#I barely have any motivation to write ever this is a miracle

[colourfulmes]

The Hallway. (pt 1? idk)

Phantom wakes up in a dream. Why is he dreaming about a hallway full of window murals?

Part 2 >

Phantom’s body didn’t feel real.

He felt his head in a daze, looked down at his hands and legs, and stood up straight without his cane nearby. His vision was blurred by the soft lights of the surroundings he was in. Adjusting his sights to the place he was in, it was a place he wasn’t familiar with.

The place Phantom stood was in the middle of an elongated Gothic-like hallway, walls covered in various colourful stained glass windows all telling individual stories, supported by dark stone bricks and carved frames touched by the masters of art. 

This wasn’t a place Phantom was familiar with, and the end of the hallways seemed so endless…

It wasn’t real…

He must be dreaming.

Knowing this fact, Phantom pondered if this realm was of his own making, or one of Natemare’s creations with his abilities of dream manipulation. Looking over the area again, this definitely wouldn’t be something Natemare’s simple chaotic mind could make. 

Phantom began walking forward, not knowing exactly where he was going but if he was lucid dreaming in this moment…his desires weren’t appearing as promised. The echoes of his footsteps rippled down the hallway as the sound bounced off the walls. Oddly silent for the place he found himself in.

The hallways were endless. 

Phantom took a deep breath. His mind wandered as he found himself walking….and walking…

It felt weird not walking with his cane…

And why was he dreaming? To his own knowledge, when was the last time he even ever slept…? 

So many unanswered questions filled the silence in his mind, his eyes fixated on every step he took forward, looking back up to the end of the hall, finally noticing something different.

Another figure.

“Hello..?” Phantom called out curiously, “I wasn’t expecting anyone else to be here…”

Phantom slowed his pace, approaching more cautiously as the figure concealed itself in the dark, between each stained glass window, hiding in inky shadow.

The figure turned their head to look over their shoulder, looking to Phantom. Their piercing red gaze staring at him.

Phantom slightly off guard by the gaze halts in his movement, hitching his breath receiving such an unexpected look…Is this how his brothers felt everytime he was upset…?

“No one else should be here…” A mirroring voice speaks from the figure, as they turned their whole body to face Phantom, who stood under the light of a colourful window. “Which one are you…?”

“Hah…sorry?”

“Which one. Which Phantom are you.” The figure spoke. Phantom took in their question but also their voice. It sounded just like his own, but more raspy, and demanding.

“Which Phantom?” Phantom let out a light chuckle, “I’m the only Phantom, excuse you…”

“No you’re not.” The figure then pointed towards the stained glass window across from Phantom. Looking at the bigger picture, it was mural of…himself, Phantom, but in an entirely different outfit, facial hair, pointed ears, holding a long scroll. Another one next to it was another mural, but of himself in a cowboy getup, holding an old-fashioned pistol. 

Looking at more and more of them it was all murals of Phantom, but all altered differently. Him as a merman, one of him in magical robes, another one of him as a medieval king, so on, and so fourth. An endless hallway of his being.

“Oh…I don’t entirely understand…” Phantom gazed at all these colourful murals, looking back to the figure, “What is this place…”

The figure let out a frustrated sigh as they crossed their arms. “This place…Is beyond the stars…it’s an endless hallway, proving the existence of…You. Phantom Sharp.” The figure explained, gesturing to those pieces of artistry once more.

“I’ve never heard of a place like this, do other people have this sort of thing?” Phantom asked the figure, as they responded with a shrug.

“I don’t know. I’ve been here for…god knows how long.” the figure let out a heavy sigh, exhaling through their nose. 

More and more questions stirred in Phantom’s head, he doubted he’d get any answers.

But he could try.

“If this realm is…a long hallway of various versions of me…then–” “Don’t get ahead of yourself just yet. You didn’t answer MY question first.”

The figure cut off Phantom as their gaze squinted at him, turning into a rude stare.

“I…” Wow. Rude…Phantom thought before continuing his response. “I don’t know.”

“Tell me…Tell me about yourself then.” The figure’s tone asked him in more a demanding sense, his gaze never faltering from Phantom’s reddish-brown eyes.

“Well…I suppose I’m a successful modern businessman, I own an emporium and bar, which I often make deals with the ambitious to make them successful, then take away those happy little lives for the prices of their will and soul.” Phantom explained himself, raising an eyebrow to the figure.

“Uh huh…got any more?”

“Hm…I live in a large home with 5 of my other siblings, Natemare, Skel, Gemstone, Heathen and…Nate- An annoying, idiotic group but I can’t lie…I care for them.” Phantom hummed, raising a hand to his chin as he thought.

The figure’s gaze slightly softened as a quickly glanced away from him then back to Phantom. “I see.”

“Now…before I was interrupted by you…Who are you?”

The figure paused in silence for a moment, before closing his eyes and taking a step into the light of the window, standing infront of Phantom.

The figure looked exactly like him. But worse.

His hair was in a mess, looking more bad than Mare’s bedhair, his eyebags dark as his skin looked pale and unhealthy, and his suit was the most odd.

It was like his own, but his tie and vest were a deep red, and darker splotches of red stained the vest as his buttoned up shirt was black. His pants were the same but tattered and stained on the knees, and his leather shoes…definetly needed a new pair.

The figure, or so…this sickly version of Phantom opened his red eyes to look at himself, a version who is much more tidier, organised…put together.

“You…” Phantom took a step closer reaching out to this broken version of himself wanting to get a closer look at this ruin…

BANG!

Phantom let out a groan of pain as he held his nose. His body hunched over his office desk, feeling the aftermath of hitting his nose. 

“Fuck…” Phantom groaned, opening his eyes as he leaned back on his chair, holding his nose. He could feel the blood try and trickle down as he tried to make sure he couldn’t let that happen.

Despite the bloody nose, he couldn’t stop thinking about that dream he had.

What was that all about…?

[mads198-9]

The Alcott

POV: the WIP made it out of the google drive

Summary: “If he’s a serial killer then what’s the worst that could happen to a girl that’s already hurt?” - Lana Del Rey

Warnings: None really, some explicit language though. Just some fluffy angsty dialogue to either help you sleep or keep you up at night. This is my first time writing for Joel (and practically ever) so I apologize if it isn’t Hemingway-esque. This is not edited but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless. I’m debating a smutty pt. 2 😗

@amydunnewithmen (where the delulus run wild)

————————————————————————

3 minutes.

It had taken Joel all of 3 minutes to set fire to a year of your life. A year of longing, patience, resentment, guilt and every ounce of shame that Joel had clutched to his chest since September 26th, 2003. 

It took you over two decades to find an ounce of peace. A place to, finally, let yourself breathe. To close your eyes out of comfort rather than necessity. You’d barely crawled out of the last city you scavenged. A metropolis that fell into a desolate isle. All you’d ever known of people was the way they’d looked with fungi crawling through their veins and seeping out of their orifices. Never a true person. The closest you’d come to other conscious humans were those who had already abandoned their humanity for the sake of surviving. What they didn't realize was that for them to live, they had to give up everything they’d ever lived for. You didn’t consider these men to be ‘people’. 

Looking at your facilities it was nothing short of a miracle, it was a miracle that you’d found Jackson. A single woman dragging her depleted muscles through feats of snow, a trail of blood broadcasting your vulnerability to anything within a mile’s radius. 

You don’t remember how you’d found it but you remember your pleas. Your claw marks on Jackson’s fortifying wall. You fell to the ground the moment they’d opened the gates. Almost relieved to have had a gun pointed at your head, because at least it was a person. Someone to end your suffering. You didn’t care in what way. A saviour in the form of a man nonetheless, one you’d come to know as Tommy. Tommy Miller. 

He was how you’d found Joel. How Joel found you. 

It was Tommy who’d found what was left of you, Maria who had housed you, but Joel who’d really saved you. 

-

It started pure. For you at least. 

The first you saw of Jackson’s newest constituent was his and Tommy’s embrace. Maybe that’s why you were never scared. Not of him, not of what he'd done, because you saw the best of what he could do. His reason for all that he had done. Family. 

You hadn’t felt your heart stop in ages. Up until him, fear was the only thing that had the power to constrict your chest. 

No words were spoken between the two of you for months. As the Tipsy Bison’s bartender you were the loosener of lips. An observer by nature, a listener by force, a tolerator of none. His drink order spoke for him those first few months.

Whiskey. Neat. No ice to dull its sting. A welcomed burn to the back of his throat but he sipped it like water. Years of practice of not only enduring pain, but learning to think he’d deserved it.  

It was the first thing of substance you’d ever said to him. Your words numbing him like the whiskey in his glass. It took two minutes of silence for him to scrape the floor of the bison with his barstool and drag his ass out of the bar. 

You blew it. Or so you’d thought. If anything, you had initiated what would be the most painful and pleasurable experience of your life. One that brought you to your knees in more ways than one. It felt stronger than any romantic pull you’d experienced. Every pace further from him began to hurt. A religion. 

- 

From that moment on Joel thought about more than just the glances you’d given. Your perception of him wasn’t wrong in the slightest but it gave him something new to think about. To dwell on and give his fist motivation when the house was silent and his needs too great. 

-

Months of simmering tension and lenghtneing conversations that tugged the corner of his lips up led you to what would become your favourite place. The eventual route of all your pain. 

His arms.

Before the age of 25 you’d experienced every horror the world had to offer. You’d spent your life running, burning the memories of your old life with every fire you’d lit to warm your skin. All while everything within you froze with time. You’d never had a moment to explore your thoughts let alone your body.

Joel was the first. In every way imaginable.

Even in heartbreak. 

-

In all of Jackson, Tommy was the one to know Joel best. He’d seen the colour come to his brother’s cheeks at the mere mention of your name and he’d seen the way his eyes bored holes into those who gave the two of you suggestive looks in public. 

The jealousy of the men who thought they had a right to fuck you and the envy of the women you ‘stole’ Joel from. The looks of outrage that painted the churchgoers faces chipped away at his resolve every time the two of you were together and only reinforced his shame. 

Echoed his anxieties of whether or not he was ‘too old’ for you. Too destructive to be around such innocence. Too hardened by his years alone. How your presumed father issues were the only thing that drew you to him.  

The hunter’s voices won out in the end because he lost you, at the alcott. 

The last thing he wanted, he’d done to you. 

-

You’d once loved it here. The Alcott. A space delegated to the books that once littered the halls of the ravaged homes across Wyoming. A place that Maria saw as a solution to your lack of a purpose. 

Even after everything, you can’t imagine leaving. 

You hadn’t left in the weeks since Joel drove a knife through your chest. Weeks you spent curled up in the back of the shop, surrounded by books, their pages riddled with love stories and sonnets, ridiculing you with their happy endings. 

Draped in the flannel he’d long left, finding yourself relating to it. At first glance, an abandoned piece of cloth, but you saw it as much more. It was something he no longer had use for. Something he chose to leave. A landmine of memories. Its scent sending you into a spiral with every inhale. 

-

It took less than a day for his resolve to crack and less than twelve hours for Ellie to tell him that he’d been a dick and only six for Tommy to see the change in him. For once in his life Joel Miller was cold. The left side of his bed that once held you now held the weight of your pain, his loss. The shattered look in your eyes as he’d told you to move on painted itself to the backs of his eyelids. His own voice haunting him, telling you to find yourself outside of who you are with him. That he’s too old for you. That you were only a kid and no matter how bad the world had gotten he wouldn’t take advantage of that. 

What he didn’t know was that the time spent with him made you feel like a woman, not the solitary girl everyone else saw you for. The days spent with his lips against you were the only times in which you’d believed that your skin was your own.

But he didn’t realize that, or did not let himself because he was bad. For all intensive purposes Joel Miller was a serial killer. A lethal weapon. Nothing that could provide you with the warmth you sought. The warmth he knew you deserved. And god did he want to be the one to give it to you. Joel had spent the last twenty years of his life preserving life, not experiencing it.  Hell he still was, patrolling the outskirts of Jackson four times a week. This time taking the long way home just to pass by your house. It was as he expected, as much as he’d kicked himself he knew you, craved you, understood you. So it was no surprise to see no light coming from your house. No noise either. At first he panicked. His mind his own greatest enemy in how it conjured up a thousand scenarios of you leaving Jackson, all ending with your heart stopped and skin blue. 

Where on god’s green earth could you have gone. Where you’d never left.

The Alcott. 

-

You hadn’t heard him come in.

“You're still here.”

Questioning you in his thick southern drawl, draping across his words like honey. Damn it. Damn him for still making you blush. 

His presence isn’t what startled you, it was the fact that it was Joel. Your Joel, now just Joel. 

“I never left.”

He regretted everything he’d ever done to you the second he saw your wide eyes boring into his own. Glossed over in every shade of pain.

He didn’t have to ask why, he was sure he knew, but he asked anyway. Never a man to stumble over his words he could barely get two syllables out. 

Looking down to his shifting feet then back to you he asked you what he already knew. 

“Why?”

“Because I love this place. What used to feel like our house. Even if it’s cursed now.”

He thought his heart would start screaming with the way it was beating. 

“I, uh” clears his throat “I didn't want to darken y’doorstep. Anymore than I already have I’spose.”  

“Funny. I’ve had the lights off since you left.”

You practically slurred your words. What was left of you both had been draining you emotionally, in only the 2 minutes he’d been here. 

“So… I, uh. I was g’nna ask ya, how’ve ya been?”

Your laugh was as dry as the Texas heat Joel had come from. But less familiar. 

“Why are you really here Joel? You’ve always been shit at small talk, didn’t suppose that changed in the last week.”

“Jesus” A week? “Feels like a lifetime since the last time I saw ya.”

“Funny how a ‘lifetime’ is what seemed to be between us. Different generations and all that bull shit.”

“Look kid -”

“No. Don’t you dare call me ‘kid’. Don’t make me feel smaller than I already am. Those people out there may have beaten you into submission but I am an adult! I’ve been one since I saw my first infected. I’ve been on my own, and just fucking fine, without anybody since I was a so-called kid so I dont want to hear another god damn word! You and everybody else think I can’t so much as cross the street without holding your hand but I've done more than that with less.

You know I survived on my own.

Before you.

And if it’s up to you, I will after, but I don’t want to.

For the first time in my life I got something I wanted, needed, and I don’t want to give it up. 

You.

Ellie.

Tommy, Maria, the baby.

Jackson.

Living.

It’s more than surviving.

But apparently not to you.”

“That is not true.”

You didn’t realise you’d stood up until you could feel the heat radiating off of Joel, his flannel, everything.  

“Then what is huh? I was a quick fuck. The first wet thing you’d felt in twenty years or what?”

You were yelling at this point and Joel hadn’t moved an inch. Not giving you anything. Not even a response except for the pinching between his brows. And it was killing you. 

“You know it wasn’t like that -”

“Then what the FUCK was it if. not. real?!” Emphasizing each word with a pound to his firm chest. 

Nothing you said from then on was comprehensible. Just sobs ripping from your chest as you threw your weight into him. Sinking into the floor, dragging him down with you. 

His arms shooting out from his sides to enrapture you the second he felt your knees buckle and tears flow. Pulling you into his lap as your body shuddered. Immediately finding the crook of his neck. Inhaling him again. Finally, you couldn’t tell if it made you cry more or less but all you could notice was Joel. All you could feel, hear and smell was Joel. The smell of firewood dotting his skin mixed with the old spice soap he’d managed to scavenge on last week’s patrol. The feeling of giving into his arms again, coming home, and the sound of him cooing, and sniffling? 

He’d lost it. Thought he’d lost you and that was his breaking point. Feeling his own tears seep into your hair you knew it was real. You knew he meant everything he’d said back then. Back before Jackson got to him. Before he’d let his own mind turn on him. And as much as it’d hurt then, it felt good now.

“Shhh, shhh.

I gotcha baby. I know, oh I know. More than you could imagine.”

“Please, please, please.”

Holding your face, and your heart, in his calloused palms he looked you in the eye.

“Please what, baby?”

Looking like a doe at his doorstep, your crumpled frame fitting perfectly within the confines of his lap.

“Please don’t leave. Please stay. I tried, I tried so hard to be good to you, for you.”

“Oh honey, you were,

fuck - you are baby. 

The best I’ll ever get, all I ever want.

I’m not leaving baby girl. 

Never. 

Even if you ask me to, I’m not going anywhere.”

And this time, he didn’t.

————————————————————————

This sounded so much better in my head -

W o w

I actually wrote something… hot damn.

I’m debating a second part?? of smut??

[sandontshengshou]

As for the horror AU, that would honestly be diabolical and I’m currently thinking of all the ways in which Jiang cheng would react to it. The idea of a wwx that’s even more unhinged than in canon frantically explaining what he did to jc like “see! Shidi, I fixed everything for you, I’ve fulfilled my debt and I’ve fixed you and it’s all gonna be okay :DDDDD” and jc just staring at him in absolute horror really is such a concept, I need more of it.

Same anon back again! lol look, for me, half the fun of the "slightly more unhinged" wei wuxian and wen qing mad-scientists-in-arms deal is that it's fun when characters have multiple motivations at any given time and I love rotating those two in my head. they're both a) desperate to save their little brothers, b) focused on the (perceived) debts that they owe each other, and c) really fucking excited and proud about pulling off this shit that should've been impossible. let 'em lean into 3) a little bit more!

because yeah, wwx desperate and sincere and so, so glad that he was able to make this happen, square that debt, while JC is so horrified that he can barely string a sentence together? YEAH I'm barking about it, but also *gestures vaguely* one of the things that's fun for me to think about in this AU where JC is immediately aware of the core transfer but everything mostly happens as it does in canon is that wen qing and wei wuxian both hold some resentment towards jiang cheng because hey, *wen ning* never got pissy about the lack of consent. wen ning was sweet and appreciative of their combined genius and effort, wen ning never threw a goddamn tantrum about ""what they'd done to him"".

wen ning knew how to be grateful about the *miracle* they'd pulled off for him, but see, jiang cheng is a prickly impossible asshole who's got nothing but *criticisms* and *complaints* and doesn't know how to say *thank you* for a job well done

(which uhhhhhh perhaps culminates in a mean fight/threesome between wwx, wq, and jc in the burial mounds when he comes to visit. who said that part.)

oh my god I love it. I need this AU in writing!!!

I didn’t pay much attention to the idea that the two of them would be proud of the mad feat that they managed to accomplish and I’ve been remiss!

Of course they’d be proud? Wei Wuxian, for the fact that he was the one who came up with the idea after meticulous research and the fact that he endured unimaginable pain to make the transfer successful. Wen Qing because she performed a revolutionary surgery and was able to do something great for Wei Wuxian.

Random tangent, but this is something she did entirely on her own, no evil uncle leaning over her shoulder, no threat of violence looming over her- she did it all by herself, she achieved a miracle with her own hands and a few manuscripts that she and wwx dug out of some old archive. Of course she’s proud of that!

