#(but i tracked her sleeping and she slept enough it just was concentrated in the early afternoon bc fuck me)

[hazard-and-friends]

my pure herdy dog is experimenting with exactly how flat she can get and the herding mix is nesting in all of his blankets we are not the same

[braveclementine]

Tracking

Warnings: None

Copyright: I do not own any Marvel characters or locations. However, I do own my OC Elizabeth Lightwood. I do not condone any copying of this.

Tony made sure that everything was in order. He now had a suit, a fancier one than he'd made in the caves, that was for sure. It was higher tech, with more gadgets. Not to mention slimmer, fitting to his body better. Still needed to be painted.

Of course, flight was a big more difficult, but he was working on that when Pepper wasn't around.

Pumpkin had healed up nicely and he was always amused and little struck by the grace that she ran around on her playground with.

The two of them together had experimented with different rabbit chew toys. There was this wooden atom ball and they would play a form of fetch with it. Tony wasn't sure though if they were really bonding.

He loved petting her in his lab. She came in sometimes when she wanted comfort and would sit on top of his desk, practically sleeping as he stroked her fur. Very rarely, she would sometimes lick his fingers, which was really adorable, he had to admit.

Her friend had proven harder to track though. The girl hadn't been seen in the cameras much as she'd mostly stayed in her car and then driven through the drive through the following morning to grab doughnuts on the way back to wherever she had come.

Her license plates had been a bit easier to track, leading him to find that the girl lived somewhere in Carson City, Nevada. But it seemed on the outskirts in the suburbs. Once he was in the suburbs, he knew tracking down the parents of Pumpkin would be harder.

He had attempted to get a name from the girl herself, whose name he had found out was Elizabeth Lightwood. However, when he finally got a phone number and called the house, he was told that the girls' eighteenth birthday had passed and she was a Cheetah, unable to talk right now.

A cheetah? He had thought about that as he set the phone down, glancing over at where Pumpkin was adorably sprawled on her side, eyes closed, little nose twitching as she slept.

He sighed, rubbing his jaw. There was no reason whatsoever to feel bad about his soulmate. In fact, he had many theories about why she had become a rabbit. It had to have something to do with her parents. She had been scared her entire life, so she had become a prey animal in her soulmate life as well.

Instead of feeling jealous he hadn't gotten an exotic creature, he told himself, he should be trying to make her feel safe with him.

He sighed as he clicked off the map of the suburbs of Carson City. He couldn't use them now. He would take care of the parents later.

He picked up the gauntlet and got back to work.

🎃 :::::  🧡  ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━  🧡  ::::: 🎃

You rolled over, waking up from your nap to see that Tony was still wide awake- or maybe slightly awake- and working on some sort of gauntlet. He had been building something for weeks now and it was all coming together to look like some sort of metal suit. You knew it could fly, though you had no idea what the billionaire wanted with it.

Probably just to put it in the glass case and look at something he had built. Or maybe it was a symbol of how he escaped from the Afghanistan caves. He had told you many stories about his time over there, and stories about his time beyond. He was very careful not to tell you any stories of past women.

Of course, you knew he was a playboy so if he had shared any stories of him and other women, it wouldn't have been a surprise. But at least he was being considerate enough of your feelings not to.

Of course, you and Tony weren't bonding that much. He was very immersed in his projects, which often required both concentration and both hands. But you stayed in there, enjoying the silent company. There was something pleasurable about watching the great Tony Stark build something right in front of you.

Pepper was always so kind, making sure you had eaten and drank. That Tony had eaten and gotten fluids. He rarely let her into the lab so he always left for those 'check-ups' as he called them. But you could tell he was pleased that someone cared enough about him to check up on him.

Pepper and Happy didn't live in Tony's house, but they had a small property down the hill that they lived on. That way, it was close enough for Pepper's job as Tony's assistant- and Happy being what Tony called the 'forehead of security'- but also so that they had their separate place.

You had also been introduced to a darker man named Rhodey. Apparently they were best friends though Rhodey was often exhausted with Tony's flamboyant behavior, he himself being a man of principle. But soon Rhodey was off doing missions with the Air force so you didn't see him as much either.

And then, there was Obadiah Stane. Apparently, he had been like a second father figure to Tony or something like that. They were very close, but Obadiah was trying to convince Tony to turn back to making weapons because there was no industry in peacemaking.

He liked you a little to much, liking to hold you as he talked to Tony. Tony always seemed to frown a little at that though. You didn't really like it either, his big hands around your tiny body. You were always terrified that if he got to angry at Tony or something, he would crush you.

You often squirmed out of his lap to sit down next to Tony, who would give you soothing pets while not breaking stride as he spoke to Obadiah.

You got to your paws now, sitting back on your back legs so that you could use your front paws to clean your face and ears. Tony looked over and smiled. "Adorable as always Pumpkin."

You hopped around a little bit, sniffing at the strange things in his lab. You liked marking your territory with the gland under your chin, rubbing it on everything Tony was using to work on while he watched in amusement.

"You know, since you like messing with my work so much, I think I'll make you a costume just for you." Tony laughed as he yanked his screw driver away from you to continue fixing up his glove. "I can just see you now in a little red and gold metal flying costume. You'll probably break all the lights in the building though."

You turned your head to start cleaning your back.

"Jarvis, put that in the idea bin." Tony called out.

"What? The ridiculous notion of a flying rabbit? Or the flying rabbit suit?" Jarvis asked.

Tony glared up at the unseeable AI. "A suit for a rabbit. Period."

"You do realize that pet stores make clothes for pets." Jarvis replied, though there was a ding as the idea was added to a special task bar.

"Yeah, but no Iron man rabbit suits." Tony pointed out. "Of course, I'll have to come up with a better name for it."

"It's a ridiculous notion." Jarvis repeated.

You gave your ears good licks until you felt nice and clean. Tony petted you when he put the screwdriver down, naturally messing up your fur once more but you didn't care. You nudged his hand with your nose and he picked you up and put you on the floor.

The two of you had silently learned each others communication habits. There were lots of noiseless actions you performed and he had learned what all of them meant and had memorized them.

You licked up some water from your bowl and then watched as Tony stopped having more conversation with Jarvis on the suit he was working on and asked, "Jarvis, did we get an invite for that?"

"I have no record of an invitation, sir." Jarvis replied.

You turned away from your water bowl to see a blond lady on the TV talking about some sort of firefighter fundraiser.

