make them right or wrong.

The Good

There are many good things about SWTOR, almost too many to name. That said, there are some things I’d like to highlight.

The Story 

The first and foremost best thing about the game is of course, the story. Being a Bioware written game created at the same time as the Mass Effect trilogy, I expected a good story... and I was not disappointed by the tale of the Sith Inquisitor. It was the standard tale of a protagonist coming from lowly origins, in this case a slave, and advancing up the ladder of society. Nothing too revolutionary, but add in the Sith and the Empire and it was made all the more better. Frequently, poor 16th Bro would get hounded for being an alien, and each and every time he’d beat the odds, and then usually show mercy to those who had insulted him. (I played him mostly light side... though there were a few times I surrendered to the dark and zapped people)

The world building within the story was also top notch. Plenty of detail is hidden away in the codex, much like Mass Effect, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t stuff in the actual gameplay and story as well. I’d never really been a legends fan, and whilst I’m still not, I do see why a lot of people love these sorts of stories. I was invested, and that’s what mattered. 

Outside of the Sith Inquisitor, the very fact that there are seven other unique storylines and classes to play, as well as heavy character customization and role play more than make the game worthy of revisiting. There is a little bit of something for everyone it seems. 

The Characters

Another great strength of Bioware games is usually it’s characters, especially the protagonists companions. I can happily report that, at least for the Sith Inquisitor, the vast majority of the characters in the story were great. 

The three standout characters outside of the Inquisitor to me were Khem Val, Ashara Zavros and Talos Drellik. 

That’s not to say that Andronikos, Xalek, Zash and Thanaton weren’t good characters either, I just didn’t enjoy them as much as Khem, Ashara and Talos. 

Each character felt like they had their own arc. Khem Val growing to accept you as a Master and true successor to Tulak Hord was great, even if he and 16th Bro were constantly disagreeing about 16th’s methods. Despite his dislike of the decisions, I still sided with him when the time came to choose who got to control his body for good. 

Ashara going from “I’m a Jedi and I won’t go against my teachings!” to “Peace is a lie!” was good development as well. I understand that some people don’t like this character much, but she was my go to companion most of the time. She’s not quite a Sith, but not quite a Jedi either, and that made for a perfect companion for the 16th Brother, as he was hardly a model Sith either. 

As for Talos... well... he’s an archaeologist and a historian... and I’ve got a degree in history... so of course I was going to love him! Plus he was eccentric as all hell and added a nice voice of humour to the crew. His personal story about him trying to find his old mentor and carry on his legacy was heartfelt too.

As for everyone else, I was invested in their characters, don’t get me wrong, just not as much as the others. Both Zash and Thanaton were good villains that I took pleasure in ending, and Andronikos and Xalek got their fair amount of use on the field and in the ship. Everyone was friends at the end after all. 

The Voice Acting

The other good point I’d like to highlight is the voice acting, particularly that of the male Sith Inquisitor. I’ve heard people say the female voice is better, but for my experience the male Inquisitor was the perfect match of sass and sarcasm. It made every scene with him in enjoyable to watch. RPG games were a single protagonist can get a bit boring sometimes. Commander Shepard suffers from this in Mass Effect at times. I never got that feeling with the Inquisitor though. He was hilarious from the second he stepped off the shuttle on Korriban and sassed Overseer Harkun (who I totally zapped to death) to the moment he took his seat on the dark council with a surprised Pikachu look on his face. 

So yeah... super credit to Euan Morton for making the Inquisitor the dark master of sass and sarcasm! 

Outside of the Inquisitor, I can say that all the other VA’s did a great job too. I can’t think of any character that had particularly bad voice acting off the top of my head. 

Other Good Stuff

Outside of the three things I mentioned, SWTOR also has plenty of content to offer for everyone. If you want to do main missions, sure! Side quests? Sure! Space combat missions? Yep! Whatever you fancy, it’s there. There is no shortage of content to enjoy for hours on end, even as a Free To Play player like I was. 

The Bad

And now to most likely upset some people... sorry about that, but no game is perfect, and SWTOR has some flaws that could put people off playing it. This stuff is by no means a game breaking deal for me, but it did annoy me and I felt like it needed addressing. 

The Game is Tedious

My biggest complaint is that at times, usually after an hour of playing, the game can become tedious and boring to play! There were times it felt like a chore honestly, and I hate saying that because SWTOR is a good game. 

The main reason for it feeling so tedious though comes down to how you move around the maps. When you can, fast travel is your best friend and can save a lot of time, however, not everywhere has a fast travel point near it. 

This is where speeders come into play. You can buy one for a reasonable amount of credits, and they are faster than walking for sure, but not by much. 

The problem with the speeders is that it is so easy to get shot off of one by one of the random enemies you are trying to drive past (and believe me there are hundreds of them!) that is becomes aggravating to move around the map from objective to objective. Avoiding enemies isn’t hard for sure, but sometimes you have to go right past them, and after hours of fighting enemies it can get a bit tedious being shot off your speeder in one shot just because you didn’t want to waste time fighting an enemy. Once you hit your level cap, fighting random enemies is pointless after all. 

Maybe that’s just me though. I’d personally make the speeders a bit more durable. One tiny shot shouldn’t disable your speeder. Heavy fire... sure!  Doesn’t help that sometimes you can tank a bunch of shots on your speeder and escape without being knocked off, but then on another occasion you’ll be knocked off by a sneeze. 

Either way, movement around the maps can get annoying as all hell, but at least the scenery is pretty. 

The Planets

Now don’t get me wrong, I like all the planets I went to... mostly... and my issue isn’t with the planets in general. 