And Wwx, he’s been weighed down by so much guilt for that entire month when Jc was bedridden and broken, and as terrible as it is to live without his core, he finally feels like he’s kind of made up for it! He’s done as Jiang Shushu and Yu furen said, he protected their son, he saved his shidi from certain death, the Jiang sect is going to be rebuilt now, he’s achieved the impossible like Jiang Shushu said he would! This is the greatest thing he’s ever accomplished and all he’s gotten in return is Jiang Cheng losing his mind at him.

So he’d probably be insanely bitter (which is a mood, I would too) that JC is just repulsed and broken over the fact that he did what he did. He managed to fix everything at the cost of his soul and this is how his shidi repays him? It’s like no matter what he does, Jiang Cheng finds a way to blame him, he can never win!

Ooh and the wen ning comparison omfg. I’ve seen so many people say this same thing online. Wen Ning himself also thinks that Jiang Cheng is arrogant and ungrateful and makes it heard during the core reveal.

And on that note, I feel like the subject of Jiang Cheng’s insecurity and inferiority complex would definitely come up and wouldn’t that messy? Because it’s true, even if it’s only a small part of why it bothers Jiang Cheng so much. And Wen Ning would definitely bring it up if Jiang Cheng ever got mad at his sister.

And they should definitely fuck about it. I’ve read a fic where they try to dual cultivate some of Wei Wuxian’s spiritual energy back into himself with Wen Qing directing them. That’s the good stuff!

I unfortunately have not read anything where the fucking is preceded by a nasty fight between the three and it pains me lol. Such potential for angst!

[goddesspharo]

for the goals ask: 🐌👾🪩

[ask me about my goaaaaaals!]

Thanks for asking! This made me realize I barely have writing habits worth noting!

🐌 What is one of your smallest writing goals?

Not sure it's small, but I want to finish all my posted WIPs from last year and not to carry any new WIPs into next year. (The WIPs that exist as google docs that the world hasn't seen do not count - because you can't count on a miracle - so that's what makes this a "small" goal. Heh.)

👾 Do you have any "bad" writing habits you want to break?

I would love it if most of my writing didn't happen in the hours of the night that are not conducive to waking up in anything other than a zombie state the next morning to go to work. But since this has always for as long as I've written anything, I doubt it will ever change. At the very least, I'd like to have enough chill not to start editing things at midnight and just leave it for another day. (More doable, but instant gratification feels so good in that instant!)

🪩 Do you have any "good" writing habits you want to cultivate?

Continue not to get so bogged down by a very detailed plan. It's the easiest way to kill your motivation. My most meticulously planned stories have been the ones that have taken forever to finish and, at times, painful to work on. It's so cliche, but there's something kind of fun with letting the story take you where it will take you.

[jmbringitonworld]

You have NO IDEA how much I love this idea! In fact...hold on, lemme just......... YOINK! My prompt now!

So, real talk, it has been many, MANY months since I felt inspired to write anything, and even longer (since shortly before my dad's death almost a year ago) since I felt motivated to write any fluff. But for some reason, this idea just immediately took hold of my brain and wouldn't let go until I'd written this little fic out. The words just kept coming and flowed out of me with an ease I was terrified I'd lost forever.

So Poetax, thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for unknowingly giving me the inspiration and drive to finally, finally write something warm and silly and fluffy since I lost my dad. You don't understand how much this means to me.

It took me a long while to finally post this, since I'm really rusty after so long not writing anything. I know this fic probably isn't good, but it EXISTS, which is a minor miracle in itself. I'm just so happy that I managed to write anything after all these months of nothing! :'D

___________________

Papyrus always knew that Sans was a lazy cat. The fluffy little feline spent all day dozing on hay bales, or stretched out on any vaguely flat surface, soaking up the warm sunshine. Who knew what he got up to at night. Definitely not working, that much Papyrus knew for certain.

Which is why the canine felt not an ounce of surprise when he came upon Sans curled up in a flower pot, fast asleep, while the barn’s resident mouse, Frisk, was nibbling on a small morsel of cheese not three feet away from him.

Papyrus huffed. No surprise, but an abundance of annoyance, laced with disappointment. Sans had one job - ONE JOB!!

With a frustrated growl, the large dog strode forward, long, lanky legs easily eating up the distance between him and the tiny mouse.

Frisk looked up from their meal when a massive shadow fell across them.

Sharp teeth bared and hackles raised in an imposing display of intimidation, Papyrus let out several loud barks.

The look on Frisk’s face was distinctly unimpressed for a mouse. Nevertheless, they got the message and finished up their cheese, before scurrying off back to their hole in the wall of the barn - walking right over Sans’s still slumbering form as they went! The lazy cat didn’t even stir except for a flick of an ear!

Papyrus gave Sans one last displeased look, before returning to the pasture to carry out his own job guarding the farm’s livestock, a job which he took very seriously. Unlike some lazybones around here. Indeed, whereas Sans never lifted a paw to catch Frisk, Papyrus always diligently stood watch over the livestock he was tasked with protecting; eyes, nose and ears ever focused on detecting even the barest hint of a threat to his charges!

So good a job did he do, that he was often rewarded with bones, his absolute favourite treat. Not that Papyrus needed the recognition of course - virtue is its own reward after all! - but he did admit that the bones were very much appreciated and he took great pride in his glorious bone collection, which he stored in his favourite bowl (it had cool red flames on it!).

He was carrying one such bone back to his bowl one day, when a muffled meow caught his attention.

Ears perking up, he swivelled his head to catch the source of the familiar sound and spotted Sans pawing desperately at the window from inside the farmer’s house.

That’s odd, Papyrus thought, head tilted in confusion, Sans was normally never allowed inside the house, as he had a tendency towards mischief - which Papyrus definitely did not approve of! - and had caused far too much chaos, all with the biggest, most unapologetic of grins, to ever be let back into the house, unless it was to bathe him, after which he was usually thrown right back out.

Curiosity dogging his steps, Papyrus padded his way over to the window and let out an inquisitive woof around the bone he devotedly held on to.

Sans mewed again, little paws scritch scratching frantically at the glass separating him from the outside world. His eyes were wide, almost… scared, and his voice sounded so anxious. He also kept giving pointed glances towards the barn.

Papyrus felt worry start to creep into his chest. Something was clearly bothering Sans. Something inside the barn.

That worry slowly morphed into determination. As Sans’s only family, it was Papyrus’s duty to help him! And he was the very best at helping others! After giving Sans a reassuring and confident look, Papyrus took off towards the barn.

When he reached the old building, he found to his dismay that the door was locked up. But he didn’t let that faze him for long, as he put his nose to the ground, sniffing around for the perfect spot to- AHA!

Letting out a victorious bark, the large canine quickly set to work digging a hole by the barn wall. His big, powerful paws took little time carving out a passage just big enough for Papyrus to squeeze himself through. With one last kick of his back legs, he shoved himself through the opening to the other side, then gave himself a vigorous full-body shake to dispel the dirt clinging to his previously glossy white fur, let out a little sneeze, and finally gazed around him, taking stock of his surroundings.

At first, everything looked the same as it had always been, nothing seeming out of place. And then he saw them.

Mouse traps.

Dozens of them, all right in front of a certain mouse hole.

It seemed that the farmer had gotten tired of waiting for Sans to catch Frisk and had taken the matter into their own hands.

Papyrus wasn’t sure what to do about the situation. Should he do anything about it? Frisk was just a mouse after all, and mice weren’t welcome in barns. The tiny rodent would’ve had to go eventually. It really wasn’t Papyrus’s place to interfere.

But something about this didn’t sit right with him.

Hesitantly, Papyrus approached the mouse traps, keeping a cautious distance from them. He eyed the nearest one, weighing all of his options while considering what action to take, before eventually, and with great reluctance, he dropped the bone he’d heretofore refused to let go off.

The bone landed right on the catch of the trap.

In the blink of an eye, the hammer slammed down onto the bone, snapping it in half.

Papyrus’s ears flattened against his skull, a pitiful whine escaping his jaws.

That-… that was going to be Frisk.

Nervously, the pooch started pawing at the ground, as that idea took root in his head and refused to leave, spreading to every corner of his mind.

Frisk’s tiny body would get snapped in half just like his beloved bone.

Would… would it hurt? Would Frisk be afraid?

Papyrus started backing away unconsciously, tail tucked between his trembling legs. Another thought entered his mind.

Would Sans miss Frisk?

Papyrus paused, body going stiff.

For all that Sans was a cat whose only role was to catch mice, and Frisk was a mouse, the two had never once in Papyrus’s memory acted like predator and prey. The two had always been comfortable around each other, were often seen enjoying each other’s company, even occasionally napping together (and oh how Papyrus had fumed upon seeing them like that! But silently of course, he wouldn’t want to disturb their rest).

If Papyrus didn’t know any better, he’d almost think the two of them were… friends.

Which was impossible, surely.

Frisk was just a mouse, nothing but vermin to be caught and removed. They were no one’s friend.

Papyrus gave his broken bone one last long, lingering look, before coming to a decision.

On swift paws, he retreated back down the hole and out of the barn, never once looking back.

And just as swiftly he returned, carrying as many bones in his jaws as he could manage.

With quick, precise movements, he dropped each and every one of his precious bones onto the mouse traps, setting them all off one by one. The barn was filled with the sound of snapping traps and broken bones, in place of snapped bodies and broken hearts. Whenever Papyrus ran out of bones, he went to fetch more, and didn’t stop until not a single deadly mouse trap remained.

Finally, once the barn was safe once more, Papyrus sat down on his haunches, panting, his long tongue lolling out of his mouth. He surveyed the area with a critical eye and, satisfied he’d done his job properly, got back on his tired paws and left the barn. As soon as he was gone, a tiny, furry face appeared in the mouse hole.

It was with pride, yet no small measure of sadness that Papyrus beheld his now empty bowl, utterly devoid of lovely bones. He’d sacrificed them all in his quest to keep Frisk the mouse safe. It was a worthy sacrifice, and he didn’t regret it for a second - it was his job to protect the weak and he took his job very seriously! - but he still mourned the loss of his bone collection, the symbol of what a great guardian dog he was.

He couldn’t stop a sad whimper from escaping him as he lay down, head flat on the ground between his paws, ears low, tail still.

A flash of brown and yellow out of the corner of his eye caught his attention and he looked up.

A tiny brown mouse was making its way towards him, dragging along a piece of cheese even bigger than it was.

Papyrus lifted his head, canting it to the side, wuffing curiously.

Frisk stopped right in front of the huge canine and nudged the cheese towards him with a quiet squeak.

Papyrus bent his head down, sniffing at the cheese. He gave Frisk a questioning whine, to which the mouse answered by nudging the cheese piece again, more insistently.

Was the cheese for him? But it was such a big piece from such a little creature, surely it must be the rodent’s most prized possession! Papyrus knew that if he’d had a bone bigger than him, it would’ve been his greatest treasure!

But Frisk was determined.

The little mouse pushed the cheese firmly towards the much larger dog, then scurried onto his paw, before nimbly climbing up his leg, then his back, and finally making their way onto his head, where they settled between his eyes.

The look Frisk gave him conveyed all that needed to be said.

Gratitude.

Frisk was thanking Papyrus.

And Papyrus was going to accept that gratitude, because that was the right thing to do, and Papyrus always strived to do the right thing.

With a happy bark, the guard dog reached towards the gifted cheese and carefully picked it up between his teeth. Tail wagging madly, he deposited his prize into his bowl, his heart and soul filled with even more pride than any bone had ever managed to grant him.

Soft footfalls drew his gaze up again and he almost lept to his feet when he saw Sans trotting towards him, gait unhurried, tail held straight up, his usual grin stretching across his furry face, though this time it was tinged with clear relief.

Papyrus had no idea how Sans had managed to escape the house, but he didn’t bother questioning the feline. Sans had ways of getting around that no one knew of, and he never revealed his secrets. It was probably a cat thing. They were sneaky creatures after all, and honourable dogs like Papyrus would never understand their devious ways, nor would he want to.

Nevertheless, Papyrus gave Sans a welcoming woof and greeted him with an inspecting sniff, which the cat returned with a slow wink. Frisk took that opportunity to transfer over to the cat, squeaking at him their own greeting. Sans meowed back, his grin widening, crinkling the corners of his eyes.

Papyrus was about to stand up when Sans moved to his side. Beginning to purr, the cat pressed himself against the larger dog, his back rising high, before he laid down, curled himself into a ball, and promptly fell asleep.

Having clearly decided to join him, Frisk copied the cat’s actions, falling asleep on top of him, snuggled up against Papyrus’s side.

The dog huffed in fond exasperation at their laziness.

Well then, since his family was fast asleep and completely defenceless, it was up to him, the Great Papyrus, to guard and protect them!

He curled his tail around the two of them and laid his head beside them, letting the sound of their soft breathing soothe his soul and fill it with love.

Frisk is totally a mouse and Sans is a barn cat. He never catches the mouse like he should... Livestock guardian dog Papyrus doesn't approve...

[margowritesthings]

The Greatest Gift A Cowgirl Could Ask For

a @rdrevents Valentines gift exchange for @cowboydisaster

SERIES MASTERLIST

pairing: Arthur Morgan x f!reader word count: 4,400 words warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, explicit language, sexual themes, vaginal sex, mentions of death, unprotected sex, throwing up (TW EMETOPHOBIA), very brief mention of SA in the past, unexpected pregnancy, mentions of Micah Bell a/n: am I britney spears in her 2000 grammy award winning song??? because oops, i did it again. i don't know how I managed to get Bea as my recipient for a SECOND time, but it only felt right to carry on building this universe I've made for her and lying to her about it all week. Whoops.

Bea, my beloved, Happy Valentines Day. You deserve the world and Im so glad I could dedicate this fic to you. Honestly I probably couldn't have gotten the motivation to get back on my feet and write again if it wasn't for you. Thanks for everything you do bby and I hope this lives up to your 'if by some miracle you get me for your gift exchange disregard my prompts and write a TGG prequel' (yes she actually said that) idea. Love you lots xxx

taglist: @cowboydisaster @inkandbloodbound @counteveryfreckle @elifsukirdaghehe @reaveries @delilah-grimes @luvliewriting @mrsarthurmorgan7 @photo1030 @snobbybastard

My Darling Wife,

I’m writing to you from up near Tempest Rim. I’ve tracked this bounty all over the goddamn Grizzlies and I’m ready to come home to you. I miss you so much and I’m real sorry I can’t be home in time for St. Valentines. Hopefully I can catch this bastard soon and make it up to ya. We’ll go to the theatre and sit right at the back, how’s that sound? I’ll move heaven and Earth to be beside you soon, you know I will.

I can’t wait to see you, sweetheart. I’ll be there as fast as I can be with enough money to take you out on the town. Won’t be long, I promise. 

All my love, Arthur

All my love, Arthur

All my love, Arthur

Your finger runs over his looped script, over and over as if it will somehow will your husband out of the crumpled paper and into your bed. It’s been 2 months since the letter arrived, 2 months of the agony of not knowing if he’s dead or alive robbing you of sleep each and every night. You miss him, more than you could ever imagine one person could miss another and you honestly don’t know what you’ll do if he doesn’t come home. 

It’s a 600 dollar bounty, it’s sure to be a tough job you constantly reassure yourself, unable to focus on anything but the absence of half of your very soul in every waking moment. 

The day he comes home starts like any other. Time's arrow marches on, the sun rises and sets over your makeshift family as they work and plan and rob and hunt. You busy yourself planning a job with Karen, cushioned into your schedule between menial tasks so that it’s just that bit easier to not think about him. As usual, your efforts are in vain, but at least the chores are done, your steed Diesel is happy, and, all being well, you and Karen will have about 30 dollars to split between you when the week is out. 

An hour before he comes home, everyone retires to bed, save for John (who’s on watch tonight) and you’re left alone by the campfire. It crackles and pops, embers swirling the air around you. It feels like you stare at the twisting flames until your eyes blur and burn and you can’t tell which are tears of irritation to your senses and which are your heart breaking once more.

Moments before you’re reunited with the second half of your heart, you hear John yelling. It’s instinct that drives your hand into your holster, still resting against your hip despite the late hour, and you perk up like a startled deer, straining to decipher Marston’s words.

“Who is it?!” “Arthur, you dumbass!”

Arthur.

Arthur?

“Arthur?!” It’s a breathless shout, barely heard over the rushing blood in your ears as your feet take you to your husband before your mind can even fathom that he’s here. 

But sure enough, when you reach the edge of camp, heart racing, you see Arthur Morgan riding his chestnut mare straight towards you, spurring her into a gallop as soon as he lays his eye on his waiting wife. Marston probably makes some remark about who ‘decided to show up’, but to you, there is nothing but you and Arthur, two magnets parted by an unnatural force finally reaching each other again with a deafening crash. 

And it is. A crash, that is, when Arthur all but throws himself off his saddle and your bodies collide, great big arms wrapping around your frame. It is then that the tears fall down your cheek, soaking into Arthur’s coat that smells so much like him it truly feels like a dream.

You thought he was dead.

Only when you’re safely in his arms, when he’s pressing frantic kisses to your head, whispering your name over and over into your hair do you allow yourself to admit that fact. You thought he was never coming back, and yet here he is. Words fail you, the overwhelming emotion settling right in your throat.

“Oh, god… oh, darlin’ I-I missed you so much…” 

You feel two large hands cup your cheeks, pulling you in for a kiss that holds everything and anything the past 3 months could have been had you not spent it apart. But everything fits back into place, the world starts spinning again and you’re whole the second Arthur Morgan’s lips meet yours. It lasts a lifetime, it lasts a fraction of a second. You want to stop time, keep Arthur in your arms forever and never again have to go through the torture of being away from each other. The two of you only part to throw near identical scowls at John, who is amusing himself by telling you to get a room.

Unfortunately, as Ms. Grimshaw so often reminds you all, the Van der Linde Camp is not a hotel, so tonight you will not be afforded the luxury of a private suite as John so kindly suggested. There is only your tent, hitched against the gang’s weapons wagon, the old canvas pulled around to offer a little privacy when you and Arthur first started… well, needing the seclusion.

Calloused fingers intertwine with your own digits, Arthur’s other hand flipping John off before his weight pulls you towards your little corner of camp. There's so much purpose in his stride, the need to have you all to himself, not even share you with the lord above or wildlife below, driving him forward. Driving him home. 

When you’re finally, truly alone, the tears welling in your eyes glistening in the candlelight, no words are needed. Soon enough, you’ll talk for hours on end, catching each other up on every little detail of the last few months. But for now, all that there is and all that could matter is right this very second, when Arthur reaches for you, brushing a thumb over the tear tracks on your left cheek. His eyes, looking almost emerald in the dark of night, roam over each and every detail of you with such an intensity in him that you think he’s trying to remember this moment for the rest of time. You’re sure it’s one you could never possibly forget. 