Tony picked up one of the Iron man masks, putting it over his face to stare at the TV while the lady behind the screen talked about how Tony hadn't been seen since his last press conference.

He lowered it as they continued to talk about how he was dealing with PTSD and must have been bed-ridden for weeks. You hopped back over to the chair.

"The render is complete." Jarvis interrupted the TV program.

You couldn't see the screen but Tony sat up and asked, "A little ostentatious, don't you think?"

Tony turned in the chair, nearly hitting you to put his glass on the other counter. He quickly picked you up and put you down on the surface he was working on.

"What was I thinking?" Jarvis asked sarcastically. "You're usually so discreet."

"Tell you what. Throw a little hot-rod red in there."

"Yes. That should help you keep a low profile." There was a pause as you watched the completely gold suit became more red than gold and it looked really good. You approved of the colour scheme anyways. You looked up to where Tony was still drinking that nasty green gunk for his health. "Render is complete."

"Hey, I like it. Fabricate it. Paint it." Tony commanded.

"Commencing automated assembly." Jarvis replied. "Estimated completion time is five hours."

Tony stood up, checking his watch and said, "Don't wait up for me honey."

You weren't sure if he was talking to you or Jarvis.

He pocked the watch, putting you down on the ground, and then headed out of the room. 

[msfbgraves]

Terry is “very gay leaning” in Mobverse. Yet he fucks girls, and strays with a female (granted who looks like a feminine version of Daniel…) Would you say he’s bisexual with a strong preference for boys, or gay who is horny enough to fuck a woman now and then?

Daniel seems bisexual, but then again he loves anyone regardless of gender, so maybe he is just attracted to everyone lol. He certainly was in love with Kumiko before falling in love with Terry, and slept with both. Does he have a preference for being the “giving” partner or being the “receptive” one?

In an ideal situation, Daniel would "give" and "receive" as much as he wanted with whomever he really loved. Because that love is real; he doesn't sleep around. Still, he loves easily, and deeply. But he is with Terry, so giving? Sorry, little one. Then again who has the energy with Terry's sex drive. Guy's a menace. Gender, though? Daniel doesn't factor that in. Are you nice? Are you kind? Are you hot? Daniel would be game if you are.

Terry has slept with omega girls, because as an Alpha he is attracted to omegas. But, he's not really attracted to girls. Maybe a very specific kind of girl. I like the idea of sexuality as a spectrum; that even if you have a very strong preference for one gender, somebody else may slip through anyway. And Terry knows he's liked omega girls well enough, why not find a beta girl like that, then? But usually if he's drunk and horny, he falls for a twink. Which is totally accepted for Alphas because you can't impregnate a beta boy, and impregnating a beta girl without mating is seen as a very big crime. Beta girls sometimes need to get their stomach cut open to deliver a puppy. Sometimes having pups poisons them from the inside. The thought! You don't do that. So like, from 26 to 29, Terry has been like "Focus, Terry, sure you can get off with a twink or a strung out mob kitty, but you need to find a mate. You want pups! There must be some unicorn girl around, why can't you find her? You're not looking hard enough. Concentrate! Some of them are very omega like. Damn this is work, let's find a twink to blow off some steam. OK, that was nice, now to get back on track...." He knows the rich omegas are out of his league. Maybe in 20 years, but who knows if he'll live that long? He wants litters and litters of pups, he's waited long enough, where is she? Anyway, back to work - oh, that's a pretty omega boy, alright, which means that's a walking trap, no thanks, but wait, what, LaRusso wants to introduce him??

[casualnepotism]

i needed to get this stupid au out of my head so i went to write a lil drabble and it SPIRALED and i had to do something with it so now it's here ANYWAY

no one look at this especially not bekah 🔫

The first time Nilos found Sunny in his bed was confusing. He was fresh off a twelve-hour stakeout in Bluestown, returning to a dark apartment and an empty fridge; even his bourbon had disappeared. The realization that he’d have to try and sleep while sober only exacerbated the pounding headache, so he’d dry-popped some ibuprofen and headed for his room.

Where, tie loose around his neck and hands raised to buttons, he realized that his bed didn’t normally breathe. The sparse jumble of bedding and pillows was normal- he couldn’t remember the last time he’d properly made the damn thing- but the way the pile was moving.. that was odd. Cog was thirteen now, she hadn’t slept in his bed in years. A soft smile slipped onto his face at the thought that she’d actually turned to him for comfort again, then he scowled at the idea that she’d needed comforting and he hadn’t been there.

Fuckin typical.

Softly, he crossed the room to pull back the blanket, and stopped: a splash of teal curls was splayed on his pillows, underlaying a single long, bronze ear. Well that certainly wasn’t his daughter. For a long moment, Nilos was still. Reviewing the facts:

His partner (in crime solving, he reminded himself) was asleep in his bed,

His partner had never been in his bed before (right? Or had she? Did this happen often?),

His partner was very much asleep and, likely, would continue to be for the next at least few hours (because gods forbid she learn to trance like a normal Elf).

Which left him with a few options:

Go sleep on the couch (horrible for his back, confusing for Cog in the morning),

Go sleep in the guest room (not his bed, equally confusing for Cog in the morning),

Wake Sunny up and kick her to one of those places (objectively the correct thing to do and yet it felt rude. She was technically a guest, after all),

Just get in the bed and sleep with her (ABSOLUTELY not, he could already feel the blush he’d get from her teasing).

He was still standing, staring blankly out the window, hand on Sunny’s shoulder, when he felt a gentle touch on his thigh. Eyebrows furrowing, he looked down. 

Sunny was looking up at him through dark lashes, eyes slowly blinking. Her finger didn’t move from where it was poked into his leg.

They stared at each other. Nilos could feel the silence of the room settling down on him as he tried to figure out what to say. And then-

She smiled. It was a soft and sleepy look, crinkling her whole face with contentment- even her hand relaxed from a poke to just gently holding the loose fabric of his slacks. “Hey, Bandit.”

He glared. He definitely hadn’t told himself to glare, hadn’t cared about the silly nickname in months, but he could still feel himself glaring. She smiled at him in response and for some reason his chest got tight. He took a deep breath. “Hey howdy. I’m back.”

Sunny’s fingers tightened momentarily on his pants. “Yeah. Have fun?”

“No.” It was a short answer to describe a bad, boring, completely normal night, but he was having a hard time concentrating. “Didn’t see anything, either.”