It’s with how bloody long it takes to complete them all.

The Story Arc quest lines for each planet can take forever sometimes and they end up going on a bit too long if you ask me. Alderaan and Hoth are the two that come to my mind the most. It felt like I spent weeks on those planets driving back and forth between areas to do simple tasks for little reward. Plus the sheer number of side quests didn’t help. I stopped doing everything that wasn’t a story or Arc quest once I hit Hoth!

Don’t get me wrong, I like side quests for sure... I just don’t like them to drag on forever! In a lot of ways, SWTOR reminds me of Mass Effect Andromeda. That game too also had side quests that went on forever. 

My one piece of advice to nay new players for SWTOR would be to ignore the side quests and focus solely on your class story quests and planet Arc quests instead. If you try and do everything, you’ll burn yourself out quickly. Unless you are a completionist of course. In that case go nuts! XD

Other Bad Stuff

Aside from my two big gripes above, which are honestly minor in reality, the only other issues I really have with the game are the boring side objectives in some missions. Nine times out of ten they equate to ‘kill a bunch of dudes’. They are easy enough to complete, as you’ll be killing things anyways, so you don’t really need to put any real thought into completing most of them. They just feel tacked on and rather pointless honestly. 

The Ugly

And now the ugly stuff. This is stuff that is between good and bad. Bad as in they annoyed me, but good as in I understand why others like them or they improved over time. 

The User Interface

Oh god the UI! When I first started the game it was so overwhelming! Pop-ups everywhere! Hundreds of tabs and side bars and tutorial boxes being spammed my way. It was not friendly to a new player who had literally just jumped in. If I hadn’t played games like Civ or XCOM in the past I might not have been able to cope with how much stuff was going on at once. 

Luckily, after a few hours of play, I began to understand the UI a bit more and became comfortable with it. I knew what was where and what did what, as well as what I didn’t need. (any PvP stuff for example) Plus the ability to edit the interface to your own liking helped a lot as well, so it wasn’t a complete lost cause, just overwhelming at first. 

Flashpoints and Heroic Missions

So, these missions are designed to be played with other players online, clearly. They can be done solo, but they take forever to do so. Endless hordes of high HP enemies, including even higher HP boss fights is not that entertaining to me, and thus very quickly became boring to me. Artificial difficulty in a way. Plus if you do die, it ain’t half a pain in the ass to get back to where you were, only to find that boss that had 5% health left when it killed you is now back to 100%. 

I gave up doing these sorts of missions and have no intention of returning to them unfortunately, which is a shame as some of the flashpoints have actual important story content in them. 

Still, if unlike me you actually have friends to help you with these, then I get why you like them, and more power to you. I just don’t enjoy them much. 

The Soundtrack

And now to really upset some people. Look... I like John Williams music scores as much as the rest of the fandom does. That said, there were places in SWTOR where it showed up and really really did not work! It almost felt like the game was just spamming random iconic tracks that sort of fit the scene, but really didn’t. 

The biggest one for me that didn’t work was the final duel against Darth Thanaton in the Dark Council Chambers. During the cutscene between the two fighting, the music started on ‘The Final Duel’ from ROTJ when they were fighting, and they suddenly it shifted to the theme from Padmés funeral when Thanaton was overpowered! I mean, I get what they were going for with the music, but the sudden shift between tracks was unceremonious and didn’t work. If they were going to use licensed movie music then they should have just chosen one track and stuck with it rather than jumping between two!

Furthermore, to me those themes were written for specific scenes in their respective movies, and thus were created to fit those scenes, not random SWTOR scenes. If anything, the entire scene should have had it’s own score written for it rather than just reuse movie tracks instead!

That said, whenever the game does use original music that isn’t from the movies, it’s fine! The ambient background for the planets is great, Alderaan’s especially, and I hated that planet! They clearly had the talent of music directors to write Star Wars sounding music, so I don’t fully get why they didn’t just go with original music all the way rather than just reuse John Williams music instead. I don’t know if they didn’t have enough money or something. If that was the case then I’d understand. 

So yeah, the music is a 50/50 for me. The original music is great. The movie music is still great, it’s just not used right. 

Other Ugly Stuff

WASD controls. They aren’t game breaking, but I’m not a great fan of them. They make my wrist hurt. I adapted, like I did with the UI, so it’s not really a big issue, but I know it could put one or two people off playing it. 

Another minor gripe is a consequence of the game being an RPG within an MMO. Other players are running around, often doing the same objectives as you. They can steal your objectives before you, forcing you to wait around for them to respawn so you can do them yourselves. Luckily there is usually other stuff to do in the meantime, and the re-spawn timer is smallish, so it’s not a huge problem. Just an unfortunate consequence. 

Conclusion

So... would I recommend playing SWTOR to people? Yes! I would. It’s a good game, even with it’s flaws. I had a lot of fun running through the Sith Inquisitor’s storyline, and I learnt a lot about the game for any future playthroughs I do. I know what to expect now and what to stay away from, so hopefully whatever class I choose to do next will be full of less annoying little things. 

That said, considering how long it took me to do the Inquisitor’s story, I feel like I’m gonna need a serious break before I can play another class. I was almost burnt out when I finished the Inquisitor, and I’ve still got the two free expansions to go!

So yeah... all in all, SWTOR is a good game,. I’d recommend it, and I’m glad I gave it a fair chance. It’s not in my top 10, but it’s one to return to. :)

So, if you’ve ever thought about trying out SWTOR before but were apprehensive about it, then I’d encourage you to give it a shot. It is free after all! Unless you subscribe. But you can at least try it for free! Bonus I say! XD