Arthur snakes both arms around your waist, guiding you backwards until the backs of your knees gently hit the cot and you lay back onto it. He covers the full length of you and then some, making you feel so fragile and small. It’s nice to feel breakable for once, to let go of the need to be the strongest in the room, lest you be ridiculed for being too sensitive or too weak or too womanly. Arthur knows just how strong you are, you need to prove nothing to him, so you can submit to his embrace, allow yourself to just breathe for once knowing you can break and there’s re will always be somebody to put you back together.

He lowers himself to your lips, pressing a kiss to them that doesn’t last nearly long enough. Arthur then kisses your nose, then your cheeks and chin, before trailing down to the crook of your neck. Your skin feels as though it’s on fire, so starved for the man you cannot live without that now he’s finally here everything feels that much more intense. The tiniest scrape of Arthur’s teeth against your flesh shoots through every single nerve in your body and you moan right into his ear. You can actually feel him harden against your thigh at the sweet melody of your pleasure. 

Pushing Arthur’s hat off to the side, your fingers rake through his hair, nails scratching at his scalp encouragingly as he nibbles at your skin.

“Oh, Arthur… Oh, I missed you so much…” You breathlessly whisper, feeling your heart skip a beat when he pauses his movements to glance at you from under impossibly long eyelashes, jade green eyes glistening up at you.

“I missed you too, sweetheart. So so much.” His voice is soft, as if he’s handling the peacefulness around you so delicately and it causes the overwhelming emotion to well in your chest and choke up your throat. Arthur sees this, trying not to be too taken with his own surprising amount of emotion himself, and relieves you of your job of a response by directing his attention to the buttons of your shirt. You don’t remember him pushing your jacket off your shoulders, but there it lies on the floor beside the entrance to your tent, so he must have.

Despite the juxtaposition of such dainty buttonholes and such large fingers, Arthur expertly undresses your top half until you’re bare to him. He takes no time at all to take one of your nipples into his mouth, kissing and sucking at it with a hunger you feel right in your toes. You moan loudly, unable to stop yourself after yearning for this very feeling for so long. 

Arthur coos and shushes you and it vibrates across your skin, not helping you stay quiet in the slightest. The hand not tugging on his dirty blonde locks reaches between your two longing bodies to begin to unbuckle his belt. You can feel your own heartbeat throbbing between your legs, your coil growing tighter and tighter by the second. It’s been almost 3 months since your bodies have joined like this, and yet you’re not sure you can wait another minute. 

You’re purring for Arthur, twitching and grinding as your hand fumbles desperately at the belt. His absence from your skin is agony the second he pulls his hips back to sit up straight. Spotting your downright bratty expression, bottom lip protruding in a pout, Arthur chuckles lowly, “Patience, baby… I gotta get these damn clothes off us.” He gestures to his belt, still very much buckled around his waist. Definitely not your fault. He was being far too distracting.

He’s quick, you’ll give him that, shedding his clothes without taking his eyes off you. You burn under his stare, even more so when he crawls back on top of you to slide your boots off one by one and peel your pants and undergarments down your legs.

The heat radiates off his huge body, his cock pulsing with need. The way he’s putting his weight into his arms to stop from crushing you with his weight adds a definition to his already beautifully sculpted body. Reaching down, you brush the tip of your finger oh so gently over his rosy head, finding a bead of cum already leaking, and you snap. You can’t wait a second longer, scratching and gripping at him like he’s the air you need to breathe.

“Please, Arthur, please I need you. S-So long, it’s been so long-” “Shh, I know, princess, I know. I’m gonna take care of you, okay? Gonna take care of your pretty little cunt, I promise.” He soothes you, though his own voice is shaky from the very effort of restraining himself, maintaining his control to not drive into you and ruin you. While he whispers to you, he lines himself up at your entrance and you quiver in anticipation.

In all your years before you met Arthur, you never really saw sex as anything but something to give, or worse, something to be taken from you. You never truly understood, not until you met Arthur, who taught you it’s something to share, to experience. With Arthur, it’s different. It is connection and pleasure and it’s wonderful and god damn it, it’s addictive. So when Arthur slides into you, letting out a visceral, guttural groan as he does, everything is right in the world.

You feel so full, especially when Arthur pushes all the way to the hilt, connecting you completely at the pelvis. The moan that escapes your lips is downright obscene and Arthur crashes down into your mouth to swallow it. 

Maybe it’s the fact that it’s been so long, or the emotion of it all, but you swear you can feel everything. Every vein and ridge, every twitch and movement of his perfect cock as Arthur slowly starts to move in and out of you. 

“Fuck… s-so good, darlin. So tight- y’feel so fucking good, princess…”

You’ve never hurtled so close towards a climax so quickly in your life. His torturously slow, deep thrusts drag into your sweet spot every fucking time and trying to hold back brings a blur into your vision. Your own hips grind against his, Arthur gripping into your flesh to guide you perfectly in time with him.

“I-I’m so close already, Arthur… fuck…” You breathe out, your breath tickling Arthur’s ear and sending a visible shudder down his spine. He looks proud at your admission.

“You missed me that much, huh? Gonna cum for me already, darlin’?” 

He gives you no time to respond, pressing a thumb to your clit and rubbing in time with everything else. You implode, pulling Arthur down to catch the scream you’re about to wake everybody up with. It has never felt so intense, and with every thrust Arthur fucks into you it only grows and grows, shattering you to pieces for Arthur to fix back together again. 

When you return, a rhythmic thudding in your ears, the first thing you see is Arthur, of course. His jaw is fluttering madly, a bead of sweat clinging to his forehead but the candlelight makes him look ethereal. You still can’t believe he’s here, alive.

Tears start to glisten in your eyes. You’ve never cried during sex before, not for anything positive, at least, but somehow this doesn’t feel wrong. Arthur slows again, watching you, and you spot an extra shine to his own jade orbs. He knows. He feels it too. 

He’s right there with you. As he always is.

He brushes a piece of hair stuck to your forehead away, and the gesture is enough to send the tears falling down the same worn path on your cheeks as before.

“I love you, Mr. Morgan…” “I love you, Mrs. Morgan…” 

It seems to become too much for Arthur to stay still, and you’re glad for it. You’re desperate for the friction, already flying towards another orgasm. He’s really fucking into you this time, pulling almost all the way out before driving back in. He’s groaning and growling and you decide in that moment that it’s your favourite sound in all the world. 

“I… I ain’t gonna last much longer, baby…”

“C-Cum in me…” “Huh?” He slows, shuddering at the exertion required to control his movements, “I-”

But you’re not listening to his protests, your nails digging into the skin of his back and ass and anywhere else you can reach to urge him forwards again.

“Please Arthur, I-I need you… I need you to cum with me, I need you with me…” you plead with him, not truly understanding your need but honouring it. You’ve been without him for so long, you deserve him with you now.

He appears to consider you for just a moment, before diving down to lock your lips with his. His tongue delves into your mouth, tasting every bit of you and he starts to pump into you unreservedly. His body grinds against yours and the friction is perfect and you’re so fucking full and before you can even try to hold back, you’re cumming again, stars scattering your vision, heart pounding out of your chest to find release from it’s mortal, physical cage. Your inner walls twitch around Arthur’s length and this time, he doesn’t hold back either. 

His eyes fly open and lock onto yours as you both climax together. It’s vulnerable and strange, but perhaps more connected than you ever thought possible for two people to be. 

Arthur’s cock twitches inside you, pumping out his spend as he groans viscerally, completely losing control of his rhythm as he thrusts into you one last time, harsh and deep. You’ve never experienced this before, with Arthur or any other man, normally erring on the side of caution when it came to such matters, but even as you come down you can’t bring yourself to regret it. Whatever you and Arthur just experienced together felt spiritual, and worth much more than a little risk.

Arthur collapses, even as depleted as he is still considerate enough to collapse onto his elbows and not crush you. He slides out of you, earning a little wince, and rolls to the side so you can rest your head on his chest. It’s like a locket that’s been ripped apart, finally fixed together with the most satisfying click. 

═══════☆═══════

Two months later, life has returned to its equilibrium. You and Arthur are perhaps clingier, still in a sort of second honeymoon phase where you just can’t seem to keep your hands off each other, more so than usual. It’s a side effect of prolonged solitude, you’re sure.

The first time it happens, you blame Pearson and think nothing of it. It’s pretty early in the morning and you’re sitting with Tilly and Abigail, peeling potatoes for the stew tonight. Abigail is venting her frustrations about when John did this and John said that, and everything feels so normal. Pearson arrives, throwing a rather large, rather dead fish onto the table you’re leaning against and you feel the thud from the weight of it vibrate against your back. 

It isn’t until the smell invades your senses that everything starts to feel off. It smells exactly like all the other fish Pearson has ever slammed onto that poor table, which doesn’t explain why you immediately lurch forwards, grabbing an empty bucket and throwing up your breakfast. The fish stench is suffocating and all you can do is get the hell away from it, not noticing when Abigail’s brows knit together almost… knowingly?

You skip the stew that night. 

―

The second time it happens, you try not to think about it. You’re riding Diesel and almost don’t make it off him in time. There is nothing to set you off, no horse shit or rotting animal at the side of the road, and yet in an instant your stomach feels like it has been flipped upside down. 

The sheer volume of your retching catches Arthur’s attention and he tugs on the leather reins in his hands to steady his mare. 

“Darlin’? Y’alright?” 

His concern is evident in his tone and in the tight line between his brows, which deepens when he finds you unable to respond in anything but a frantic nod. He dismounts, spurs clicking against the dusty ground when he approaches you. 

“Oh, sweetheart… that’s it, easy, easy… you’re okay…”

You feel gentle circles rubbed into the tense muscles of your back as you try to get through this again. It’s not lost on you that Arthur is speaking to you like a spooked horse, but it actually really does help. (You decide to prioritise peace of mind and not psychoanalyse why that is). Eventually, it relents and you regain your composure, albeit somewhat less gracefully than you’d have liked. 

“Sorry… I don’t know what’s gotten into me, maybe I ate somethin’.”

Your apology for something you can’t help earns you a sad smile from your husband, who places a loving kiss on the top of your head before reaching for your discarded hat and putting it back on for you.

“Y’don’t gotta apologise. I gotcha, darlin’.”

You know he does.

He always does.

―

The third time it happens, the luxury of denial is stolen from you. It’s early enough that your view while you sit with Abigail drinking coffee involves glorious hues of orange and pink scattered around the rising sun. It’s peaceful, tranquil. The warmth of the little metal mug in your hands and Arthur’s jacket around your shoulders is enough to ward off the fresh morning chill in the air.

There is absolutely no warning when it hits, when it happens again. You’re so goddamn sick (no pun intended) of hurling. Your eyes water and your throat hurts a little and you curse under your breath when it’s over. Abi is beside you, rubbing your back in an attempt to soothe you. She waits until it’s over before speaking hesitantly.

“Uh, can I ask you somethin’?” 

You nod, eyes still red and glistening as you swirl coffee around your mouth to take away from the awful, acidic taste lingering. 

“When did you last bleed?”

“What, like an injury? Uh, I cut my hand couple days back, but I don’t see what-“

… Oh fuck. 

═══════☆═══════

The anxiety bounces around your body and you decide that you’ve become far too acquainted with the concept of nausea. You can actually tell the difference between nerves  twisting your stomach and… well, let’s say it as it is:  morning sickness. This is the former, you deduce, spinning both your engagement and wedding ring around your finger to give your hands something better to do than carve fingernail-shaped moons into your palm. He should be home any minute now. Any minute now and it will all change forever.

It’s quite late, but the poker game Arthur was scoping out for potential jobs is known to last a while. You’re the only one still awake, poking the embers of the campfire to keep yourself as comfortable as possible. 

You hear hooves hitting dry dirt first, and it seems to trigger your fight or flight response. God, you’d love to run away from this, but that is pretty much impossible, so fight it is. It’ll be the greatest fight of your life, you’ll soon learn, one you’re privileged to be a part of. But right now, it feels like an all-consuming unknown. 

Arthur can tell something is wrong the second he sees you. You’re terrible at hiding things, especially from him. He always reads you as though you have a poster advertising your feelings printed on your forehead. Arthur dismounts, kissing you tenderly on the temple and wrapping his arms around you.

“What’re you still doin’ up, darlin’? Is everything alright?” You can feel his worry vibrating in his chest as you nuzzle into his embrace. 

“I’m fine, I’m fine, I just… Can we talk? I kept the fire goin’.” You say it into his shirt, reluctant to move from this hold.

“Of course…” there’s something in his voice, a tense apprehension that really doesn’t help the knot contorting itself in your gut. 

While you’re more than capable of keeping a fire going, Arthur is an expert, and has it healthily burning within seconds of you sitting down on the overturned log the gang has fashioned into a bench. You’re back to spinning your beautiful gold bands around your finger, trying to remember to breathe in and out every so often.

“What’s goin’ on, sweetheart?” His voice is so soft, so kind that it makes you want to cry. But you promised yourself you wouldn’t until you’d told him, because this might just be the most important conversation you’ve ever had, and you definitely won’t get through it if you’re a blubbering mess.

“I, uh… I… somethin’s happened.”

You hear his breath hitch in his throat and Arthur leans towards you, completely enveloping your hands in his. They’re sandwiched in now and you can’t fiddle with your rings anymore.

“What? What happened? Was it Micah? If he’s said somethin’ to you, I’ll kill him, the rat bastard-”

“No, no, it’s… as much as I’d love to see that, it’s not him.” 

The tension releases. Just a little bit.

“I’m pregnant.” 

Oh wait, there it is. 

The silence is deafening, even though you’re almost certain it isn’t actually silent out here right now. There's a fire going and crickets are just metres away, you’re just shutting down with nerves. 

The normally so often tense, fluttering jaw of Arthur Morgan is slack, his eyes wide and gaping at you, occasionally flicking down to your so far bump-less belly. (You should know- you’ve been obsessively looking in a mirror any chance you get for some sort of sign that this is really happening). 

Say something. Please say something. Please don’t be angry. Oh, God please don’t hate me. 

“I-I… You’re pregnant?” He repeats, reassuring you that you haven’t actually gone deaf, though his tone holds no indication of anything but shock. That’s probably fair…

You nod, hands instinctively reaching over your belly. It feels… weird. Holding your hands over your baby. Yours and Arthur’s baby. 

“It happened a couple months back, when you got back from The Grizzlies, I think… I-I’m sorry, Arthur. I shoulda’ been more careful and-and…” You’re rambling, filling a silence that probably should just be allowed to be a silence.

“There… There’s gonna be a baby?”

There. Right there, adorning Arthur’s beautiful features, is the pull of a smile. It chokes you up instantly, so far deep in nightmares of arguments and unhappiness that you hadn’t even considered the good. You start to nod, a little bit of your fringe falling in your face.

“Yeah… There’s gonna be a baby. Our baby…”

“Our baby…” He repeats, his arm raising to brush the hair away from your eyes in such a natural manner it feels like it’s just his instinct to care for you. It is his instinct to care for you, Arthur has shown you that in every minute of every day of your marriage, and suddenly you’re not sure why you’ve been so scared. 

“I’m gonna be a dad?” He still seems in disbelief, but that’s normal. It’s taken you a few days to come to terms with it, and even then the fingernail marks in your palms are still red raw. 

“You’re gonna be a dad.”

It hits him. Really hits him and he all but throws himself into you, scooping you up and spinning you around as he laughs unreservedly.

“Well goddamn, I’m gonna be a Daddy!” 

You laugh with him, worries and anxiety a distant memory as your feet swing around in the air. You’re probably waking the camp up, but you don’t care all that much. Right now, you’re the happiest girl in the world.

A baby. There’s gonna be a baby. Arthur’s baby.

Really, it’s the greatest gift a cowgirl could ask for.

[auspicious-manner]

I really liked ur last story! More medical dodge please!

thank you so much! i’m glad to know my stories are being liked. based off of when this was sent, i’m going to assume this means my story “guiding light” where the reader gets injured and dodge takes care of her. that one was fun for me to write, i’m excited to do something similar to it! i hope it didn’t turn out too similar though.

female reader x dodge mason

warnings: injuries

Friends, Maybe?

•

dodge and Y/N were friends. they weren’t strangers, but they were nowhere near good friends. Y/N always referred to their relationship as “borderline acquaintances”. dodge found that not many people in carp were welcoming except for her, and Y/N was just desperate enough to take anyone as her friend. luckily for her, dodge was an okay choice.

she didn’t think there was anything more than a friendship. hell, she could barely even call it a friendship. but she never had many friends growing up, let alone guy friends, and she was never completely sure if dodge was being friendly or flirty. the line separating the two was a bit hazy for Y/N.

dodge managed to convince Y/N to do panic with him. at first, she wasn’t on board. when he offered to split the cash prize with her 60:40, she took the offer. that was all that was needed to convince her. dodge claimed it was because she was smart, and they would make a great team. but as time went on, Y/N began to think there could have been an ulterior motive.

going into tonight’s challenge, Y/N was nervous. she was a chronic rule follower, and before every challenge she would be overthinking and worrying about the cops possibly busting them. she found it to be a miracle dodge even convinced her to join the game.

Y/N arrived at the location of the challenge, and she looked around, noticing that the challenge was a crossing. the contestants had to walk across a thin metal plank high above the ground in ninety seconds.

luckily for her, she wasn’t afraid of heights. this was going to be a piece of cake for her.

she tucked herself into an empty area away from the rest of the audience so she could watch in peace. she watched as each contestant made it over safely.

when they called dodge’s name to go next, her body tensed up a bit. Y/N knew dodge was going to be just fine; he was strong in pretty much any challenge the game could throw at him.

she watched as he walked across. everything was going as planned until she noticed a small laser beam hit dodge’s head, and he stumbled. she glanced over at ray hall who pointed the laser at him.

before Y/N knew it, she was walking closer to the action, but she stopped when she realized it would be too obvious if she kept walking closer to him.

after some time trying to regain his balance, he pulled himself up, and the crowd cheered. Y/N didn’t realize it, but she was holding her breath the entire time dodge was dangling over the side of the beam.

when he came down, he immediately went over to ray, and a fight broke out. as soon as the onlookers tried to pull the two apart, all hell broke loose.

red and blue lights filled her eyesight, and everyone began running every which way. she froze, realizing one of her worst fears was coming to life. Y/N was caught up in the storm of people running, and as she turned her head, the ring from a random girl’s finger sliced part of her cheek open. trying to move with the crowd, she followed them, but it wasn’t fast enough. Y/N ended up getting pushed over, and she caught herself on the ground on the entirety of her left wrist.

she knew something was wrong as soon as she landed. she heard a crack, and upon looking down, she noticed her wrist was now ever so slightly curved. she let out a shriek, and she was prepared for her body to be trampled by the stampede of teens that was still coming.

Y/N felt an arm wrap around her waist, helping her stand. she didn’t have time to look at who her savior was, she just ran with them and tried not to start crying because of the extreme pain in her wrist.

when they finally arrived at an area of brush on the outskirts of the granary, Y/N sat down on a log and held her bruised wrist. looking back on her night and feeling the dull throbbing in her wrist along with the cool night breeze hit the open cut on her cheek, she finally let her tears fall.

when dodge heard, he turned around and bent down so he was eye level with her. “don’t cry, okay? i can get you all patched up, don’t worry.”

he took off his sock and held out his hand. “can i see it?”