“Oh,” Sunny’s eyes had drifted from his, tracking downward and getting stuck somewhere around his neck. For another moment, silence reigned, long enough that Nilos had run through all the things he could’ve done in the past two minutes to upset her; any promise he'd made before he left that he’s left unfulfilled. He hadn’t even done any coke since he left, and fucking hell if he couldn’t feel it. His mouth opened to tell her just that and instead:

“You’re in my bed.”

Sunny’s head tilted gently to the side, an awkward movement that forced her to raise up onto an elbow. Obediently following the laws of physics, the blanket- Nilos’ hand a captive occupant- slipped from her shoulders to her ribs. His eyes traced the movement before snapping back to her face: her eyes had never left him, instead narrowing like they always did when she was trying to parse his jokes. “Yeah?” They stared at each other for a moment before his confusion must have become readable even to her, and she chuckled softly. “Right, sorry. Cog said it was fine.”

”Cog?” His daughter’s name was almost an exclamation, louder than he’d meant it to be, and Sunny’s hand had tightened instinctively. He raised his eyebrows in apology before continuing: “Why did Cog get a say?”

Her hand loosened its death grip, then released him entirely to give his leg an amused pat. Why he knew the pat was amused instead of annoyed was something he would have to investigate later. The hand settled again. Gentle, this time. Just resting. “Eh. Something about how the couch is gonna ruin my back.”

“We have a guest bed.” He blinked. “You sleep there. Often.”

“We both know that bed fuckin sucks. She was right that yours is way better.” Her face turned from general disdain at the thought of his guest bed (her bed, as he’d begun to think of it) to thoughtful, and her hand on his thigh turned from a gentle presence to steel as she anchored herself more solidly against him. Her other hand somewhat disdainfully ran over the other pillow on the bed. “This one’s shit for bedding, though.”

He had started, almost stumbling, at her grip, and allowed annoyance to crowd his tone. “Just because you like to sleep in a fucking nest doesn’t mean everyone does.”

“It’s not a nest, it’s just cozy.” She rolled her eyes at the familiar argument and gently squeezed his thigh. Her hand seemed to make it nearly all the way around his leg, a fact which he decidedly didn’t notice. Casually, as though it were normal, she patted the space beside her with her free hand. “You gonna sleep with, uh,” She paused, ran her eyes over him once again. “Like that?”

“What?” He blinked, lost for a moment. Of course he was going to sleep like this, he was exhausted. That’s normally how people slept. Blinked again. Oh. “No! No, uh. No, I was going to. Change.” He blinked again and willed the stupid blush he could feel to disappear.

For a long moment, neither of them moved: Nilos, half-leaning over the bed, his hand on the blanket over her ribs. Sunny, half-leaning up towards him, her hand wrapped gently around his thigh. He was pretty sure he should move: like he said, he had to change so that he could sleep. They could both ignore that “change” just meant taking off the button-down and pants before falling directly into the bed. Instead, they just stared at each other. Blinking.

“Right.” Sunny was decisive: Nilos usually liked that about her. When she released his leg, kicked off the blanket, and rolled off the bed to tower over him, he was conflicted about it. Nine inches didn’t feel like a lot on a measuring tape, but it felt like a mile to where she looked blankly down at him. She smiled, big and broad like always. “Right.”

“Right?” She nodded and he nodded back, confused.

“Right. You need to change. I,” Her hands flattened over her sports-bra covered chest. Or, he assumed they did: they normally did; he had maintained eye contact with the rapidly-disappearing imprint she’d left on his pillow. “I am going to. Go. For a run.”

“A run?”

“A run. Yep.” She made an aborted move to step back, mostly just rocking on her heels for a moment. “You need to change and go to sleep. I’m going for a run.”

“It’s five in the morning.” Oh good, his brain.

She nodded again, helpfully. “Yep. Nobody out.” Again, a backward heel-rock. The second time, it turned into a quick lean forward as she pressed a kiss into his hair. He blinked and she was at the door, already turning the handle as she grinned back at him. “Don’t worry. I’ll be back to drive Cog to school.”

And with a wink, she had gone.

Nilos stood, shirt partially unbuttoned, tie hanging loose, one hand gently rubbing the top of his head, and looked mindlessly between the door and the bed. Distantly, he heard the apartment door click open and shut. He blinked. It felt like Something had happened, but he couldn’t.. Tiredly, he dropped his tie to the ground and stumbled the few feet to face plant on his bed. It was warm. Warm, and smelled faintly of the cheap cigarettes Sunny preferred after a hard day. He groaned, burrowing into the blanket and shoving away the thoughts of Cog’s disappointed face when she found out he’d slept in his clothes again. 

He’d bring milkshakes when they picked her up from school, tomorrow, and she’d forgive him. Probably. It usually worked.

His dreams, when they came, were cozy.

[savemesomenachos]

So I was thinking about Bucky not being able to 'perform' because he's been stressed and preoccupied. And reader thinks it's their fault because Bucky doesn't address the situation. They eventually get him to talk and he tells them how he's feelings and then proves it's not reader's fault. Could just be fluffy or if you want to, include smut...works either way. Thank you 😘

This request is just 🤌🏽💋✨Have fun babe!!!

Not What It Seems

AN: This has been in my drafts for forever and I’m finally back to posting, so I’m excited

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Gender Neutral! Reader

Warnings: a few lines of smut, fluff and angst

TW: Mild panic attack - hyperventilation, Self-doubt

Word Count: 1853

18+, Minors DNI

Y/n’s POV:

“Are you serious?” Natasha asks, shifting in her seat at the end of the couch. She lowers the volume of the TV to a dull murmur and turns to face me. She throws her legs up and her cold toes nudge the side of my thighs as she settles in.

“Dead serious. It was just so weird,” I say, picking at the nail I’d been nervously chewing since last night. My eyes flit between my phone on the coffee table and my fidgety hands.

“Doesn’t sound like him,” she says, twisting the lid off her beer and tossing it on the table with deft fingers and precision.

My eyes follow its path through the air wordlessly, and I sigh tiredly. I fold my legs under my thighs and extend a hand in Natasha’s direction. She hands me the beer with a comforting smile.

“Babe,” she says, placing a warm hand on my knee. “Wanna tell me the whole thing?” she asks, her eyes softening at my look of despair at narrating the ‘incident’ again.

“Fine,” I sigh handing her the beer again. “From the beginning?” I ask, side-eyeing her.

“If you want,” she says, settling back into her seat, with sympathetic eyes.

*Flashback*

“I missed you so fucking much,” I moan as I strip Bucky off his gear. He nods enthusiastically and aids me in unbuckling his very complicated buckles.