Y/N wiped away tears and gave him a confused stare. she held out her injured arm, and dodge gently held her forearm in his hand. he took the sock and wrapped it around the injured area.

“that should be tight enough to hold everything together until we get back to my place. just try not to move too much.” dodge told her, standing up.

“y-your place?” Y/N asked, standing up with him.

“i’ve got a lot of medical equipment at my house. it could come in handy.”

Y/N thought about it, and against her better judgement, she reluctantly agreed. she really only agreed because she didn’t want to be alone.

the ride to dodge’s was quiet, besides for Y/N’s occasional sniffle from trying to stifle her tears.

they got to dodge’s, and he immediately led her to the kitchen.

“i’m going to go get my things, stay here.” he told her.

after he left, she looked around her area and admired his belongings. it was a simple house, but it was cute. it wasn’t what she would have expected from him.

dodge came back with a box, and when he opened it, it was full of medical supplies. “what do you want me to do first? your cut, or your wrist?”

“my wrist, definitely. it hurts the worst.”

dodge slowly unraveled the sock on her arm, and her wrist fell limp. she winced and supported it so it wouldn’t happen again.

“let me see here,” dodge started, examining he wrist. he laid her hand on one of his and used his other hand to feel the area. “well, you’ve broken it, congrats!”

Y/N sighed and looked up at the ceiling.

“but, luckily for you, it’s not a bad break. the bone is just slightly misaligned, and i think i’m going to have to set it back in place again.”

she looked away and pressed her eyes closed. “just do it, get it over with.”

dodge gave her a worrisome glare, and he prepared the tape he would use after he set it.

“ready?” dodge asked, almost apprehensive. she nodded, closing her eyes tight. “don’t forget to breathe, Y/N. it will be over soon.”

dodge maneuvered the bones back together as efficiently and smoothly as possible. Y/N let out a loud cry, and she quickly clamped her hand over her mouth to suppress another yell.

finally, dodge had gotten the bones aligned again and he held the spot together with two of his fingers, and started the tape with his other hand. dodge tightly wrapped the tape around her hand and forearm until she had restricted movement in her wrist.

“it’s all done, i finished up the hard part.” dodge said, reassuring her. Y/N wrist pain had decreased significantly.

dodge had a section in his box specifically for certain support braces, and dodge found a wrist brace that he was able to slide over her wrist. when he had secured it, she wasn’t able to move her wrist at all.

“wow, that actually worked.” Y/N asked, face puffy from crying.

“never doubt my abilities,” dodge said, playfully. “since it’s broken, you’re going to want to keep that on until you see a real doctor. i’d wait until the heat dies down though to get it checked out, maybe a few days.” dodge suggested, getting the alcohol and bandaging supplies for her cut.

Y/N sat down on the counter, and dodge met her at eye level. he got close to her. “can i look at it?”

she immediately felt butterflies in her stomach, and it took a moment for dodge’s question to register in her mind. when she finally understood, she nodded.

dodge turned her face to get a better look at the cut, and he softly held her chin to stabilize her head.

“it’s not too bad. it will probably scar, though.” dodge said quietly. with the hand that wasn’t still holding her chin steady, he took a wet rag and cleaned up the area around the cut that had dried blood on it.

Y/N mentally noted how careful dodge was being with her. he madd sure to make her comfortable throughout all of this.

still holding her chin, he took a cotton ball soaked in rubbing alcohol and he dabbed it on the cut.

Y/N flinched away, feeling a burning sensation run throug her face.

“sorry about that.” dodge said apologetically.

“it’s not your fault.” Y/N said back, waiting patiently for the burning to stop.

when it finally did, she let dodge know and he took a bandage and pressed it on over the cut.

dodge sighed. “all better?”

Y/N nodded. “yeah. thank you, so much. where did you learn how to do all of this?”

“a cut is a cut, that part is easy. but as for the broken bones, i’m used to it. i ride horses and bulls, and i’m no stranger to falling off and getting hurt. it’s just a way of life for me.”

Y/N was facing the same problem she always faced with dodge. she couldn’t tell if he was flirty, or just nice. she couldn’t help but wonder which one it was.

“we’re friends, right?” she asked.

“if that’s what you want to call it.”

“i was just, uh-making sure.” Y/N said, looking down.

dodge approached her again, and she looked up to find him a few inches away from her. “i wouldn’t have done all of this if i didn’t at least kind of like you.”

when dodge saw the blush creep up on her cheeks, he smiled, and walked away. Y/N sat there wondering what the future was going to hold for her and her friend/possible admirer dodge. she figured time will work out the kinks of their relationship. in the meantime, she was going to work out her own feelings for dodge. she hadn’t even begun to sort through all of that. one day, she was going to. she felt like she needed to.

[canonskyrissian]

BEGGING YOU to elaborate on the jedi!lando au please!! (only if you have time and motivation do so of course) 🙏🙏🙏

listen I've been mulling this au in my head so much that I'm gonna burst if I don't scream about it so thank you for this ask! I will absolutely write this fic at some point but right now I just have to ramble a bit

okay so, lando is a part of the youngling group we see with ahsoka on ilum, and I had this cute idea that he asks ahsoka if he could be her padawan when she becomes a master because I stan them both so much and it's cute

order 66 hits and the youngling group makes a miracle escape with grogito and guess who picks them up and hides them?

hondo. hondo's grown fond of these kids and he looks after them for a couple of years, keeps them safe. some of them (katooni at least) stay with him while others leave to figure out their own way. lando learns some tricks of the trade and becomes a good pilot and gambler, even though he has to suppress his connection to the force. that one encounter with inquisitors cut way too close

lando travels with l3, meets han and chewie, loses the falcon (which is an eternal sore subject), and then makes his way to lothal and runs into the ghost crew. shit hits the fan as it does but when they part ways, both lando and kanan at their respective ends are like "huh, if I didn't know better I'd say that guy is a jedi"

(kanan totally lives and the next time they see each other lando has reconnected with the force and it's the spiderman meme)

so then lando wins cloud city and has a good time until vader shows up and it's the biggest whiplash to order 66 lando has had so far. it's ptsd city and he is barely able to keep his composure (vader doesn't pick up anything, he's way too preoccupied)

and then.... luke falls into his arms, and it's familiar but totally new at the same time. luke's a jedi, no doubt about it, but he's unlike any other jedi lando has ever known. and luke recognizes lando's force signature as well (spiderman meme again)

and that's when lando goes to a super secret compartment in the falcon that not even han and chewie had any idea existed and retrieves his lightsaber for the first time since probably the time he acquired the falcon

it's jedi time. lando ignites his lightsaber and feels free. he's kept all of this hidden so deep within himself for so long and now he has to both teach luke and learn what he never had the chance to learn

and then we have skyrissian endgame. they have some blatant sexual tension while sparring. you know, the good stuff^^ but also a true connection. a force bond, if you will 😉

okay, this is what I've got figured out so far. I don't know how this ends but I'm not even writing this yet so I'm figuring it out as I go along

[whumpmatsus]

I am just absolutely in love with how you write! I think I have a good iromatsu idea; after a prank gone wrong Kara gives Ichi the silent treatment to the extreme; does not talk to him, sit near him, or even stay in the same room when they're alone and even switched sleeping spots. Kara thinks it'll teach Ichi a lesson, but really it devestates Ichi and Kara tries to comfort him now.

aaaa thank you!! everyone is so nice with compliments like that, it motivates me to write more and always puts a smile on my face to hear kind words!!! <3

and ahhh this is definitely a good Iromatsu idea!! it was so much fun to write ;7;

Ichi stop being so emotionally constipated and show your feelings to your brothers, they love you and it'll make you feel better ;w;

-

In hindsight, perhaps Ichimatsu should have known better than to mess with Karamatsu’s guitar.

It would be one thing if he fucked with the leather jacket, or the sunglasses, or one of the tank tops with Karamatsu’s own face on it, because he’s pretty sure Karamatsu has an endless supply of those. His guitar, however, is something which doesn’t have a backup. It’s quite possibly the only thing Karamatsu loves more than himself, though obviously not as much as he loves his brothers.

For some stupid reason, it only hits Ichimatsu after the prank he pulls that this guitar is probably Karamatsu’s sole most important possession.

Of course, by the time it does hit him, the damage has already been done. He thought that the expression on his brother’s face would be over the top, hilarious, and the highlight of his day.

Instead, it’s burned into his brain in the worst way. When Karamatsu saw his younger brother letting the kitten in his lap bat at a ball made of his guitar’s strings, it was as if someone had just shoved a knife in his back.

God, Ichimatsu hates that kind of expression. That betrayed, wounded, raw look.

That hurts. What hurts worse is that for the rest of the day, it’s as if Karamatsu only has four brothers. Ichimatsu tries to apologize, and he’s met with Karamatsu walking out of the room entirely. No matter what he does, Karamatsu doesn’t want to be near him. He goes so far as to eat dinner in the other room with their parents rather than sit around a table with Ichimatsu.

Everyone knows what Ichimatsu did, but none of the others have ever seen Karamatsu quite so upset either. It would be a miracle if they aren’t all pissed at him, too.

The worst blow comes when they’re all getting ready for bed. Ichimatsu is more tired than usual for whatever reason, so he’s prepared to fall asleep the second his head hits the pillow. When he settles into his spot at one end of the futon, he rolls over with the intention of giving Karamatsu a gruff, apologetic hug… only to come face to face with very obviously not Karamatsu.

He hisses something about why the hell Totty is in Karamatsu’s spot, and Totty gives him the explanation that Karamatsu asked to switch tonight. “… But I’ll take the hug, though,” he teases as he cuddles up, so Ichimatsu can’t shove him away or he’ll be an asshole.

Even with the youngest sleeping soundly pressed against him, Ichimatsu barely sleeps a wink himself. He doesn’t like this. Despite the fact that he tries to convince himself he doesn’t give a shit about Karamatsu, the truth is that Karamatsu is still his big brother. The thought of admitting that he loves Karamatsu and thinks he’s cool leaves a horrible taste in his mouth, but…

He doesn’t like this.

He wanted to play a stupid prank and maybe just get on Karamatsu’s nerves a little bit. He never wanted to have Karamatsu so angry with him that he won’t speak to Ichimatsu, that he doesn’t even want to sleepnext to him.

This… hurts.

-

Although Ichimatsu may not sleep much during the night, he refuses to get up in the daytime when everyone else does.

Sometimes that’s not so worrying. The others know Ichimatsu sleeps a lot at odd hours when his depression kicks in, and rather than risk getting growled at, they often just let him sleep. As long as they can get him up in time for lunch, it doesn’t usually affect him too much.

… It’s after 2 P.M. now, though, and even with everyone knowing he’s awake, Ichimatsu won’t get out of bed.

Out of all the brothers, regardless of the fact that Karamatsu has been trying to teach his little brother a lesson, he’s probably the most worried about this. Even though he’s definitely angry about what Ichimatsu did, that doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to forgive him.

It was heartbreaking to see that Ichimatsu would damage something that means so much to Karamatsu. Even with how much Ichimatsu doesn’t like him, Karamatsu never thought his little brother would intentionally do anything to his guitar.

But… he did notice the look on Ichimatsu’s face every time Karamatsu gave him the cold shoulder. Combined with the fact that Ichimatsu is staying in bed, Karamatsu thinks that maybe he went a bit too far with this punishment.

Ichimatsu doesn’t even lift his head when Karamatsu pokes into their shared bedroom and calls, “Brother?”

So he creeps in a bit more. And more. And more, until he’s standing at the edge of the futon, five empty spaces away from his brother. Most of the time, he’s so good with words… even if he has to plan them out beforehand, or even if they sometimes sound painful.

Now, he doesn’t really know what to say.

“Ichimatsu…” He frowns and traces circles in the carpet with his foot. “It’s nearly three in the afternoon. Aren’t you getting up?”

What he gets in response is a listless shrug. It’s not in typical Ichimatsu fashion, though. “What’s the point? Leave me alone. You haven’t had any problem doing that so far.”

Ouch. Unfortunately, Karamatsu supposes that fair is fair.

He inches forward until he’s not too far, then lowers himself down next to Ichimatsu. “I’m… sorry about that.”

“No, you’re not. And you shouldn’t be. I’m garbage, and what I did was shitty. Shittier than you and your entire wardrobe.” Ichimatsu’s knees come up to his chest, body curling into a tight ball. “I deserve to have you mad at me for the rest of my life. You hate me and I hate myself, too. I’m…”

There’s a weird sound, like Ichimatsu is choking on his own words. “… I’m sorry. Just go away. Don’t bother with me. I’m not worth your time.”

Every word feels like there’s a vise tightening, tightening, tightening, around Karamatsu’s heart. That’s… what?? Ichimatsu really thinks that Karamatsu hates him?

He definitely wouldn’t have expected to see his younger brother so broken up about that fact. Ichimatsu often goes out of his way to avoid Karamatsu’s company, so shouldn’t he be relieved that Karamatsu stopped wanting to be around him?

A quiet moment passes before Karamatsu reaches to drape an arm over Ichimatsu. There’s practically no resistance as he pulls the fourth eldest in against him, gently rubbing his shoulder.

“I don’t hate you,” he murmurs. “It’s… true that I’m upset with you. Or at least I was. This was… I wasn’t going to shut you out forever. To be honest, I thought you would be happy that I wasn’t bothering you anymore. I anticipated that perhaps my silence would make you angry. That you might snap at me after a day or so and tell me you were sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel…”

He shifts his hands around with the intent of trying to move Ichimatsu to face him, but stops cold when his palm meets dampness on his brother’s cheek.

Is Ichimatsu… crying??

Karamatsu freezes at that thought. He can count on one hand the number of times he’s seen Ichimatsu cry since they were kids. Then, he pulls his little brother in closer. There’s no struggling, no protests, just a stifled sob as Ichimatsu ducks his head down.

Karamatsu rests his head against the top of Ichimatsu’s. “… Did my treatment really hurt you that badly? Are you really that anguished by the idea that I would stop wanting anything to do with you?”

There’s no response except a nod, something that Ichimatsu seems to try and stop anyway.

A soft exhale puffs against Ichimatsu’s neck, and the way he stiffens suggests that the sudden warm air sent a shiver up his spine. “I’m… so sorry. I truly didn’t believe it would hurt you so much.”

“You’re still my Karamatsu-nii-san.” The admission is followed by a sniffle as he rubs at his eyes. “Just because I’m trash doesn’t mean I don’t…”

“Ahahah… you love me. That’s it, right?” Karamatsu teases lightly. He tugs his baby brother closer still, and is surprised when Ichimatsu abruptly rolls over to bury his face against Karamatsu’s chest.

Ichimatsu’s skinny arms find their way around Karamatsu’s waist, hugging as tightly as he can bring himself to. He hates it. He hates that Karamatsu is right,and how he can’t even actually say the words himself, and crying, and everything about this. Why is anyone, even his big brother, still bothering with him?

“… Please don’t be mad at me anymore,” he mumbles. That begging voice is so small and barely even sounds like him, even to himself. “I don’t… I don’t like it.”

Karamatsu chuckles and gingerly rubs Ichimatsu’s back. It’s a little sad to consider, but their relationship has become so strained now that they’re adults, to the point that Ichimatsu being so honest about his feelings to anyof his brothers, especially Karamatsu, is rare. It would probably be easier to pull his teeth than to get him to confess that something is wrong until it’s bubbling over and he can’thide it anymore.

He holds Ichimatsu as close as he can, and it feels like Ichimatsu is trying to keep himself tiny and safe inside the embrace. A kiss is pressed to the top of Ichimatsu’s head; a shaky, tearful breath is the instant reaction. “All is forgiven, my brother. I would never dream of truly abandoning you like that. I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me for upsetting you to such a degree.”

He gives a cautious squeeze, reassured when Ichimatsu squeezes back. “You are one of the most important people in my world, Ichimatsu. You’re my little brother, and I love you very much, and I regret to inform you that there is most likely nothing you can do to ever change that.”

Ichimatsu relaxes, if only slightly. He’ll get up soon, and even though hearing these things isn’t a magic switch that makes him feel better about himself or what he’s done… it’s a comfort. It means that Karamatsu isn’t so angry with him that he’s been disowned.

“If you are ever hurt or insecure about any of that,” Karamatsu hums softly, “all you need to do is come find me and let yourself be held in my arms. I hope you know that.”

… Well.

If he didn’t before, he certainly does now.

[emma-d-klutz]

IF I were to write a Maribat fic

It would be mostly a played for comedy and drama take on “Marinette picked up this whole Bat thing way too quickly.”

Like, post Miracle Queen, Marinette is just overtaken with so much guilt about Master Fu and is also desperate for a new mentor to be a replacement and a distraction from the blame she puts on herself and the burden of being the new Guardian. She is absolutely sure she is not ready to be in charge.

She calls Damian and asks for an audience with Batman. Damian is like, “Oh, isn’t this the girl who kicked me out of Paris? What was it you said? ‘No Gothamites in my city.’ Isn’t that what you said? Didn’t you say you can’t have our “type” of vigilante in Paris, because we’re too, what was it, overemotional? Is this that girl who is on my com right now? The one who rejected joining the Teen Titans? That’s you? You want me to TALK to my FATHER? I would barely ask him a favor for someone I actually LIKE.” Except then she kind of blows up at him and tells him the situation, and Damian gets real quiet and listens, and he feels a little sick because he’s remembering the Ric Grayson situation and also Alfred’s most recent death, which he ALSO blames himself for, so like... they got shit in common. He says he’ll talk to Batman about a video call.

Cut to three months later, Marinette has just THROWN HERSELF into being Batman’s disciple. She calls him Master. She practices fighting day and night out of the suit, and IN the suit she uses her powers for training and is often seen sprinting for miles or scaling the Eiffel Tower with only her upper body strength. She comes to school covered in bruises and with the darkest circles under her eyes, and her friends are WORRIED, they really are, but she’s like 80% less bubbly then usual, so no one is really confronting her and are just silently wondering what the heck happened. Most people assume that this has something to do with her taking Adrien and Kagami being an official couple really hard. 

For fashion design, well. Marinette has gotten really into armor lately.... huh.  (It’s because the Batfam encourages her to not rely on a magic suit that can turn off at the worse time, and she is convinced she must be prepared to be Ladybug at any and all times. If anything, she’s lamenting that she doesn’t know how to make weapons.) (She got a grappling hook styled like a yo yo as a present from Master Bat.) 