He crashes his lips to mine and I melt in his arms. His arms hold my body tightly to his as he nudges me back on the bed. I fall backward as Bucky slips my jeans off and crawls over me and his lips touch every path of skin he uncovers while taking my clothes off. His fingers tweak my nipples harshly and my back arches of the bed.

“Buck, s’too sensitive,” I whimper, trying to sit up. With a firm hand on my chest, he pushes me down again.

“I need to be inside you, now!” he whimpers, wide-eyed. His eyes glaze over for a second and I snap out of my need-filled haze.

“Hey,” I say as my hand comes in contact with his tense shoulder. “You ok?”

“Fine,” he rasps before slipping his pants off completely. “Please.”

“Are you sure? We can stop-” I’m cut off by a needy kiss pressed against my lips and a fist tightening in my hair.

He slips his pants off completely to reveal his semi-hard member. His lube coated hand wraps around his member and I see the muscles in his hands strain as he strokes his length. My hand reaches forward of its own accord to assist him but he slaps it away. He crawls over me again and settles his arms on either side of my head. His member slides in back and forth motions against my tight hole and I whimper in anticipation. Slowly, he starts to push in with a hiss.

His thrusts drive sharp and hard but slow, almost teasing. My nails rake across his back and leave angry, red marks in its wake but that doesn’t deter him in the least. He redoubles his efforts with his hands gripping my waist so hard, they bruise. My gaze drifts from where our bodies are joined together to Bucky’s face. His eyes are screwed up in concentration with his tongue darting out to lick his chapped lips.

My body starts to convulse as an orgasm shakes me to the core but Bucky doesn’t stop. His thrusts don’t slow until suddenly, I hear him grunting in frustration. Abruptly he pulls out and kneels on the bed in between my legs with sweat dripping down his forehead and his fists clench and unclench from where they rest on his thighs. I lean up on my elbows and my eyes rake over his body to look for signs of injury.

“Are you okay? Did I hurt you?” I ask, sitting up completely, my hand reaching out to touch his arm.

He flinches before my hand makes contact and I pause, my eyes wide. His eyes find mine but they look empty. He crawls off the bed and walks into the shower without another word. I bite my lip nervously, debating whether to join him but I finally decide against it.

*End of Flashback*

“Wow,” Natasha sighs, her eyes widening in surprise.

“I know,” I say, grabbing the beer out of her hand. She doesn’t fight it, deciding I need it more than her.

“You talk to him yet?”

“He’s always at missions Tasha. He hasn’t taken a break in forever and even when he is here, it’s like he’s not y’know?” I ask, taking a big swig before setting it down on the coffee table, the condensation leaving behind a ring of water.

“I think he’s gonna break up with me,” I say after a moment of silent contemplation. “I mean what else could it be? He’s never like this. I mean he doesn’t even sleep in our room anymore and I…” I trail off, tears forming in my eyes. My breath catches in my throat and Natasha shifts closer.

She wraps an arm around my shoulder and rubs my arm with calloused hands. I throw my arms around her waist and bury my tear soaked face in my chest.

“He loves you, I’m sure there’s a reason,” she says, rubbing comforting circles on my back.

“I don’t know, I just want him back,” I sob as my hands clutch her soft t-shirt.

“I know honey, I know,” She kisses my forehead and strokes my hair. Her body rocks me back and forth as my sobs start to subside.

“Y/n?” I hear a gruff voice whisper as a tall, hunched over figure steps into view.

I raised my hands to my face and harshly rub off any remnants of sadness and when my eyes finally adjust, I see Bucky standing a few feet away from the sofa with his hands wringing together nervously as his teeth sink into his lip, his eyes tearing a hole into me.

“Hey Buck. I didn’t know you were back,” I say, flashing him what I hope is a wide, excited smile as I get up off the couch and make my way toward him.

“I’ve been back for a while,” he says, his eyes flitting to Natasha’s for a second. What he sees there upsets him and his hand wraps around my wrist immediately. He starts to lead me away as I sputter protests and turn to look at Natasha for help. She shrugs in response and turns back to her beer.

Bucky takes us all the way to our shared room where he hasn’t slept in the past weeks and locks the door behind us. He drops my hand and paces the length of the room with his hands clutching his hair in a white-knuckled grasp.

“Bucky, is everything-”

“How could you think I was breaking up with you?” he asks, turning to face me, his hands coming up to tightly grasp my shoulders.

“Y-You heard that?” I whisper, my gaze dropping to the floor.

“Super-soldier hearing. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop but I heard you say that you thought I was gonna break up with you so I stopped to listen,” he says, his hand squeezing my shoulders.

“I-I didn’t know what to think. You’ve been so distant the past few weeks so I thought…” I trailed off, hoping he would understand.

“I know, I’m sorry,” he says, pulling me to sit on the bed next to him. His head leans forward to rest on my shoulder while his arm snakes around my waist and pulls me closer.

“Honey,” he says, his fingers playing with the hem of my t-shirt. “I’m not gonna break up with you.”

“Then why have you been acting so weird?” I ask, turning to face him, forcing him to look me in the eye.

“I fucked up on that mission,” he whispers, his gaze sullen, on the floor. “It was HYDRA and there were so many people. So many children. I couldn’t get them out. I couldn’t save them.”

Tears slide down his cheeks and pool on his lips. Before he could wipe them away, my fingers graze his cheek as I turn him to face me. I wipe away the tracks of tears and he leans forward to bury his face in my shoulder while wrapping his arms around my back.

“It’s ok baby. Let it out,” I say, rubbing circles on his back as his sobs intensify and soak my neck and shoulder. “You can’t save everyone Bucky. The important part is that you did your best.”

“But it wasn’t enough!” he shouts as his hands rake down my back and clench my t-shirt in between his fingers.

“I know it feels like that but you’re doing enough Bucky. You’ve been on missions non-stop, without any breaks and it’s enough,” I say, my hand drifting up to card through his hair as his sobs turn to sniffles and his breath comes out faster.

“It’s not enough, it’s not,” he begins to mumble under his breath as he begins to hyperventilate.

“Hey, hey,” I say, dragging his attention to me by guiding his face to mine. “You’re enough, you hear me? I love you and you’re enough. Your friends love you and you’re enough. That will never change. I promise you,” I say, my eyes blazing. My hands grip either of his cheeks and I see the sadness and self-doubt swirling in his eyes.

“I love you Bucky. So fucking much,” I continue, his breathing starting to even out.