She texts Kagami out of the blue one day like,  >>Hey. Come over. I am in the process of making my masterwork >>Oh and bring a sword >>A sharpened one, not a training sword And Kagami comes over to see a twitchy (”ok that’s pretty normal”) super serious (”well that’s not. she’s usually so flighty and indecisive”) Marinette. And in the place where there was once an Adrian shrine and stalking schedule is now what seems to be a Hawkmoth shrine and stalking schedule. Marinette brings out what looks sort of like shiny silk with jewels woven in, and Kagami’s assumption is corrected. No. It’s a polymerized titanium she synthesized herself with light elemental defense crystals woven in by hand. Marinette is very proud. It’s a prototype. She plans on making a material that can be beautiful formalwear and as stab-proof as any kevlar. But it’s still a prototype so Kagami can you pretty please do some slashing and stabbing on it pretty please? See she wants it to be really good before giving it to her other Sword Friend, because Dami is a really harsh judge, and her motivation just won’t be able to take it if she gets notes from him this early on in the process. Kagami is actually really on board and helpful in this venture. 

She does like indirectly ask Marinette if she’s heartbroken of if she’s with Luka or what have you, and Marinette just gets really harsh and says she has other priorities. She also makes some grandiose proclamation that neither of them are good enough for Adrien, because Adrien is pure goodness, he’s kindness and forgiveness personified, and it’s just... it’s just... it would be really clear to anyone who has ever heard Batman wax poetic about Superman where she is getting this highkey cringe behavior.

She’s on video calls with Batman all the time. They definitely have a conversation that goes something like this:

“I am certain the mean girl from my school is working for my main supervillain.” “Good. You can find him through her.” “Yess! I have been looking forward to the chance. I am going to interrogate her.” “Ladybug, no.” “I am going to tie her up with my yoyo and dangle her over the highest skyscraper in Paris and tell her I’ll drop her if she doesn’t tell me the identity and location of Hawkmoth.” “Befriend her at school and track her movements.” “Ok but wouldn’t it be quicker to dangle her off a building?” “You’re letting your emotions about someone from your civilian life interfere with your judgement and letting yourself act hastily and with negligence, which is exactly how you lost your first mentor.” “Ah....... you’re right. I’m sorry, Master. I won’t be reckless.” “Good. Tap her cell phone.”

As for Chat Noir, he is FREAKED OUT by her change and all the secrets she’s keeping now. And her behavior towards him has REALLY changed. Well not too much, but it’s noticeable in a way that unnerves him sometimes. Like she’s become a super serious workaholic, but she’s also insanely protective of him, to the point where he feels a bit resentful that he’s not being treated as a competent partner. He’s really trying to get Ladybug to talk out what she’s going through, and he’s anxious all the time that she’s on the cusp of becoming akumatized. Honestly, he’s not wrong on that part. He knows that this is all because she blames herself for Master Fu, and he is also aware that she is spending much more time in contact with that Robin from Gotham who they met once or twice, and he knows she’s keeping some secrets, but NO he is not aware for at least half of the story that she is being remotely trained by Batman. She’s telling him to shut up a lot more and bossing him around more and seems to know way more about Hawkmoth’s movements than him and it feels like he’s out of the loop, but she’s also, like, often spewing out how important he is to her as her partner and keeps giving him handmade pastries and saying, “An army crawls on its stomache,” so like honestly wtf mixed signals much

Batman agreed to mentor her temporarily and has been trying to find someone else from JL to take over, preferably Wonder Woman or Flash, because he agrees with Ladybug’s assessment that to be a hero in Paris it is necessary to have weaponized optimism, or Zatanna or Shazaam, because they could train Ladybug in her magic hopefully. He is told several times that it would be easier to get her mentorship if she agreed to join Teen Titans or Young Justice, which of course they all know, so thanks, but Ladybug would def refuse to leave Paris and her partner, so her joining YJ isn’t really up for discussion. 

Flash said that she’s great but that, “She’s SUCH a Bat,” and that clearly she’s so attached to him that she should just stay one of his. Batman asserts that she is only being like this because she is desperate for a mentor, and if someone else took her on, she’d probably/hopefully change again just as fast. Flash says he isn’t so sure, and that at this delicate point in time, being handed off to someone else might, like, retraumatize her or smth. 

Ladybug literally started breaking fingers interrogating someone.

It is on camera.

The LadyBlog is in SHOCK.

No one knows what to do.

Even Hawkmoth sees the video footage and is like, “Jeez, am I... Mayura, are we in over our heads here? Did we break the teen hero? Is this our fault?”

Anyway, those are all my favorite ideas of the ones I’ve daydreamed so far. There is also stuff about how she interacts with the other members of the Batfam and that she uses the Horse Miraculous to travel to Gotham to be trained in hand-to-hand and also to just sob for hours and scream at things because she CAN’T let her emotions out like that in Paris and the bafflement of the Batkids like “you... came to GOTHAM... to NOT repress your emotions. um, k.” And Cass loves her and thinks she is Baby Sister and if someone is mean to baby sister in front of her she will stare into your soul until you are quiet ect ect many ideas. 

The reason this is an IF and not a WHEN:

dudes I have no plot

[turinn]

Train Station

Koga Oogami x GN!Reader

Summary: Koga develops a... little crush on someone he sees every time he's at the train station. Shame he's so fucking awkward. Not that his unit mates are any help there.

Tags: Fluff, pining, first meeting, trains

A/N: Real sorry about how my fics are gnna be formatted for a while but I can't sit up to do it on my computer so it's gotta be on on mobile for now. Sorry!

Adonis raised his eyebrows at Koga, waiting for him to respond to the question he'd just asked him. He didn't. Kaoru and Rei were both smirking, looking in the same direction as Koga, and Adonis followed their gazes over to you. Ah. Of course.

Every time UNDEAD had to go somewhere together, they'd get the train at this station, usually just after school, since two of their members were still in their third year. And every time they arrived at the station, it didn't take long for Koga to malfunction. Adonis was still unsure whether you were a student nearby or commuting, but one thing that was for certain was that you always took the same train at this station- or at least you had every time they'd been here.

Koga's little crush had started the first time they'd decided to take the train rather than the bus, it being quicker and usually cheaper. You'd been leaning against the wall next to the ticket machine, laughing into your phone. He'd been sent to buy their tickets and he'd dropped all his money when he heard your laugh. Rei had come over to 'save' him, much to his underclassman's embarrassment, and he'd spent the whole journey positively glaring at Rei.

A couple weeks later they'd gotten the train again (Rei had insisted, his tone of voice making it clear he had an ulterior motive. Bastard.) and sure enough, there you were. That day you'd had a friend with you, and Koga seemed to short circuit as he caught sight of you animatedly relaying a story to them. He'd stopped mid sentence, choking on the words and then insisting he needed to buy a drink from the small store situated at the other end of the station. He'd almost committed a murder when he walked out of the store and saw Kaoru talking to you, leaning against a signpost and smiling flirtatiously.

"They dropped their phone." Adonis had reassured him.

"Don't be surprised if he comes back with their number, though." Rei interjected unhelpfully. Whether it was luckier for Koga or for Kaoru that he didn't, none of them could be sure.

When they took their fifth trip by train since he'd seen you first a few months ago, he was feeling confident. He'd finally talk to you today. As soon as he remembered how to walk.

"Fuck it. Today I'm gonna get their number!" Koga announced proudly, before he took one step in your direction and tripped over his shoelaces. He wished he could say he handled it smoothly, but to do so he would definitely have to lie. He'd landed face first on the ground, and Rei had not held back on laughing at him. It must have been a goddamn miracle that you were facing away from him when it happened, checking the announcement on the board that your train had been delayed. Setting himself to rights (and making sure his shoelaces were firmly tied), he regathered his somewhat bruised confidence and made his way towards you.

"Hey." He'd tapped on your shoulder, and you'd turned around quickly, your face scrunched up in confusion, but still plastered with a friendly smile.

"Oh, hello! Can I help you?" The grey haired boy standing in front of you hadn't answered. He'd just sort of... stared, awkwardly.

15 odd feet away, Adonis could see his friends face going redder than the tomato juice Rei was drinking, and he couldn't help but feel a little bad for him.

"Are you... okay?" You tilted your head, confusion fading away for concern. This boy had just... frozen in front of you, and he looked like hewas wishing he could disappear into the ground right now. This was an astute observation, because that was exactly what he was wishing for. You gently placed a hand on his upper arm, hoping to snap him out of whatever odd stupor he'd fallen into. The boy coughed and ran back to his friends. ".... Okay then? Weird."

Back with his unit, Koga felt awful.

"You didn't get their number, did you?" Rei asked, looking apologetic. He already knew the answer

"...No."

"Did you at least learn their name?" Kaoru offered, hoping to help him see the bright side.

"I said 'hey'. That's kind of where the conversation stopped."

"Oh my god..."

"They said hello and I... forgot how to speak."

Adonis put a hand on his shoulder comfortingly and he brushed it off, growling. "I'll get it next time. Stop looking at me like that." He didn't speak for the rest of the journey.

The next time UNDEAD take the train, Koga gets... a different kind of distracted. You're nowhere to be see. He finds excuses to walk up and down the platform several times, and he doesn't catch a glimpse of you once. It makes him antsy.

"Will you relax? You're driving me up the wall." Kaoru, sat next to him on the train, could hardly focus with the incessant bouncing of Koga's leg in his peripheral vision.

"Now, now, it's not his fault. Someone didn't get to see his object of admiration today, did he?"

Koga bares his teeth at Rei, pissed off at the teasing lilt in his voice.

"Piss off."

"Didn't anybody ever tell you to respect your elders?"

"Sorry. Piss off, please." Rei simply rolls his eyes and settles in his seat, presumably hoping to nap. Koga goes back to glaring at the floor like it had caused him some personal offense.

He doesn't even know your name, why the hell does he care? Sure, you're cute but that's not enough reason. And yeah, your laugh is the nicest sound he's ever heard but neither is that! He thinks constantly about how concerned you'd looked when he froze up in front of you, how gently you'd placed your hand on his arm to try and shake him out of it, how soft your voice had been when you'd asked him if he was okay.... Oh, Jesus Christ. What the hell have you done to him?

On the return journey home, he's still tense. He'd managed to shake the feeling off during their shoot, but it had returned pretty much as soon as he'd gotten back on the train. It was starting to give him a headache.

He was just considering buying a bottle of water from the lady with the cart next time she passed by when someone slumped down on the seat opposite him, and Adonis nudged him gently.

Looking up, Koga felt like he was about to choke. You were sitting in front of him, headphones plugged firmly in your ears and an exhausted look on your face. Whether you recognise him or not he can't tell.

Kaoru clears his throat, making some garbled excuse for getting up and going to the other end of the carriage, dragging Rei with him. Adonis quickly follows, offering Koga a small smile before ditching him. Alone with you (well, alone as one can be on a crowded train), Koga attempts to catch his composure. He's still staring at his shoes when he feels a tap on his knee, and looks up to see you smiling at him.

"D'you have a bad day? You look like you wanna set the world on fire." He furrows his brows at you, but your smile is so warm he forces himself to settle down and responds.

"Something like that, yeah."

"I'm headed down that alley pretty fast myself. I'm L/N Y/N. I see you around fairly often, you and your friends who just ditched you. I'm uh... assuming that was to give you a chance to talk to me again?"

"Honestly, I don't know what they're thinking. But probably."

"You didn't seem like you knew where to start, so I figured I'd start for you. That's okay, right? I mean- if you don't wanna talk I can leave you b-"

"No!" Koga blurts out, and then turns red. "I.. I wanna talk to ya." You smile at him again, your own cheeks heating up.

"Great! Can I know your name, then?"

"Oogami Koga."

The two of you talk the rest of the way, and he almost misses his stop, saved only by Rei sauntering over to inform him. You have to wait at the station for another train to get you home, but before the rest of his unit can drag him away, you write your number on his palm and grin at him.

Your receive a text less than two minutes later.

[lunnanunna]

No Pressure

STRAY KIDS Extra Member AU

Summary: Ollie is competitive by nature, and it shows during the vault jumping on Kingdom’s Sports Day.

Warnings: swearing

Taglist: @hyunmijung @galacticstxrdust @boss-baby-jongho @kimonmars @mythicalamphitrite @poutypoutybin @sunflower-0180​

Let me know if you’d like to be added or removed from a taglist.

A/N: I don’t know the exact rules to vault jumping, but let’s pretend like this is totally possible. Also for my story, the third round will have 3 teams; Ateez x Stray Kids x Btob, SF9 x iKon x The Boyz, and then my girls will be their own team. While the first two teams (The original teams) will break up into rap, vocal, and dance, my girls will be just one team/group. Hope this makes sense.

Requests are closed. Please like, leave a comment, or send in an ask. Doing any of these things is one more reason for me to keep writing.

Excitement coursed through Ollie’s veins as she watched each group have their go at the vault jump. She had cheered on her members, along with the opposing teams, but where she did her hardest cheering was for her girls.

Seeing as everyone was split up by the teams for the third round, Ollie was teamed up with the girls in Kingdom.

She was excited to hear that they were splitting up into teams, three groups in each, then to have subgroups for each position; rap, vocal, and dance. But where she was the most ecstatic, was when Changmin announced a third team.

Apparently fans didn’t just want to see the vocals working together, or the rappers, or the dancers. They wanted to see the girls work together too. Meaning, Ollie was on a team with Miyoung, Bao, Yoori, and Sara, and were given free range on what performance they could do exactly.

Ollie had cracked up when Yoori blurted out (While the cameras were still rolling) that she finally got to be in a girl group. Then everyone joined in on the laughter when indignant squawks and protests came from Ateez.

Only downside to being on this team was the athleticism, or lack thereof. Ollie was the competitive type, so she had to bite her tongue when she saw that vaulting was their first event. Taking a look at the girls, she knew exactly how it was going to go.

Bao was the first one out, not at all to Ollie’s surprise.

The rapper stood at the start line and squinted at the vault, arms folded over her chest. She took one look at Ollie, then pinched the bridge of her nose.

“Sorry, shortstacks. I don’t do these kinds of things,” Bao said, looking at the dancer. She then turned to everyone else and took a slight bow. “That’s it for today. This has been Bao, ‘till now,” she smirked, holding up a V.

Ollie let out a long sigh as she watched Bao walk back over to the girls, clearly unbothered that she just lowered the chances of their team winning. “You were never gonna try, were you?” Ollie asked her.

“Nope. Now if it was baseball, then that would have been a different story,” Bao shrugged, then patted Ollie on the head, “Plus we have you. Other than Stray Kids and us, no one knows the power you hold.”

“No pressure,” Sara snorted, leaning her weight on one foot, hands in her pockets.

“You’re at least gonna try, right?” Ollie asked the youngest.

Sara shrugged. “I will. How far I get, depends on my energy today,” she said.

“Your energy’s never high,” Miyoung sighed, rubbing at her temples.

“There seems to be tension among the team,” Changbin spoke into the mic, earning chuckles from everyone.

Ollie turned to him, offering a fake smile. “Watch yourself, Changbin-ah.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Changbin said quickly, placing his mic on the table. More laughter was heard.

Ollie turned back to her team. “Let’s at least try, okay?” she said, looking at the girls.

“I’ll try hard, Unnie. I just can’t promise too much,” Yoori pouted.

Ollie chuckled. “As long as you try that’s all that matters,” she patted Yoori’s head.

“Though if you could let your demon come out to help get you over 1.7 meters, then that’d be awesome,” Sara smiled, holding a thumbs up.

“I’m barely 1.5 though,” Yoori bite her lip.

“So are we,” Ollie pointed at herself and Miyoung.

“Unnie and I barely make it to 1.7, we’re all at a disadvantage,” Sara chuckled, signaling to Bao.

“At least it’s not as embarrassing as Jinhwan’s situation. The man refuses to jump,” Bao snorted.

“Bao, be nice,” Miyoung scolded.

“Okay, okay. Let’s just move on. Sara go,” Ollie said, pushing Sara towards the start line.

The younger shook out her limbs then yelled, “I’m going!” Sara then ran, jumped, and flew over the vault. When she landed, Ollie knew Sara was done.

“You’re done, aren’t you?” Ollie quirked a brow as Sara rolled off the mat.

The dancer sheepishly nodded, dragging her feet towards Bao. “This takes way more energy than you’d expect,” Sara said, pointing at the vault. Ollie rolled her eyes.

“Okay, my turn,” Ollie sighed. In less than a few minutes, Ollie had jumped over the vault with ease and joined the girls again.

When it was Miyoung’s turn everyone cheered, watching as she struggled a bit, but still managed to get over the vault. Yoori was a different story.

The poor girl jumped, and latched onto the vault when she saw herself flying towards it instead of over it. She then proceeded to giggle as she climbed up, letting out a victory scream at the top.

“And that’s our demon,” Wooyoung spoke into the mic, grimacing.

Sara and Miyoung didn’t make it past 1.8 meters, but Ollie wasn’t really surprised. She had mentally prepared herself for this. As the vault kept getting higher, so did her motivation, and her jumping.

Soon it was just Chan, Minhyuk, and Ollie. The vault stood at 2.4 meters, and Ollie knew that this would be the end. Either she’d make it here, or she’d make it here. Losing wasn’t in Ollie’s vocabulary when it came to sports.

Sadly, all three failed their first attempt. At the second attempt, Chan and Minhyuk failed again. Now it was Ollie’s last chance.

“Changbin? Tell me about Ollie’s athletic record, because seeing as she’s made it this far, she’s got to have a pretty impressive one,” Eunkwang asked.

“Well she’s our main dancer, of course. Back in school she did track and was the libero on her volleyball team,” Changbin began.

“Meaning the girl is fast and can jump,” Changmin chuckled.

“Exactly,” Changbin nodded with a proud smirk. “She’s also a gym shark, as you can tell by the biceps on display,” he motioned towards Ollie who had stripped down to her tank top as the event went on.

Ollie smirked, then proceeded to flex. “I also have better abs than Changbin could ever dream of having,” she shouted, sending a wink towards the rapper.

“This is true,” he nodded dejectedly, getting everyone to laugh.

“Well, then let’s see just how good she really is,” Changmin smiled.

Ollie nodded, fist pumping the air. She then took a deep breath, and readied herself. When the referee gave her the signal to go, she released her breath then began to run.

As she got closer to the springboard, Ollie realized that she wasn’t going to make it over, but that didn’t stop her. When she jumped, she knew she’d have to use up all of her upper body strength if she wanted to make it over. And she did, in the most Ollie way possible.

She placed her hands on either side of the vault, and sensing that her legs were too low, pushed herself up. Ollie when saw that she had used too much strength, she mentally cursed, but used the momentum to her advantage.

With the amount of strength she used to push, it sent her legs flying up and over her head, basically doing a back walkover. She flipped herself over the vault and landed on the mat on her side, rolling off of it due to the momentum. Ollie managed to stick her landing, surprising herself and everyone around her.

Slowly looking back up at the vault, Ollie gawked at what just happened. “What?”

“She’s just as surprised as we are,” Changmin said in awe.

When the referee gave his approval, everyone erupted into cheers. Ollie grinned wide as Chan ran to her, tackling her in a hug.

“How’d you manage that?!” Chan asked.