“Really?” he asks, sniffling, his hands coming to grip my waist.

“Yes, I do,” I say, my voice unwavering.

“I-I love you too,” he says, his eyes and nose red from all the crying. “I know I don’t say it often but I do.”

“I know honey. I know,” I say, drawing him for another hug. I whisper sweet nothings in his ear and rock us back and forth with Bucky desperately clutching at my t-shirt and his head nuzzled in my chest.

After a while, he pulls away with a small smile on his face and I take comfort in the face that he feels better.

“Better?” I ask, cradling his wet cheek in my palm.

“Yeah,” he whispers, leaning forward and planting a sweet kiss on my lips. Suddenly, his arms wrap around my waist and pull me closer and his lips press more firmly into mine. I squeak in surprise but moan at the relief of finally feeling him so close after a while. He pulls away leaving us both panting for air and rests his forehead against mine.

“What was that for?” I ask with a breathy chuckle.

“It was a ‘I love you’,” he whispers, smiling at the blush that covers my cheeks.

“You’re such a cheeseball when you want to be,” I say, bringing my hands up to hide my red face.

“You love it,” he says, cheekily.

“Yeah,” I whisper, placing a kiss on the tip of his scrunched up nose. “I do.”

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[astromechs]

tales from the starnovamora vacation post-the end of gotg 2020, or: i am once again aggressively trying to break through a creative slump. may be more of these, we shall see

It’s during his third cup of coffee, when the morning haze finally starts to lift from his eyes and blind stumbling between the bedroom and the kitchen of this little vacation rental and back again turns to slightly more graceful ambling, that Peter starts to notice something is very wrong.

Or — not wrong, per se, he thinks from the doorway to the bedroom, watching the curly-haired lump that still hasn’t moved from the bed even after several hours, but definitely not normal.

See, on a normal morning, this try at being on vacation aside, Rich would be up long before anyone else, if he’s even slept at all, before the first rays of light begin to peek in through the windows. Always something to do, he’d say; always someone who needs his help. Hell, by now, he’d usually be at least several planets away, and if Peter’s lucky, he’d hear from him in maybe a couple of days.

On this very not-normal morning, though, Rich is still here — and still fast asleep. The sight is, in and of itself, something of a miracle: all the lines on his face vanished, replaced by something soft and content, clutching the covers as he snores quietly. That, at least, says that he isn’t dead (Peter would be lying if he said he didn’t still worry about that sometimes), and….

Maybe he should just leave him be. Let him sleep the whole day and then some, if he wants, because if anyone deserves that, d’ast knows it’s Rich. Still, he can’t quite make good on that resolve, because the urge to step through the doorway and over to the bed and press a soft kiss to Rich’s forehead as he pulls the covers up is just too strong.

In his sleep, Rich shifts slightly against the pillow and mumbles something unintelligible. It’s the softest thing that Peter’s pretty sure he’s ever seen in his whole flarking life, and his heart might actually melt right inside his chest.

“‘S okay, Richie,” he murmurs, warm and fond, as he pulls back. “Just sleep.”

He’s completely quiet after that.

For a time, Peter lingers, sipping until his mug is empty and continuing to watch, but if this is going to be all day, he figures he should probably go do something else; make a couple of calls, get his inevitable next cup of coffee ready, that sort of thing. With just a little reluctance, he turns on his heel to do just that, but in the process, he almost runs right into —

Back from her morning exercises (what they are, Peter doesn’t know, and neither he nor Rich have ever even tried to ask; there’s an unspoken understanding that they’re all better off this way), Gamora, with her hair pulled back and a towel slung over one shoulder, regards the unconscious lump on the bed with somewhat narrowed eyes.

After a beat, her gaze cuts over toward Peter. “What’s wrong with him?”

It’s funny, in its own weird way, that the same thought had occurred to both of them — funny enough, at least, for Peter to exhale a quiet laugh. “I think he’s just tired, Gamora. Who could blame him? Last night, we did….”

But the laugh, and the words, stop right in the tracks, because Gamora isn’t listening. Flark, she’s as bad as Rich sometimes, with the way she can tend to just barge into things. Brows furrowed and concentrating, she strides over toward the bed, leaning over to examine.

“Gamora,” Peter tries again. “I think we should just….”

Too late.

A few things happen, then, all at once: one, Gamora grabs a nearby pillow and whacks Rich with it, with a little more force than she probably should, and two, Rich wakes with a start, which rockets him straight through the ceiling and at least two hundred feet or so up into the sky, leaving a distinctively Rich-shaped and Rich-sized hole behind him.

All Peter can do is rub his temples and heave a sigh.

Later, when Rich comes back down to earth, so to speak, and when he’s at least managing to make eye contact with people again, Peter manages to get him onto the couch of the rental’s living room with a cup of coffee in his hand. He’ll consider that a win, he thinks, even if for the second time in five minutes, Rich breaks the silence that’s fallen between them with:

“You know we’re gonna have to pay for that, right?”

Peter blows on coffee cup number five in an effort to cool it a few degrees. “I know.”

Fingers drumming on the side of the mug in his hands, all the old familiar lines settle back on Rich’s face. “We don’t have that kind of money, Pete.”

“I know.”

He also knows Rich well enough to know that absolutely nothing will stop him from worrying, but he has at least one good trick up his sleeve to settle that storm, at least for a short amount of time. Setting the mug in his hands down on the table in front of them, Peter reaches for Rich, thumb grazing his cheekbone, before pressing their lips together.

With the way he feels Rich melt into him, even if he can’t solve everything, he’s sure that, for now, he can save the day.

[revengeisourlullaby]

If I Never Knew You Pt.1

Pt.2   Pt.3   Pt.4   Pt.5   Pt.6

Warnings: 18+, eventual smut, arranged marriage plot, kinda royal au, some fighting, secret relationship, angst.

a/n: This is going to be a six part series. I’ve never done a series before, but I write so much anyway I thought why not make one. I’ll probably upload each part daily unless there is demand for them to come faster. I hope you enjoy. Requests/asks will be open if you wanna send smth to me! Although I will admit I am kinda slow in finishing requests. I have a lot to balance in my life so my apologies if I don’t get to them immediately!  

Word count: 1.8K

Loki x female!reader 

The sun shone through the window of your home, the golden rays warming up your cheeks and waking you from your slumber. Sitting up, you stretched, feeling the sleep vibrate out of your body. Tossing the sheets off your body, you swung your legs out of the bed and walked to the bathroom to begin your morning routine. Finishing with tending to the mass of hair on your head you trailed back into your bedroom to change into clothes appropriate for the day. An array of dresses always leaving you indecisive about what to wear.

Settling on an olive green one you walked towards the mirror and fastened the ties around the back of your neck. The loose sleeves draped over your shoulders, cascading down your back, and gold accents adorning the neckline. Finding your shoes, you slipped out of your bedroom, closing the door behind you, and walked down the hallway, the chatter of your family becoming more clear as you near the entrance of the main room. 

 “Good morning, mother. Father.”

It seemed you had slept in quite a bit, given your parents already eating breakfast. Your mother piped up

“There’s a portion left for you on the counter, my dear.”

Eying the food you decided you weren’t all that hungry yet. You had just woken up and your body had yet to settle. Declining, you grabbed your satchel and began to walk towards the door.

“But Y/N, you should really eat something before starting your day.”

“I’ll be fine, Mom. I promise. I’m just not that hungry right now. I’ll eat when I get back.”

Finally reaching the door, your father chimed in,

“You know, Y/N, just because you try to avoid the obvious, doesn’t mean it’s going to go away any sooner.”

Dropping your head, you sighed. You couldn’t seem to escape the duties of being a young woman in a world where royal obligations were something you were expected to partake in. Upon reaching the age of 18, you were supposed to be on the lookout for a decent suitor of a husband. The fact of the matter was, you were now approaching 22 and had yet to find someone acceptable, not only by your standards but by your parents. 

For this uniting of peoples would also be a uniting of families. You had until your 21st birthday to find a man suitable to everyone's liking and if you didn’t, arranged marriage was the next option. No one wanted to be known as the woman in Asgard who couldn’t get a man to offer his hand in marriage, yet here you were in all your glory. It was frustrating. 

If only they knew. 

“I know, Dad. Things are a little bit harder when I have to seek my parents' approval for my marriage.”

Your tone became short, frustrated at the entire situation. You already had someone, for a while now actually, but you hadn’t the guts to inform your parents because you knew they would shut him down. So you loved in silence. It was more than painful, not being able to be truly open with your lover, but you had yet to find the right time to pour out your heart to your family. Taking a deep breath, your grounded yourself and turned towards the door,

“I’ll be back later, I love you.”

Your mom got to responding before your father did,

“We love you too dear. Make sure to pay attention to who you’re around. Be safe.”

Smiling lightly you finally walked out the door and stepped into the fresh air that was Asgard. It never got old. The scent of the trees and freshwater that surrounded this place sent one into such serenity. Just being outside could allow your mind to drift elsewhere and forget about the troubles in your life. Walking as far as you could from your home you spaced out in the direction you were going. 

Coming back to when you accidentally kicked a pebble across the ground. Looking up you found yourself in one of the many gardens that surrounded Asgard. Walking to a marble bench, you scrunched up some of your dress in your hands, folding one leg under you before sitting atop it. Crossing your other leg across it and letting the fabric of your dress fall to the ground. 

Pulling your satchel into your lap, you grabbed your journal out of it and began to sketch the garden in front of you. Paying special attention to the detail of the flowers, wanting to make sure you entirely captured the essence of their beauty on paper. Lost in concentration, you failed to hear the footsteps approaching behind you. It wasn’t until you felt a hand rub small circles into your shoulder that you turned around. 

Hair fell in your face, obscuring your view of who was in front of you. Bringing your hand up to place your hair away from your face you dropped your pen on the ground. You went to reach for it, but a separate pair of hands grabbed it first.

“You seem to be quite the mess today, my darling.”

A genuine smile stretched across your features before looking up into the enchanting blue of his eyes. 

“Loki, hi! What are you doing out here?”

Sitting down next to you, careful to avoid your dress he spoke,

“Well, I was informed that a beautiful lady was sitting in the garden in front of the palace so of course, I had to go inspect the situation. And upon seeing a stunning shade of green draped over the bench, I had to introduce myself.” 

An airy laugh left your throat, blithe being showcased across your being.

“If I didn’t know any better, it sounds like you fancy this beautiful woman.”

“How could I not? Her beauty extends beyond the physical. She's incredibly intelligent and the only one to unconditionally show kindness and love to those who deserve it. It’d be incredibly injudicious of me to not be aware of that.”

“Alright, alright Loki, you’ve buttered me up enough.” you chuckled

“It’s never enough, darling. And it’s not buttering you up if it’s true, which it is. So, against your wishes, I shall continue to do it.”

You rolled your eyes and smiled. Looking down at his hands, you placed yours on top of his and gazed into his eyes once more. Glancing down to his lips and back up to his eyes, you slowly leaned in, Loki meeting you halfway. A kiss so tender you forgot it was Loki whose lips were tangled in a dance with your own. 

Loki moved his hand out from underneath yours and placed it on your cheek. You pulled away from the kiss and nestled your head into his hand, his thumb caressing your cheek allowing you to relish in the moment of being with each other. Flashing your eyes back up to his you asked,

“Shall we go for a walk?”

“Why not?”

Stuffing your journal and pen back into your satchel you untangled your legs and got up from the bench, Loki helping you stand up so that you didn’t trip on your dress. Taking your hand in his own, you two walked through the garden on a path that would eventually lead you to the entrance of the palace. 

“I’ve missed you Loki. I always miss you, I hate being away from you.”

“I know my love, I do as well, but you of all people know our predicament.”

You stopped in your tracks and turned in haste to stop him as well, making him face you. You brought both your hands up to cup his face, an idea flashing bright behind your eyes,

“Well, maybe we can change it! We can be the change to get rid of this stupid rule. I can’t imagine my life without you Loki. I don’t want to have to share my world with someone else. It’s only ever going to be you.” 

Bringing his hands up to your wrists, he looked deep into your eyes, sorrow and hope swimming behind his facial features. 

“Maybe we can, although we have to prepare for the worst...but that doesn't mean we can’t try.”

Giving a small smile, he moved his hands to the back of your head, thumb caressing your temple, and leaned in to kiss you. Giving you all the reassurance you could’ve asked for. Pulling away from each other you continued down the path hand in hand. Closing your eyes you took a deep breath, serenity washing over you. 

Opening your eyes, you realized you were closing in on the front of the palace meaning you would now be in the public eye and the last thing you wanted was more gossip to fall upon you. Looking at your lover, you stopped walking, halting him in his tracks. Forcing him to turn around and look at you.

“What is it?”

You sighed, suddenly being overcome with emotion.