“Are you even human?” Minhyuk asked, eyes still wide in shock.

“Unnie! That’s my unnie!” Yoori cheered by the sidelines, standing on a chair. The other girls cheered as well, sending Ollie thumbs ups.

“Ollie, do you think you can make 2.5 m?” Eunkwang asked, almost hesitant. Everyone waited for her answer.

Ollie knew that that was a fluke. It was a fucking miracle. There was no way she’d make the next one. Someday, but definitely not today.

Smirking, she looked at the MCs. “The world may never know,” she made a big show of shrugging, then walked off towards her team.

“Well, now I’m curious,” Wooyoung whined.

“There’s no way she’s human. I need to make sure to never anger her,” Changbin stated in mock fear (Or maybe it was real?), then sent Ollie finger hearts as she walked by.

“See? I told you you’d win it for us,” Bao smirked from her seat as Ollie joined the girls.

Ollie pouted. “I just really wanted to see you jump, Bao.” Yoori giggled, nodding her head in agreement.

“Maybe someday. If the time’s right,” Bao shrugged.

“The heck does that mean?” Sara asked, leaning back in her chair, arms pulled into her hoodie.  She looked about ready to tap out.

“Whatever you want it to mean, kid,” Bao shrugged again.

“This is going to be quite an interesting team,” Miyoung sighed, blinking. Ollie chuckled, because, yes, this team is going to be chaotic. One of Ollie’s favorite things.

Ollie’s Masterlist

[mondscheinprinzessin]

drunken tattoos

This post discussing Olli’s not visible BC tattoo didn’t leave my mind and I just had to write something stupid. So here are Joonas and Olli making a pact to get the BC logo tattooed on their asses.

I am dedicating this dumbassery to @drippinlou and @dream-thieves

(also pls don’t get a tattoo while drunk)

Playing in front of more than a hundred people was more exhilarating than Olli could've ever expected. The way they swayed and jumped to their music, sang along to the words and made them feel like the biggest band walking on earth.

It had to be celebrated. Selling that many tickets was a new high in their band life and it was steady but surely going uphill for them. Soon it was no more playing in shady bars and dirty clubs, they could get a bigger stage and invest in equipment.

Olli wanted to ride on that high forever, the beers he had downed helping him to keep him afloat on a cloud of adrenaline, excitement, and blissful joy. The wide smile on his face had been there for the last hour or so, but Olli couldn’t stop. Seeing his bandmates in each other’s arms and screaming to a Britney Spears Remix currently playing in the club would remain as a picture forever saved in his memories.

Joonas hooked arms with him and pressed a cocktail in his hands with the command to drink it up. And who was Olli to refuse such a charming smile on his fellow guitarist.

Not long after -or was it, Olli couldn’t tell- the both of them found themselves in the alley outside the club, still swaying to the music that could be heard through the open doors. They passed a few smokers that gave them disapproving stares but Olli couldn’t care less. He was having the time of his life.

Passing a corner Joonas suddenly stopped in his tracks, regarding him with wide eyes.

“What?” Olli asked, confused. “Don’t tell me you have to puke, go somewhere else for that.” Already on the move to march forward, Olli was once again held back by Joonas by a tug on his hand.

“No, I have an amazing idea.” He told him with shining eyes, the mischief was clear as day, but that was normal with Joonas and didn’t worry him.

When nothing else came Olli motioned with his hand to continue, looking at him expectantly. Now he wanted to know. The night was too early to kill off and he was in the mood for an adventure, which was guaranteed to happen with a drunken Joonas in company.

“Oh right.” Joonas said as if he had forgotten he was in the middle of explaining. “Tattoos!”

“Tattoos?”

“Yes, tattoos! We always wanted our band logo tattooed, don’t you remember?”

“Of course I remember.” Olli defended himself. “I’m not that drunk.” He said and promptly stumbled over his own foot, holding himself up by the wall next to him.

A giggling came from behind, but Olli found it funny enough to join in, already forgetting what reason Joonas had to laugh.

“Let’s do it now.”

Lifting his head, getting dizzy from the abrupt movement, he looked at Joonas, thinking hard about what they were talking about. “Huh?”

“The tattoo.” Joonas said urgently like it was the most important thing on earth right now. And...it kind of was in Olli’s opinion. Tattoos sounded great. He wanted one.

“Now?” he asked to be sure he understood the plan.

“Of course now. Now is the best time.”

Olli agreed and nodded with his head more forcefully than it was necessary, the world once again hiding behind a blurriness that he was unable to blink away.

“But we can do one better. Let’s make a pact!”

“A pact?” Olli felt like he was only asking questions this evening, his brain slowed down and unable to process any information Joonas threw his way.

Hitting him square over the chest Joonas grinned at him. “Dude, how drunk are you, keep up. A pact between brothers.”

Olli hummed and grabbed Joonas by the shoulders to pull him into a hug, simultaneously tousling his hair. They almost fell over from the force but Joonas was able to keep them upright.

“You’re the bestest brother.” Olli said and squeezed tighter, Joonas only chuckling into his shoulder, the sound loud in his ear but enough to raise his spirits even higher. The fun that came out of forming a band with his friends and touring together was the greatest thing in his life, enjoying the close bond they had and right now he had the most awesome fun ever.

Joonas weaseled his way out of his grip and jumped on his back instead, giving Olli only seconds to take a hold of his legs but they managed, going forward on wobbly knees and in a zigzag course, only swerving around a lamppost last second and when Joonas pulled his hair in the direction they were headed to.

Picking up from where they left off, Joonas said, “So, from brother to brother I say let’s put it on our ass.”

Coming to a halt, Olli tried to understand the strings of words and especially the combination of tattoo and ass in one sentence.

“Hey, I didn’t say you could stop.” Joonas let out and wiggled with his legs till Olli got the memo and started walking again. More or less.

“Why on our ass?”

“Uh...because that’s funny? And like the greatest idea ever. And funny.” He said as if it was obvious. Which- yeah okay Olli could see behind it. It was pretty funny. Hilarious even. Why didn’t they think of it before? Might be the greatest idea Joonas ever had. Or the one they could remember.

“It is.”

“Then onward my fair steed” Joonas said and began giggling again when Olli picked up speed and Joonas was swaying on his back like a ship on the high sea. It was a miracle they didn’t crash and kept lying in a ditch, waiting to be found by their bandmates in the morning.

Somehow, they managed to find their destination, or more like a random tattoo parlour that was mysteriously open at this hour. But why should they care as long as they would finally get their tattoos.

They wandered inside (Joonas by his side instead of his back), greeting the woman behind the counter who had a boring expression on her face. She raised an eyebrow, eying them from top to bottom but didn’t comment on their state.

When asked what she can do for them they simply said ass tattoo. That should cover all information needed.

The woman called for a Sarah and a blonde woman emerged from a room, waving Joonas over who had a flirty smile already on his face. Always ready to play with his charms. Who knows what could come out of this.

Olli eyed the woman, whose name he still didn’t know, but followed her willingly into another room, losing sight of Joonas. They would see each other soon enough. With a little extra on their bodies.

He laid down as instructed, his pants off over a chair and his underwear pulled down to bare his butt for everyone to see. Without the alcohol he may have been blushing more over the fact he was showing himself off so freely, but he couldn’t see what the woman was doing anyway.

He had given her the flyer of tonight's concert so she had a template for the tattoo, and it wasn’t like it was a big one, he would cope.

The first lines of the needle hurt nevertheless and reached his mind even in his drunken state, the alcohol only doing so much to fight back on the pain. After a while though the buzzing only made him tired, having to suppress the urge to close his eyes and just fall asleep.

He contemplated over doing just that when the woman swatted over his cheek not currently sporting a tattoo and that helped him getting awake again. He practically jumped up, refraining from pulling up his underwear as she needed to get over the aftercare stuff but then he was free to go.

He stumbled over the threshold into the colder night air, the alcohol level noticeably lower but not enough to keep his head from spinning. He could hardly make out Joonas leaned against the lamppost across from him, but that stupid hat was indicator enough it was his friend standing there and not some stranger with striking similarity.

Joonas put out his cigarette when Olli came closer. “Well, how was it?”

“Not liking getting my ass spanked but other than that I’m fine.”

Joonas let out a loud laugh from deep in his chest, probably waking every sleeping person in the street. “Sounds like you had a good time. Show me?”

“Are you stupid? Not here. I don’t want to get arrested for public nuisance.” Olli said and shoved Joonas away when he made grabby hands towards his belt. He was definitely not getting naked here.

“Tease.” Joonas whined disappointed. “Oh! But let me show you mine.”

“Joonas, no. I don’t wanna see your ass now either. Besides, we got the same motive?”

But Joonas didn’t make a move to open his pants, no, he only shoved his hand into his face, making him crosseyed.

Grabbing the hand waving before his eyes, he tried to focus. “Joonas, what? Hey! What is this?”

There was clearly a diamond shaped thing on the back of his hand, that suspiciously looked like their band logo, and then it dawned on him.

“There is one on your ass too, right? You didn’t make me do that alone? Right? Joonas?”

His questions fell on deaf ears though and there was only maniac laughter coming from Joonas, who upon seeing Olli’s eyes darken, got a good headstart and ran away before Olli could grab the hem of his jacket. Cursing, Olli could do nothing than follow Joonas and made sure they didn’t lose their way to the hotel and then he could wrestle him down long enough to tattoo that stupid thing on him on his own.

[kitazura]

it’s the thought that counts, tendō satori

1.6k words of fluff; gn!reader

synopsis: tendō doesn’t understand the excitement surrounding valentine’s day until he decides to celebrate it with you.

notes: i haven’t finished the manga but i’m making timeskip content :D thank u rissie (@sugas-cookie) for beta-ing mwah <3

Tendō’s come to learn that Valentine’s day brings waves of purchases made by eager youth preparing to confess their affections, frantic lovers who’d completely forgotten about the occasion, and other last-minute shoppers looking for gifts to give their loved ones. This year is no different; the orders pile up so quickly he can barely keep up with them.

He’s not complaining—not when his bills are getting paid—he just doesn’t understand why everyone lets themselves get carried away by the Valentine rush. At the root of it all, it’s blatant commercialism, another scheme by society to run your bank account dry through obligatory benevolence, so why play into it? Well, as long as it keeps him in business, he supposes he’ll keep his critiques to himself.

“Don’t you think you’re being a little cynical?” you say when he shares his thoughts, the gentle smile on your lips showing you mean no harm. “I think the idea behind Valentine’s day is charming.”

He brushes his thumb over your cheek, humming in response. “Why’s that?”

“Isn’t it sweet when someone puts time and effort into something just for you?” you gush. Tendō watches your gaze turn dreamy as your mind wanders off into the clouds. “Like making chocolates for the person you like.”

“That’s what I do for a living, darling.”

“You like all of your customers?”

“Of course; they give me money, after all.”

You laugh, swatting his arm lightly. “I guess it’s hard to romanticize something you do as work.”

You’re not wrong. At some point, it’s expected for your job to lose its magic, no matter how passionate you are about it in the beginning. Chocolate has long lost its allure to Tendō, and now he spends day in and day out pouring it into molds and hurrying to shape it before it hardens beyond salvation. It’s become a chore for him, and even just catching a whiff of a candy bar sends his brain into the stress of work mode.

“What do you think about when you make chocolate, Satori?” you ask, interrupting his thoughts.

“What an odd question,” he remarks, clicking his tongue like a fussy mother hen. “I think about what I have to do to make it look presentable, of course. And then I count down the minutes until I come home to you.” He beams, proud of his response.

But pride turns to dismay when he catches a glint of disappointment in your eyes. His expression falls as he pulls you closer. “What’s the matter?”

You shake your head. “Nothing, nothing. Would you ever make me Valentine’s day chocolates?”

He tilts his head in surprise, then kisses your forehead. “I’d make you chocolate any day; all you have to do is ask.”

You seem to drop the matter, although he swears you sigh, “It’s not the same.”

He spends the next couple of days convincing himself he’d only imagined it, but something about your tone and attitude makes it stick in his brain. Whether you’d said it or not, there was clearly something behind your first question.

He asks you about it over dinner: “Is there a reason you want Valentine-themed chocolates in particular?”

“You’ve been thinking about that?” You laugh a little, surprised. “It’s not the Valentine theme I want; just the knowledge that you’re thinking of me on that day.”

He pesters you to elaborate—he’s always thinking of you, don’t you know that?—but you dodge his questions, leaving him in the dark once more.

Since you won’t give him any answers, he’ll just look for them on his own.

He texts Ushijima that night: “Why do you buy chocolate for the one you love?”

“Because they like it,” comes the reply. It’s simple, straightforward, but it’s not what he’s looking for.

He texts Semi the same question. The response is the length of a school essay, explaining the motivations of love in depths only a poet could reach, but it’s still not enough.

At work, your question echoes in his mind: What do you think about when you make chocolate, Satori?

What was he supposed to think about aside from the process? His customers?

He looks again at the order he’s making. It’s one he expects every year—it comes a week before Valentine’s, by a man whose wife adores chocolate covered strawberries. Tendō remembers it not only because of its consistency, but also because it’s always preceded by an order by the aforementioned wife, who asks for milk chocolate filled with raspberry créme that her husband is so fond of.

He wonders why they order the same thing at the same time every year. There’s no surprise in it, so what’s the point? Had he been in the husband’s place and you in the wife’s, he’d make sure to buy you something different every year, each present more extravagant than the last. He’d make sure that you’d always have something to look forward to in your married life.

A cheery little tune takes form beneath his breath as he pictures a life with you: silver bands around your fingers, lazy mornings on your days off, walks along the Seine.

He sweeps the excess chocolate off the molds in one clean stroke, sighing dreamily. You would buy a bigger, better apartment once you’d saved up enough, or even move to a quiet little cottage in the countryside.

His thoughts wander through the clouds as he mindlessly flits from one project to the next, forgetting to count the hours until his duty for today is through.

Lately, some of Tendō’s usual customers have been dropping by to say the same thing: there’s something different about his work these days. It’s not negative; on the contrary, actually, the quality’s spiked. But he can’t figure out what he’s been doing differently for the life of him.

It weighs on his mind from the time he clocks in to when he clocks out. He’s been using the same ingredients, the same equipment, so what was it?

His answer arrives in the form of the Chocolate Strawberry man, on the very eve of Valentine’s.

The man enthusiastically shakes Satori’s hand and thanks Him for his work, his hands warm and clammy from excitement despite the biting Parisian air.

“My wife would have liked to come along as well, but she’s preoccupied with the baby,” the man explains. “She wants you to know how much she enjoys your work, though. We look forward to it every year.”

“Then why not buy it off-season, when it’s cheaper?” Tendō asks. The man looks surprised, prompting him to continue. “With all due respect, you order the same thing every year, anyway, so why wait?”

The man laughs at the sincere look of curiosity in the chocolatier’s eyes, patting him on the shoulder, like a father to his son. “Why wait until birthdays to buy a cake? Why wait until Christmas to exchange gifts and set up the tree? It’s old advice, but it’s good: it’s always the thought that counts.” With one last pat on the back and an affectionate chuckle, the man wishes Tendō a good night—“Enjoy tomorrow with your loved ones.”

The stores are packed with the usual extremely last minute rush on Valentine’s morning, and for the first time, Tendō Satori is part of that crowd.

His arms are filled with the goodies he’d woken up early to buy: heavily discounted candies in tacky packages, a cheesy card, a bouquet, an offensively pink stuffed bear, crumpled foil balloons. (He’d made chocolates for you too; those were waiting in the fridge at home.) If it was an authentic Valentine’s experience you wanted, he decided, then it was an authentic Valentine’s experience you’d get.

He’d sent you out to pick up a cake across the city just before he’d left that morning, so the apartment is still empty when he returns. He checks his watch—only half an hour at most until you’d come back. Setting the bear on the counter, he gives it a determined grin.

“Think I can set everything up in fifteen?”

He’s just barely managed tying the balloons closed when he hears the knob on the front door jiggle as you unlock it.

“I’m home!” Your shoes thud to the floor, joined by Tendō’s footsteps as he hurries to help you with the cake. You thank him when he takes it out of your hands and leads you to the dining table while you chatter away. “Boy, did you see how many people are out there? It’s like all of Paris decided to run their errands this morning. It’s a miracle I got the cake here in one piece—what’s all this?”

Tendō grins, proudly motioning to his handiwork. The bouquet sits in the center of the table, surrounded by neatly arranged dishes of your favorite foods. The plush bear sits at the head, the card and candies tucked into its paws. Balloons reading “Happy Valentine’s” are tied to your chairs, gently swaying to and fro in greeting.

“Do you like it?” he asks. “I figured you wanted to do something for Valentine’s, but all the restaurants are booked so I had to improvise—”

You cut him off with a kiss, and another, then another. “I love it! I love you and I love”—you wave at the room—“all of this.” Another kiss to his cheek. “Thank you for thinking of me, Satori.”

He laughs as you hug him, squeezing as tight as you can. He thinks back to the strawberry man’s remark, “It’s the thought that counts.” And maybe, just a little, he’s starting to understand that there’s more to Valentine’s than business.

As you prepare the cake and gush over the bear, he pats the pocket of his jacket. The pretty little velvet box would have to wait until after lunch.

postscript: heyyy <3 i stopped writing for like three months srry LMAO but im back in business baby !! if i try hard enough and school stops kicking my ass maybe i’ll start posting twice a month ahaha ... unless?

[cno-inbminor]

domus (pt. 2)

a/n: i found some motivation to write part 2, so here we are! it’s unedited for now, but i’ll make edits in the morning. you will need to read part 1 for context!

plot: when kuroo tetsuro drops the hard-hitting truth that he’s fallen out of love with you, your first thought is to escape. but you find comfort in the least likely person: akaashi keiji, a boy you had grown up with out of forced family interactions, who always seemed so distant from you. yet you probably knew more about him than anyone else.

characters: fem!reader, ex-bf!kuroo, & family friend!akaashi

wc: ~5.5k, will probably have one more part

genre/warnings: angst with teaspoons of fluff; two mentions of alcohol and sex

pt. 1 | pt. 3

The sliver of sunlight peeking through the blackout curtains gently draws you from your sleep, peeling away the exhaustion that sits atop your eyelids. They creak open as your body shifts and stretches, and you bring a curled hand to rub your eyes awake. You don’t remember the last time you slept so deeply, and part of you wants nothing more than to burrow back into the gray sheets.

Gray sheets?

The world teeters on its axis as you abruptly sit up in an unrecognizable bed – colors dance in splotches across your vision as panic seeps into your lungs – and then you remember last night’s events. That’s right. You’re at Keiji’s nice apartment where he so kindly offered you his bed, taking the couch for himself, and you’re going to be here for the week.

“Jesus Christ,” you mutter to yourself before burying your face into the palms of your hands, trying to calm down. Your phone rests neatly on his nightstand and seems to taunt you as you lift your head back up. You wonder if Tetsuro texted last night, but if you had to be honest with yourself, you genuinely hope he didn’t. He might be anxiously waiting for your promised correspondence, as you imagine him checking his phone with hopeful eyes every time it vibrates in the pocket of his white coat. But you still needed some time and space.

Your body slides off the bed, stretching once you’re on your feet. With phone in hand, you check your emails and notifications while making your way to the window and then pulling back the curtains. Sunlight softly pours in as the rays just begin to peak above the horizon, painting the sky in gradient shades of marigold and fuschia pink. Tokyo seemed to be just as beautiful in the morning as it is at night, only that the pollution and smog in the air was more visible.

The digital clock hanging on Keiji’s bedroom wall indicates it’s barely past 7AM – in the past, Keiji could be a bit of a late riser on the weekends. Judging by the silence on the other side of the door, you figure he’s still asleep. If you are lucky and quiet enough, you could whip up some breakfast as a thanks for last night. In fact, you decided you’d do your best to make most of the meals. Surely Keiji wouldn’t mind a week without having to worry about meal prepping.

The bedroom door silently opens as you gently pad to the restroom – you freshen up a bit and swig around some mouth wash, staring into the mirror. Given Keiji’s comfortable state of dressing down last night, you figured it was fine to change into a large t-shirt and gym shorts for now. If he ever looks uncomfortable by your attire, then you could easily change into something else that’s a little more formal. Once you’re ready, you take a deep breath, slightly psyching yourself up for the possibility that Keiji is awake and kicking.

As you approach the living room, catching sight of your host’s sleeping complexion facing you, your heart skips a beat. One thing that you are unprepared for is just how beautiful Keiji is. It would be silly to deny this fact – you didn’t have to be in love with the man to say so. In addition to that mysterious aura he carried around, the ethereal and angelic beauty that Keiji possessed only enticed his admirers further. A smile cracks on your face as you muse the idea that it should be a crime for someone to look so delicately celestial, especially in sleep.

Keiji lies on his back with one arm bent over his head, the other atop his stomach. It seems that his blanket slipped to the ground at some point, and you could see a faint layer of goosebumps dancing across his skin. Slowly, you pick it up and gather the gray cotton blend into your arms, laying one end of it on his feet and moving up to cover the rest of his body. You leave the excess scrunched up right under his chin, taking a closer look at his face.

Keiji’s skin is smooth and dewy, eyelashes dark against his cheekbones. They flutter in dreams as his lips are slightly parted with even, soft breaths leaving them. You feel some concern when you spot the dark eye circles, hoping that he wasn’t overworking himself too much. But being an editor at a major shonen manga company must have its long list of demands, and Keiji was never short of doing his best.

Suddenly, he shifts and seems to burrow himself in the comfort of his blanket, effectively ripping you from the trance that you were in. You quickly tip toe away towards the kitchen, doing your best to stop your heart from beating so hard that you could feel it pulse in your ears. Your purse sits open on the counter and you pull your earbuds from it, slipping them in and connecting it to your phone. Putting on a soft indie playlist, you begin to become familiar with Keiji’s kitchen.

Much to your amusement, the placement of his pots, pans, cooking equipment, and more, resemble that of how things were arranged in his parents’ house. This makes your task much easier, and you grin to yourself even more when you open his refrigerator. Just like back then, the milk and cream are on the top shelf, egg carton in the middle pressed against the left wall, vegetables stored in the drawers, sauce jars on the door side, leftovers just beneath the eggs, and fruits by the eggs. It seems that some old habits really do die hard.

With the smile still lingering on your face, you begin cooking.

-

Keiji’s heart might just beat out of his chest any second now, and he thinks it’s a miracle that you didn’t realize he’s been awake all this time.

He first woke when he heard the water running from the sink in the bathroom, wincing slightly at the slight ache in his back. Keiji wasn’t lying when he said the couch was truly comfortable, but his mattress had undoubtedly spoiled him. It also would have been a bonus to wake up next to someone for once, but that was a thought he quickly squashed. Just as he was about to reach down for his blanket, the bathroom doorknob turned and he panicked. Keiji was quick to assume his previous sleeping position and shut his eyes, breathing as evenly as possible. He’s not quite sure why he’s feigning sleep, but part of him didn’t want you to feel bad for waking him up. It wasn’t terribly late in the morning yet, and he was usually still asleep at this time. Knowing you, you would feel awful and probably spend the rest of the week trying to make up for it, or worse, leave to spend the nights at a cheap hotel. He refuses to let such a thing happen under his watch, not if he could help it.

So caught up in his thoughts, he commends himself for not flinching when the blanket begins to cover his legs, and quite nearly bursts at your gentle movements and the way you tuck the edge under his chin. He remembers doing the same thing to you last night and wills away the blood from flooding his face at the memory of kissing you on the cheek. How could he be so reckless?

Unable to keep his position, he moves just slightly, and based on the tiny, distant creaks of his floorboards, you’ve probably walked away. As his ears catch the opening of cupboards and the fridge, only then does he dare to peek his eyes open again. He wonders what you’re thinking about with the small grin on your face, if it has anything do with the fact that you’re cooking for someone or whatever you might be listening to. Keiji’s gaze softens, watching you bob and sway to the music in your ears, remembering the times he drove the both of you home from university. Even though you could easily commute, Keiji’s mother demanded that he use his car and offer you a ride home for the holidays, and he’d give you full control of the music playing. You’d always try to play something he was okay with, bless your soul, and sometimes he would even sing along. He pretended to ignore your incredulous side glances when you realized he was singing as well, and would always look out his window to hide the smile that matched yours.

While he’s been in the city his whole life, living alone really does hit sometimes. It’s one thing to have his parents visit from time to time, but coming back to an empty and dark apartment can really take its toll. Perhaps that’s why he feels so fond right now, observing the way you move around his kitchen with so much familiarity. Adorned in your casual clothes, Keiji realizes that this is what it’d look like if you actually lived with him – except he’d probably still be asleep in his own mattress, a little nonplussed at waking up to an empty bed with the sheets fighting to retain some of your body heat. And he would get up and watch from the doorframe as you whipped something up for the both of you, perhaps walking towards you to wrap his arms around your waist from behind and—

No, you were still Kuroo’s.

And that fact hurt him more than he ever expected.

-

You let out a shrill yelp and nearly drop the silicone spatula when you turn away from the stove, only to spot Keiji resting his elbows on the countertop and placing his chin on top of folded hands. An amused smirk crosses his face as you rip your earbuds out and fling them over one shoulder, one hand reaching over to your heart. “Fucking hell, Keiji,” you pant. “Warn a girl, will you?”

“I didn’t want to disturb you,” he reasons, moving to grab a couple of plates from the drying rack by the sink and handing them to you. “Here.”

You thank him and bring them by the stove, lifting the frying pan to distribute the scrambled eggs. They’re just how he likes them, he notices, and also doesn’t fail to spot that his portion is larger than yours. As you begin to spread butter on a couple of pieces of toast, Keiji sees the that his coffee brewer is still open, believing that you haven’t caught the chance to start it. He makes sure there’s enough water and grounds for two cups, starting the machine and grabbing two mugs from the cupboard. One of them was brought from his parents’ home, and had been the mug you frequently used whenever you were there. Keiji knew you were a creature of habit, and once that porcelain had been lent to you at the age of thirteen, you would forever be its second owner. Why he brought it when he moved in was a bit of a mystery, yet deep down inside, he knew exactly why.

It was the same reason why he would buy that specific bottle of dessert wine, why he kept tabs on the ramen shop you liked, why he kept some of your song recommendations saved on his Spotify account, why your Instagram and Snapchat stories were always one of the first few to view on his respective home pages. But he’d keep that reason to himself for now.

“A splash of cream and a small teaspoon of sugar?” Keiji calls out curiously, silently praying that he remembers your coffee preferences correctly. He’s rewarded with the beam on your face as you nod, watching you bring the toast to the plates as he stirs your coffee. You spot the unaltered coffee and take it in your hands.

“Two splashes of cream and half a small spoonful of sugar?” You ask and Keiji nods. Inside, you pump your fist in delight. Keiji brings the two cups to the dining table while you bring the food and utensils – he could get used to this, really. The two of you say your thanks and dig in. When Keiji takes a sip of his coffee, he has to hide the upturned corners of his lips behind his cup because it’s exactly how he likes it, exactly how it tastes like every other morning he drinks coffee. And it baffles him to no end.

Unbeknownst to him, you feel the same way, eyes almost widening in surprise when you taste your own. Another detail that Keiji seemed to keep over the years was being added to this list you didn’t realize you would ever make, but you weren’t complaining. After all, he did assure you last night that you two were friends. It wasn’t all in your head and the time spent together hadn’t been for naught.

“Do you have any plans while you’re here?” He inquires behind a bite of toast.

“Not really,” you reply quietly, chopsticks now picking at the scrambled eggs. “The most I thought was to visit some museums that I missed going to, check out some of the food stalls maybe. I didn’t really think things through.”

“That’s okay,” Keiji comforts. “If you’d like, I can work from home for a few days and we can go do something. I don’t want to leave you all alone here for the whole day.”

“You don’t need to!” You wave your hands frantically, feeling like the worst imposer now. Not only have you showed up at his apartment unexpectedly and staying for the time being, he was offering to work from home to spend time with you?

“I haven’t used any of my vacation days this year anyways. I have a good reason now, and they don’t mind when I work from home either. I don’t ask very often, but I still get work done so it doesn’t bother them.”

“Are you sure that’s okay? Really, I can go find another place to stay and—”

“No.” Keiji’s tone is firm and final, leaving any words of protest to die on the tip of your tongue. “Seriously, it’s okay,” he reassures you softly. “Plus, I have a few ideas in mind.”

“I’ll cook most of the meals then,” you attempt to compromise. “It’s the least I can do.”

“Only because you won’t stop asking until I say yes,” he jokes with a twinkle in his eyes. “I’ll split the cost of the groceries.”

“Then I’ll just send the money right back to you.”

“Remember when you tried to give me gas money for driving us from and to uni for the holidays?”

“You always refused it,” you smile fondly at the memory. “Eventually I just started slipping it into the middle console when you weren’t paying attention.”

“That would explain the stray bills and coins in there,” he mutters. “My mother would throw a fit if she knew you gave me gas money.”

“Which is exactly why I told you not to tell her.”

“Should I tell her now then?”

“And have her call me up to scold me for doing so? Please, you’d be in just as much trouble for taking it.”

“To be fair, I wasn’t aware of the last few times, so I’d be safe.”

“…you’re ridiculous.”

“Oh?” Keiji chuckles, arching an eyebrow playfully as he takes another sip of his coffee.

“Shut up,” you grumble over a mouthful of eggs.

“So,” he leans back in his chair. “How do you feel about going to Osaka on Monday?”

-

While Keiji had a mental list of things that have cheered you up over the years, he figured you needed to see some friends from home. And to him, there was no better reminder of that than seeing Bokuto in the flesh.

Koutaro was aware of the friendship between the two of you and had always been kind to you, engaging in light conversation whenever you visited the volleyball courts to drop something off for Keiji. Kuroo had taken notice of you then as well, but nothing came of it until uni. Koutaro was also privy to some of Keiji’s affection, knowing how much the latter had kept an eye out on you during their last year of high school. So when he got a call and a short explanation of what happened, he was more than happy to hear that the two of you would be visiting.

You and Keiji hop on one of the earliest bullet trains to Osaka, where the grey-haired friend would meet you two at the station. Not long after the train gradually lurches forward, traveling at almost inhuman speeds, the food cart starts to roll down the aisle. You let Keiji take the window seat for this portion of the ride, quickly paying for two flavored onigiris before he can protest. After thanking the kind worker, you place his preferred filling in his lap, watching in delight as he thanks you and unwraps the item with care. Two and a half hours later, you find yourself wrapped up in Koutaro’s strong arms, struggling to catch your breath as he nearly squeezes the life out of you.

Much of the morning until lunch is spent observing their practice – you feel like you’re back in high school again with Koutaro’s excitement practically radiating off of him and into the stands. Keiji’s just glad that your mind is focused on something else, recalling the pensive yet troubled look on your face during most of the train ride as you stared down at your phone. Koutaro has kept his mouth shut for now, but Keiji could tell that he was dying to ask you some questions. After all, both of them had been good friends with Testuro, and there was no doubt that the former Fukurodani ace still kept in touch with him from time to time.

After being introduced to the team, shaking hands with the other players and bowing politely at a reasonable distance away specifically for Kiyoomi, you and Keiji leave with a wave, promising to join them for dinner. Koutaro had given you a list of possible places to sightsee, as well as a few recommendations for lunch near the gym. Eventually, you two settle on a nearby curry restaurant, and needless to say, your waiter had to witness some bickering over who would pay the check.

“Please help me out with this,” you pleaded, pulling a pout with the unsuspecting waiter who certainly feels like he’s caught in a lover’s quarrel now. “He paid for our train tickets, it’s only right that I pay for the meal.”

“Erm—”

“She’s been cooking all of the meals for the last few days, as well as for the food on the train, so I should be the one to pay.”

“You’re letting me stay at your apartment, of course I’m going to help cook, and I like cooking!”

“But still—”

In Keiji’s moment of argument, you snatch the ticket and slam it into the waiter’s hand with your credit card. “Take it. Take it and run.”

“(Y/n)—”

“I’m just going to listen to the lady this time, I’ll be right back,” the waiter says nervously before scurrying off, and you shoot Keiji a victorious look. He only shakes his head in response, but more amused than anything at your antics.

“You can’t win all the time,” he warns.

“I will most certainly try.”

-

Keiji certainly does try and wins when it comes to dinner, Koutaro watching with a grin on his face as you protest and whine when their waitress walks away with Keiji’s card in hand. Next to him, Atsumu murmurs, “Are they dating?”

“Nah, she’s dating another guy.”

“So what’s happenin’ here? Why’s she stayin’ with him again?”

“We don’t know the details – sounds like there was a falling out with her boyfriend and she showed up in Tokyo, called Akaashi unexpectedly. They’re old family friends, grew up living down the street from each other.”

“Sounds complicated.”

“Who knows?” Koutaro shrugs, denying the itch to text Testuro this second and ask for answers. You seem happier, however, genuinely listening to Shoyo’s animated storytelling of when he first practiced with the Fukurodani duo. Keiji chimes in from time to time, but otherwise staying silent and basking in the nostalgia. The team members sitting across from you find it difficult to not notice how often Keiji steals glances at you, who is none the wiser. There are a few times when Shoyo mentions a name you don’t quite remember, turning towards Keiji for answers. You don’t even have to say anything – one pair of furrowed eyebrows and he knows exactly what you’re asking about. Koutaro gathers that perhaps the last few days spent together have caused you two to fall in sync.

He wonders what Testuro would think about that.

-

“Come visit anytime you’re nearby!” Koutaro offers you with another tight squeeze, later releasing you to pull in Keiji for a more manly hug. The two of them knock fists together before Keiji guides you through the station with a hand on the small of your back, giving one last wave to the ace of the Black Jackals.

“Thank you for bringing me here,” you tell him once you’re seated in the train. Keiji has the window seat again. “It was nice seeing Bokuto-san again.”

“I’m glad this could cheer you up a bit, really.”

“It helped me a lot, more than you know.”

“That’s good to know.”

This time, you buy a couple of juice boxes from the cart and hand one over to Keiji, who gives you a teasing admonishing look. A glint in his eyes says that he’ll pay you back for this some day when you least expect it, and you won’t be able to do anything about it. As you quietly suck on the straw, you loosen the seatbelt around your waist and turn your whole body to face him, all while searching for the right words.

Keiji waits patiently, mirroring your movements to face most of his body towards you, only half his back resting on the back of his seat.

“Testuro told me he doesn’t love me anymore,” you quietly confess, peeking a look at your companion’s face to gauge his reaction. Keiji remains stoic, but you find it in yourself to continue.

“He sat me down after dinner about a week and a half ago, told me he couldn’t keep it in anymore. At first, he said a bunch of things about how I didn’t deserve to be strung along or left doubting myself – that it was all him and had nothing to do with me. And then he said he wasn’t in love with me anymore, but that I was still a really important person to him.”

Deep breaths.

“I didn’t know what to do, you know?” You ramble, meeting his gaze with wide, tired, frantic eyes. “What do you even do in that situation? And how am I not supposed to feel like it has something to do with me – like, am, am I not pretty enough now? Was the sex not good anymore? Did—did I change into someone that he couldn’t love? I just, I just couldn’t help but think it’s all my fault, that perhaps I changed into someone he couldn’t see the future with anymore. In some unknown time span, I went from being his everything to just…nothing.”

“You’re not ‘nothing’”, Keiji interjects. His eyes are hardened and dark again, much like when he asked you if Testuro had cheated on you the first night you arrived. You crack your best smile of gratitude, feeling the tears beginning to form.

“Perhaps you’re right – but you know what’s the worst part though? I shouldn’t even be mad at him,” you chuckle bitterly. “Immediately after that was dumped on me, he told me he would try to love me again, that he’d do his best because that’s how much I still mattered to him. I just needed to give him time, but I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“It’s wrong to force him. Whatever his reasons may be, I don’t want to force him to feel something for me again just for my happiness. Even then, I wouldn’t be 100% happy either, always worried that maybe he’d be faking his love for me, wondering when he’s gonna snap and call it all off. I might as well let him go now and revamp on my own, you know?”

Keiji keeps to himself and you can tell he’s trying to process your words. You didn’t mean to spill everything out on a bullet train of all places, but it just seemed like the right time after everything he’s done for you these last few days. Seeing Bokuto was another breath of fresh air that you didn’t realize you needed, and you would have to be completely oblivious to your environment to not notice the many questioning glances the ace had sent you throughout the day.

“I think you’re right in wanting to let him go – he shouldn’t feel like he has to try because of some obligation due to the bond you two have,” Keiji says carefully. “I’m sorry it happened though.”

“It’s nothing you could control, silly,” you let out a watery laugh, wiping tears away with the sleeve of your jacket. Keiji fishes out his handkerchief, gently swiping beneath your eyes. You can do nothing but sit there and wait for him to finish, feeling the care in each stroke against your skin. Never in a million years would you have predicted the two of you would be in this position, and part of it leaves you lightheaded. When he’s done, you open your eyes to meet his, though they flicker down to the silk cloth in his hands. That design…

“Is that the handkerchief I bought you as a souvenir from Kyoto?” You blurt out. Keiji looks at down at his hand and nearly curses at himself. For the first time in your life, you see him look somewhat sheepish and at loss for words.

“It came in handy,” he says fondly. “It’s really good quality, and I figured I’d keep it with me just in case. Thank you for this, again.”

“Well, you bought me that keychain from your senior class trip – it only seemed right that I give something in return.”

Keiji lets out a small, teasing scoff, deciding to remain silent for the time-being. It’s after a couple of minutes does he choose to speak up.