“Well, if we walked any further, everyone would see us and I wouldn’t want to cause any trouble for you…”

“...Trouble? For me?”

Loki scoffed, his signature smirk following.

“Love, all I’m known for is for causing trouble, I wouldn’t mind another notch on my belt.”

You were hesitant. You loved Loki and you knew your feelings were reciprocated through him, but it was difficult breaking from the chains of what you ‘were supposed to do’. It left you in such dissonance and yet you felt in your heart to rebel so fiercely that Asgard would immortalize your change. Your silence alerted Loki and he spoke again,

“Y/N, if we are to ever make any sort of change we cannot hide in the shadows anymore. We cannot separate and scatter like roaches when the light is shined upon us. We must bask in it. That is the only way we can possibly aspire to reach our goal of loving one another in true fulfillment.”

“You’re right.”

“I always am.”

You placed your hand back in his and Loki smiled down at you. 

“Ready to have the target on your back, Y/N?”

“As long as you’re by my side, I can handle anything.”

Walking out of the secluded area of the garden, you finally stepped into the light. For the first time in the last year being open about your courtship with Loki. Asgard’s God of Mischief and your parent’s worst nightmare. You felt armored for anything to be hurled in your direction with Loki was by your side and always would be. 

The anxiety of it all had yet to drain from your bones and you couldn’t help but draft up ‘what ifs’ in your head. As if Loki was scavenging through your brain, he gave your hand an inspiriting squeeze, bringing you back into your body and out of your head. If only you knew how the whispers of your choice in partnership would rain the fires of hell all too soon.

[love4buckybarnes]

PROMISES

Summary: Bucky and Y/N we’re married and love. But differences had set them apart. A promise, one of many they had made, was broken, threatening the love between them.

Bucky Barnes x Reader. Warnings: car accident, minor injuries, mention of pregnancy complications, and angst. Happy fluff ending.

A/N: Let me know what you think of this one. The title is a bit questionable so if you have one that you’d like to share, I’ll credit you :).

They were both madly in love. When they first saw each other, the world stood still. Cheesy, but it was true. At least that’s what they would tell everybody of how they met. Their romance story is one you would read from a book or see in a movie. Bucky knew Y/N was the one, so he got on one knee and asked her to marry him. The day he proposed and when they made their vows and promises, were the most memorable moments together. Ones they could never forget.

Time went by and what appeared like the perfect happy couple turned upside down. Around family and friends, they put on a fake persona. Behind closed doors, the endless fighting and tension caused a rift between them. It started when they were trying for a family. Sometimes things aren’t just handed out freely to everyone. Y/N experienced fertility issues. It was stressful for the both of them. Most fights were over something small which would blow up out of proportion. Some nights they made up, and some nights, one would end up on the couch. Sometimes they wondered if they should give up.

Tonight was supposed to be important. Y/N had all of it planned out for the special occasion. She made reservations at their favorite restaurant. Bucky promised he would be there. Despite everything, she still loved him all the same. She wondered if he still loved her .

She sat there alone. The stares and looks of the people around her was unsettling and made her embarrassed. Y/N had been all dressed up and makeup done. Eventually, she had enough of waiting and stormed out.

The door to their apartment swung open. Bucky has been sitting at the table with his face scrunched up in concentration. He couldn’t even bother to look up.

“James Buchanan Barnes,” Y/N spat out each name, crossing her arms. She was furious.

Bucky glanced up. “Hi,” he said quickly, before returning his attention to the computer in front of him.

This made her tick even more. She marched over to where he sat and slammed the laptop shut.

“Hey! What the fuck?!” Bucky exclaimed, standing up. The chair fell backwards to the floor with a loud bang. “Why would you do that? I didn’t save what I was working on.”

“I don’t care,” she snapped. “Do you remember where you were supposed to be tonight?”

Bucky thought for a minute. After remembering and realized his mistake, he cursed. “I’m sorry. I forgot.”

She stepped closer to his face. “You promised you were going to be there.”

“Sam needed me to work on this mission. It’s important. I got wrapped up in it.”

“So this was more important than what we had planned?”

“No, I did not say that. Now you’re just putting words in my mouth,” he fought back.

“Gosh, why can’t you just try to put in a little more effort?” She hadn’t noticed the tears rolling down her face.

“Me try? How about you?” he scoffed, his eyes narrowing. “You have everything to do with this chaos of whatever this is just as much as I do. In fact, it’s all you. It’s all because of you!”

Y/N felt like someone cut into her chest with a blade and ripped her heart out. She always thought it was her fault. And now he blamed her, too. This has been the last straw. “Oh wow, well, thanks for the clarification I needed to know.”

“Where are you going?” he asked in a frantic tone when she headed towards the door.

She paused in her tracks to answer him. “I need to go. I can’t be here. Especially knowing what you really think of me.”

Bucky winced at her words and flinched at the loud thud she made when she left. The palm of his hand brushed over his face. He regretted what he said. He never blamed her. Whether she knew it or not, his love for her has been the same since they have met.

Thunder rumbled, and lightning dashed across the dreary night sky. Y/N stepped out into the pouring rain. She reached the car parked across the street. Before she could get in, Bucky stepped in front of her, blocking her from going any further. He placed his hands on her shoulders.

“Please don’t go,” Bucky begged. “I’m sorry for what I said. I didn’t mean it. I love you.”

Y/N avoided his eyes and yanked away from his grasp. She was so angry, she didn’t know what to believe anymore. “Yeah well, you have a funny way of showing it.” She got in, locking the door. He knocked on the window. Ignoring him, she drove off. Her mind swirled and her eyes hazy with tears. She wasn’t sure when she would come back, or if she would return at all.

Bucky saw it happen right in front of him. He watched her drive off. Turning around to go inside to get out of the rain, he heard the tires from afar screech against the concrete. He looked back just in time to see the vehicle swerving. The slippery road caused the car to skid across the road. It hit a curb, tumbled over and rolled a few feet away.

He could hear his heart pound wildly in his ears, stomach turned in knots. He felt as if his airway were being constricted. Bucky didn’t feel his legs carry him over there, not caring he was soaking wet. All he cared about was her.

Darkness spotted her vision. A blurry figure appeared in front of her. Even through fogged vision, she recognized who it was.

“Baby?” Bucky croaked out, his voice soft, trying to keep himself calm. Inside, he was all but calm. He had to keep the sheer panic under control so he could help her. “Stay with me, okay? I’m going to pull you out.”

“Bucky?” she hissed out in pain.