“You’re justified in how you felt, (y/n). I don’t know what it’s like to be in that situation, but I can only imagine how heartbroken you must have been. You’ve always given 120% to the important people in your life – I’ve seen it. So if you wanted to run away for a little bit for some space and time to think, that’s completely understandable. You’re allowed to be angry and bitter, but there is one thing I’d rather you not feel.”

“What would that be?” You ask, genuinely curious.

Keiji leans the side of his head against the headrest, staring at you with a gentile fondness that you also hadn’t seen directed towards you before. “I don’t want you feeling insecure about yourself. You’re a wonderful person, (y/n), and just because Kuroo-san doesn’t love you anymore, it doesn’t mean you’ve become any less than that. He just might’ve not been the right person. I can guarantee there’s at least one person out there who will love you until the day you die.”

“You can’t guarantee that.”

“I most definitely can,” Keiji challenges firmly, leaving very little room for argument.

“For a man who hasn’t dated, you’re definitely a bit of a hopeless romantic,” you laugh, ignoring Keiji’s eyeroll.

Honestly, you wouldn’t have it any other way.

-

You doze off in the Uber back to his apartment building, and even when he gently shakes you, you’re still incredibly groggy. Keiji has to practically catch you when you lose your footing, apologies spilling in slurred words from your lips. At this rate, one of you is going to get hurt on the way to his unit, and he’d rather have it not be you. Luckily, he’s not carrying much and makes the executive decision to crouch in front of you.

“Keiji…?” You murmur, trying to put together the pieces in your exhausted brain.

He holds his arms out behind him. “Come on, I’ll give you a piggyback ride to the unit.”

“But…”

“The sooner you get on, the sooner we can get home and sleep.”

With no energy left in you to deny him, you climb onto his back as carefully as you can, wrapping your limbs around his neck and waist as his arms latch around the backs of your knees. Keiji hoists you up, shifting your body slightly to center your weight, and begins the trek. He nods at the security guards before angling his head to face yours. You’ve pretty much passed out again, but he needs you to do three more things.

“Can you punch in the passcode for me?” He tells you the numbers slowly, making sure you’re inputting them correctly. Keiji asks a similar question when they get into the elevator, and one last task when they reach his door.

“You did such a good job,” he praises you, the warmth in his tone washing over you like freshly dried sheets. Keiji sits on the edge of his bed and lets you fall back into his comforter, laughing to himself when you curl up on your side without a care left in the world.

“Hey,” he calls for you attention and holds onto your hands before pulling you up. Your hair is mussed and he attempts to fix it while coaxing you to properly get ready for bed. “You’re gonna need to take off your jacket before you go to bed – I don’t mind if you sleep here in your jeans, but it won’t be comfortable if you keep your jacket on.”

You grumble something unintelligible but start removing your arms from the sleeves. Keiji nearly coos, folding your jacket over the seat in front of his desk before returning to you. Somehow, you’re still sitting upright, and he kneels in front of you so he can maintain eye contact to keep you awake. “You’re doing great. Now do you want to brush your teeth?”

At first you shake your head, but then pause, and nod instead. “Okay, stay awake for me, all right? I’ll be right back.”

True to his word, Keiji comes back promptly with your toothbrush already damp and holding a dollop of toothpaste, placing it correctly in your hand. You have enough muscle memory left to aim for your mouth, languidly stroking the bristles against your teeth. Keiji joins in, accompanying you until you’re ready to spit out the toothpaste. He lets you lean into him as he half-carries you into the bathroom, holding your hair back as you rinse your mouth and wash away any excess toothpaste. You sit on the toilet lid still half-asleep as you wait for him, somewhat expecting him to help you back into bed at this point.

“Good job, now you can go to sleep,” Keiji murmurs, once again supporting your weight on the journey back to his room. He first flips the comforter and sheets away so they can cover you once you’re in bed, again tucking you in properly. “Goodnight,” he whispers before moving to grab a change of clothes, but a pull on his sleeve stops him. He turns back to look at you, noticing how much you’re struggling to stay awake.

Your arms pull out from underneath the covers and shakily reach for his face. Completely unsure of what to do, Keiji stays still and waits with bated breath. Your fingers grasp the arms of his glasses, sliding them off the bridge of his nose and folding them at the hinges. They gently place it by your phone on his nightstand, a smile creeping onto your face as you snuggle back into the sheets. “You can’t sleep with your glasses on, silly,” you slur.

That’s the last thing you say before you’re out like a light.

Keiji doesn’t know how long he stands there, trying to make sense of everything that just happened. All he knows is that the moonlight spilling from his window makes you seem surreal. He wonders if you’re truly, actually here in his bed, and just did something as trivial as taking off his glasses for him. But that gesture alone sends his heart into overdrive, remembering the care you put in to make sure you wouldn’t accidentally break them with your sleep-addled clumsiness.

He ponders on it for the next few minutes until he’s once again laid down on the futon, throw blanket strewn across his body, and eager to follow you into the dreamworld.  

[something-tofightfor]

T'ad nayc or'atu (Two No More)

Pairing: The Mandalorian and his thoughts

Word count: 2759

Rating: None, really. Just very angsty. 

Summary: The Mandalorian’s got a lot of things on his mind. Some are things he’s known for years, and others ... well, they’re much more recent discoveries. 

Author’s note: This is my first attempt at writing something for a fandom that doesn’t involve a Ben Barnes character. I’ve been unable to stop thinking about The Mandalorian’s season finale since it aired ... and this is the result. I kept myself to a limited word count because I didn’t want to drag it out, but I overshot that by 700 words, so...

I have something else in the works for him, too... and I’m not limiting my word count on that one.

This takes place immediately (within a few hours) after the finale - and it contains spoilers from both seasons of The Mandalorian - so if you’re not caught up, you don’t want to read this.

Many thanks to @irishskyeomalley for pointing out that Din’s original pulse rifle wouldn’t exist at this point in the story - I appreciate you bringing that to my attention, and it’s been corrected. 

(Got the gif from a google search, but I *think* it originally came from @/bestintheparsec)

He has nothing now. 

 Nothing but the endless expanse of space, stretching out as far as he can see. 

 No ship. No purpose. No task to complete. No real reason to choose a specific destination, set the coordinates, and wait for whatever happens next, his eyes on the stars.  But most of all, nothing means no quiet coos or sighs in the dark, no tiny hands grabbing for his cape or his helmet, no need to turn his head slightly to the right, one hand reaching out for the small sphere to slowly twist it back into place atop the threaded end of the Razor Crest’s shifter. 

 For the first time in years, The Mandalorian has nothing driving him forward and urging him into action - and it’s shaken him to his core. 

His shoulders slump, though he isn’t wearing any of the armor he’s come to consider an extension of himself. His head hangs toward his chest, but it’s bare of the helmet that he’s kept on for the vast majority of his life. He can still feel those small fingers gently making contact with the skin against his jaw and cheek, though they’re replaced with his own now; bare and gloveless, as he cradles his own cheeks, as if keeping them there makes a difference. 

 It was the first time anyone - any thing had touched his face since he was a child, and the Mandalorian was barely able to keep it together while it happened on the light cruiser’s well-lit bridge. 

 Hours later? It’s impossible. He’s locked away in the cockpit of the small freighter he took from Moff Gideon’s light cruiser, hunched over in the pilot’s chair - and he is alone. 

 Cara won the argument over who got to take Gideon in; setting off toward Nevarro in the cruiser while Bo-Katan and Koska, Fennec and Fett went their separate ways. He doesn’t know - or care - who went where. The Mandalorian only concerned himself with replacing his helmet once the doors closed behind Grogu and the Jedi, the bridge as silent as could be as the man turned to face his allies - and Gideon. 

 From there, he set out to find a way off the ship, letting the others take care of the necessary arrangements. There was no reward to collect - Gideon’s capture, the destruction of the dark troopers, the seizure of a fully equipped light cruiser - all of those things should have been rewards in themselves, a bounty to turn in, credits and prestige to collect, a relief, but the Mandalorian felt nothing thinking of them, his thoughts consumed by feeling as though somehow, despite the fact that he was largely physically unharmed, he was on the losing end of the most important battle of his life.

 For as long as he can remember, he’s always had a purpose; direction leading him to his next quarry, the next location - meaning to an otherwise disjointed and difficult existence. It’s one that he knows, and knows well. 

 In fact, it’s all he knows. The creation of structure from nothing. Foundling to full-fledged member of The Tribe. No one to a feared Guild bounty hunter. It is The Way, but it’s also his way - or at least it was. 

 He has nothing now, but that wasn’t always the case. 

 The Asset. The Child. The package. The Kid. Grogu. In such a short time, the Mandalorian’s entire worldview changed; expanding from the way of life he’d known and accepted to something different, something more. 

 Something meaningful. 

 It happened slowly at first; gratitude for the help with the Mudhorn. Frustration at the way his small, wide-eyed companion was so curious about everything, slowing him down - and at the same time, hurrying him; the prospect of such a large reward motivating the Mandalorian to return to Nevarro, turn in the quarry and continue on. Simple. Routine.

 But unlike the hundreds of other assignments he was given, palm sized pucks passed over the smooth surface of the cantina tabletop, this quarry wasn’t simple. 

 He’ll never forgive himself for turning the tiny creature back over to The Client. Ever, even though he knows that he’s long been forgiven by the only person that matters. He’ll never understand how that’s possible - how, after nearly being responsible for a continued lifetime of torture and seclusion - and probably a slow and painful death -  he had a chance to redeem himself in the eyes of the Child - and, maybe in his own mind at the same time. 

 At first, he didn’t understand why he even took the chance, why he pushed his entire belief system to the side for that specific bounty and no others before it.

 Gratitude and frustration slowly changed into concern and contemplation, the Mandalorian thinking only about ensuring the large egg-shaped carrier stayed with him no matter what, or making allowances to keep the Child safe and close by at all times, even to his own detriment - and in a few cases, immense danger for the both of them. 

 Trust takes time, but when you don’t have time, what option is there? He survived for years on pure instinct - an ability to think and act exactly when necessary, to get things done, to guess what was coming and prepare for it.  Self preservation was key, but at some point, that need for self preservation shifted - the Mandalorian wasn’t only concerned for himself and his own well-being; he had to consider the Kid’s, too. 

 Mandalorians don’t have friends or attachments - at least he didn’t, but the insertion of the Child into his life changed that, too. It made the impossible seem possible, caused the silence and solitude of deep space to feel much less isolated. He wouldn’t admit it, but having a constant companion was something that the Mandalorian grew used to in the months that he cared for the Kid.

 He feels dampness on his cheeks beneath his fingers. Whether he’s currently crying or it’s remnants from earlier, he’s not sure. He knows the Armorer and the rest of the Tribe would be outraged to see him - a shell of himself, devoid of the armor and prestige that he’s earned throughout the years as a Child of the Watch and a member of the Tribe and then the Guild. In this moment, he’s nothing more than a man, one of trillions in the galaxy. 

 Has he shown anyone his face? Yes. Has anyone ever removed his helmet? Yes. Because the Mandalorian is someone - and he removed it twice himself. Once, out of necessity - the other time at the wordless request of the only thing in the galaxy he’d ever value more than his own code of honor.

 Grogu. Not the Asset. Not the Child. Not the package. Not the Kid. Grogu. His kin. 

 Even thinking the name brings on a fresh pang in his battered chest. His skin is littered in bruises from the fight with the single dark trooper; it’s a miracle his helmet wasn’t crushed from the force of the repeated blows. His body aches from dueling Gideon, the sleepy little boy awaiting the final outcome from his perch on the bench in the other room, the Mandalorian doing everything in his power to keep him safe and secure while fighting for freedom - and for both of their lives. 

 But none of it matters; the wounds will heal, the bruising and scrapes will fade. They always do. But until they’re gone, they’ll remind the Mandalorian of what he had, what he fought for, and what he lost. 

 Aliit ori'shya tal'din. Family is more than blood. 

 He thought he understood what that meant - growing up the way he did, but the Mandalorian never truly knew what a connection with someone was before Grogu. It was more than wanting to look after him; it was the need to understand him, the desire to protect him, find him someone like him, someone that understood him and what he needed to take control of his power - at any cost. Following the Creed - his personal creed - but in a way that wasn’t only about justice or brute force. 

 Or so he thought. 

 He has nothing left, but it’s about more than having no current purpose, more than not having his ship. He can still hear the Armorer’s words, telling him that he is as the Child’s father, that their destinies are no longer separate. 

 A clan of two. He sees the signet on his pauldron now as it rests on the floor of the cockpit, glinting in the low light as he stares at it through his fingers. Each day, that declaration became more real to him. The bounties, the missions, the journeys - they were all leading somewhere, and even though the Mandalorian knew his given task, he’s willing to admit that part of him never really believed he’d find the other Mandalorians, let alone Jedi … or Grogu’s kind. 

 And, finally lifting his head slightly, the Mandalorian realizes that that same part of him didn’t want to. It  goes against the Creed, it goes against his teachings, but it’s the truth - and if there’s one thing that he’s known for that has nothing to do with his reputation of never failing to bring in a bounty, it’s speaking the truth. 

 He told the truth to Greef and Cara. To Omera - even to Cobb and Peli, his voice always modulated but no less strong and certain. Only Grogu ever heard him waver, the Child teetering on the edge of sleep in the tiny compartment on the Crest as the Mandalorian prepared him for a new life with Ahsoka. 

 But the Jedi’s refusal to train him, her unwillingness to even try, despite Grogu’s obvious abilities gave the Mandalorian pause. What happened after is little more than a blur to him. 

 He remembers joking with Grogu about “Jedi things” as they climbed the Tython mountainside, remembers the fear he felt, deep in his chest at the initial glimpse of Fett’s ship, the anguish that began building with the appearance of the first assault ship and his inability to penetrate the force field that surrounded Grogu’s vulnerable body, no matter how many times he tried. 

 But none of it compared to the way it felt seeing his son clutched in the black arms of the dark troopers, speeding back up into the atmosphere. Throughout all of his years, the Mandalorian had never experienced that type of fear or devastation. By the time Mayfeld was on board with the plan, the Mandalorian was almost on autopilot; repeating that he wouldn’t be showing his face to save the boy, but knowing - deep down - that it would likely come to that. And he didn’t hesitate, lifting his helmet in the presence of other living things for the first time in decades, getting the necessary information and then enduring what came next, heart beating a thunderous rhythm behind his ribs the entire time he was exposed. Sending the message to Gideon had made him feel better, but it still wasn’t enough. Using the man’s words against him felt good to the Mandalorian - it felt right. But words aren’t actions - and so he’d done what was necessary again before setting out for the cruiser.  

 Even those thoughts weren’t as clear in his mind as things became the first time he’d seen Grogu again - handcuffed and sitting on the bench in the hold, sleepy eyed and visibly exhausted - but perking up at the sight of him. 

 The Mandalorian couldn’t ever remember feeling such relief, the emotion growing as he gently lifted him to his chest and turned toward the door. Taking Gideon down hadn’t been about winning, it was about making the man pay for the singular most important crime that he’d committed: tearing the Mandalorian’s clan apart, even for a short time. 

 The first time, their parting was the Mandalorian’s choice. The second? His fault for being too slow by just a few seconds. The third? 

 The Mandalorian’s cry of anguish fills the confined space, the man finally rising from the chair and lifting his right arm to strike the inside wall of the ship with his fist, bare knuckles instantly aching from contact with the metal. There’s no cushion from his gloves; no armor or padding on his arms to absorb any of the impact’s shock. The pain is there, adding to everything else, and it’s more than dull. 

 But he wants to feel it. He needs to feel it. Because the third separation is the one that hurts the most - and yet it’s the one that needed to happen. 

 He knows this. Knows that it was his destiny to reunite Grogu with his own kind, people that can understand him, train him, help him become stronger. They can keep him safe. That’s their way, the Jedi way. He knows this, but it doesn’t make things any easier, or cause the still-blooming ache he feels to subside. 

 The Mandalorian straightens up and inhales as deeply as he can; chest expanding without the weight and shape of the beskar restricting it. He closes his eyes and remembers the last glimpse of Grogu; huge brown eyes peeking over a black-caped shoulder as the hold doors slid shut. That’s who you belong with. 

 He said the words, staring into those eyes and willing the tiny, warm thing in his hands to understand - he wasn’t giving him up or abandoning him. He wasn’t trying to pawn off his responsibilities. He didn’t want to say goodbye. No, he was doing exactly what he’d spent many previous decades avoiding - putting the needs and interests of someone else before his own for the greater good. Doing what was best for someone he loves.

 As the Mandalorian looks through the front viewport of his temporary vessel, he takes another deep breath, letting it out in a shaky exhale. His fingers curl around the edge of the console, gripping it so tightly that his joints creak, but he doesn’t care. This is the Way. 

 Space is silent and dark. It’s endless and full of possibility. The Mandalorian knows that he knows almost nothing about the true extent of it. His bounties have limited him to the Outer Rim territories for most of his life, and it will likely stay that way. 

 If he were to tell anyone that he had nothing, they would disagree. 

 He’s got his life. He’s got his armor and weapons - beskar forged in capable hands, meant to last generations, his trusty blaster, and his newly acquired spear. He’s got people he can count on - Cara and Greef, Cobb Vanth and Fennec and Boba Fett. Peli - ornery to her core but her loyalty as certain as each day’s double sunrise on Tatooine. 

 He’s got newfound and unwanted responsibility; the hilt of the Darksaber hanging heavy at his hip. With Gideon out of the way, there’s no more running - no need to planet hop, never staying out of hyperspace for too long. He has freedom. That’s new for him, and something he hasn’t yet had the time to consider fully. 

 He’s got his memories, the feelings he let bubble to the surface during his time with Grogu unable to be shut away. The Mandalorian spent so long alone that it took time - too much time - to open up to the small creature, but now that he has? He won’t ever close himself off so wholly again. The Creed says that once a Mandalorian’s helmet is removed and his identity is no longer a secret, there’s no going back - but for this Mandalorian, that won’t be the case. 

 He can’t lie about it - and he won’t, if asked. Because the Mandalorian also has his word, and his word is his bond. The Mandalorian says what he means, and means what he says, no matter the situation. Eyes widening and lips parting, his right hand releases the console and reaches into his pocket, fingers curling around the small metal ball he carries there - the only physical remnant of the Razor Crest he has left.  

 He has nothing now, but there was a time when he had everything without ever realizing it - and that time will come again. He’s sure of it. 

 It only takes a few seconds to twist off the ridged knob on the shifter in front of the co-pilot’s seat, replacing it with the smooth, curved piece of durasteel. Glancing down at it, the Mandalorian’s lips twitch into a quick smile before his eyes close, and he gives a single nod to the empty space surrounding him. 

 “I promised.” 

 ---- 

Tagging: (a few people that I thought might be interested based on responses to earlier posts; If you want to be added to future Mando stuff, please ask!)

@the-blind-assassin-12​ @malionnes​ @its-my-little-dumpster-fire​ @pheedraws​ @alraedesigns​ @gollyderek​ @lloveyouinsecret​