“I’m here, Doll,” he said reassuringly.

Her eyes fluttered. A loud snap in her ear stirred her back to consciousness.

“Don’t close your eyes, love,” he pleaded. “Just focus on me, okay? Keep them on me.” He watched her fight herself from passing out. His hand reached in to unbuckle the seatbelt that held her to the seat. With ease, he unhinged the door, that was already hanging off the rest of the way. He carefully maneuvered Y/N from the car and set her down on the ground. He trembled as he dialed 911.

When he looked back down, she was unconscious. Blood seeped from the gash on her forehead. He slapped gently on her cheeks to get her to wake up, but she was out cold. Bucky felt like his whole world was shutting down. He couldn’t contain the sobs escaping his throat. He rarely cried. He’s only ever shed tears a couple of times in front of her. Once when they first said I love you and when they said their vows.

Guilt devoured his entire being. The whole time they’ve been together since being married, had been spent with fighting instead of loving each other. All he ever truly wanted was for the both of them to be happy. But he let the blaze consume them.

Hearing sirens wailing in the distance, relief released from Bucky. Flashes of bright blue lights got closer, and soon the EMTs were there to help. They placed a brace to keep her head and neck supported in case there was an injury before putting her on the stretcher. For Bucky, it was all in slow motion. He blocked out the EMT asking him questions, jumping into the back of the ambulance.

At the hospital, he tried following her into the emergency room, but wasn’t allowed to. He paced around outside. His foot tapped on the tile uncontrollably, the nerves wracking his mind. He held his head between his knees to keep himself from having a panic attack.

Couple of hours later, the nurse stepped out to talk to him. “James?” she called out.

He jumped up hearing his name. His jaw clenched as he waited to hear what she had to say.

“Your wife is going to be fine. She has a concussion, a few stitches, and a fracture in her collarbone ,” she started to say. He let out the deep breath he has been holding in. “The baby is also fine.”

Bucky whipped his head up, confused. “The what?!”

“Oh, maybe you didn’t know, but she’s pregnant,” the nurse clarified. “Luckily, the baby doesn’t have a scratch.”

Now he understood. Why it was so important to be there at the restaurant, and why she was so upset about it. The guilt he felt engulfed him more. He needed to figure out how to make it up to her. Bucky swore to himself he would never disappoint her again and to keep all the promises he makes.

Annoying constant beep sounds lulled Y/N out of her sleep. Vivid white blinded her vision as she came to. She groaned at the pounding pain in her head. Her fingers twitched, gripping the sheets. Eyes opened to the ivory room. Her face scrunched up, trying to remember what happened and where she was.

A snore next to her got her attention. Bucky slept in a chair beside her hospital bed, waiting for her to wake up.

“Bucky,” she rasped out, her throat scratchy.

Bucky stirred. When he realized she was conscious, he sprung awake. He called for the nurse to check her over, making sure everything was fine. When she left, he sat back down, taking one of Y/N’s hands in one of his, pressing it to his lips.

“Oh, baby,” he said, ever so softly. He brushed the strands from her face and tucked it behind her ears. “Oh, thank god you’re awake.” Tears brimmed, and he didn’t care, letting them fall. His lips curved into a smile that didn’t fully reach his eyes. He gently left kisses on her cheeks. Calloused thumb brushed the delicate skin.

“What happened?” Y/N asked.

“You got in an accident,” he explained. “Just a concussion, broken collarbone, and a few scratches. And you might be achy from the whiplash.”

Y/N shot up out of bed in dismay, only to be pinned back down.

“Hey, no, you need to stay in bed and rest,” Bucky ordered her, firmly keeping her from moving.

“But the bab-,” she began, but Bucky cut her off.

“I know,” he said sadly, interrupting her. “I know you’re pregnant. The baby is fine, love.”

Y/N felt relieved. “How did you find out?”

The small smile on his face dropped. “When they x-rayed you to check for injuries, they found out you were pregnant.” His lip trembled as he cried harder. “I’m so sorry. That’s what you wanted to tell me. That’s why you wanted me to be there. I should have kept my promise and showed up. If I had, you wouldn’t be here.”

Y/N knew he was being true to his word. She reached up to wipe the tears from under his eyes. He sighed, leaning in to her touch he missed. “I’m sorry too. I was so excited to tell you. Things haven’t been easy for either of us. I couldn’t wait to tell you.”

He shook his head, beating himself. “Don’t apologize, sweetheart. You have nothing to be sorry about. It’s not your fault. None of it is. I’m sorry I made you feel that way. From now on, no more fighting. I just want to be us again.”

“‘I agree, Bucky,” she agreed. “I’m tired of fighting too. You still love me right?”

“Yes of course I still love you,” he said, in disbelief. “I love you so much. I could never stop loving you. And when you left, I was so ashamed. Then I witnessed the wreck. I thought I was going to lose you for good. And now I’m going to be a father. You’re going to be a mother.”

Y/N started to cry too. He kissed away the tears leaking down her face. “We’re going to be what we have always wanted. A family. You won’t lose me. I love you.” She grew weak with exhaustion.

“Sleep, darling,” he whispered in her ear. “I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

Before he could step aside, she took his hand to stop him. “Lay with me?” she begged.

He smiled, with the usual twinkle in his eyes that she adored. “Of course.”

She scooted over, making room for him. Bucky laid down next to her. Not wanting to hurt her anymore, he cautiously enveloped her in his arms. For once in forever, they both felt harmony. All the worries and differences lost in the past. They knew the rift between them was no longer. What seemed like the perfect couple hidden under the fire, still was. And they both knew their love for each other was now stronger than ever.

[poptod]

hey there ☺ do you think you can write a soulmate au with ahk where you hear each other's thoughts? and ahk thought he didn't have one all these years only to hear you while he's at the museum and then you try to find each other?

notes: wonderful idea. also i noticed my method of doing requests is do it almost immediately after i get it or wait four months before i get it done so sorry about that, but i hope you enjoy this!

WC: 1.5k +

There are many versions of yourself, all talking over one another in an attempt to control your mind for once. Sometimes it's hard to decipher if your actions are the result of someone in your head tugging you in a different direction. There is the person you believe yourself to be––what you imagine you come off to people as. There is also the person you truly are, and what people actually perceive you to be. So despite there being several voices, they are all reiterations of yourself in some way.

Except for one.

One of them speaks in a voice that is not your own, in a voice you've never heard anywhere but echoing in your skull. Since you despised asking questions as a child, it took you until you were twelve to realize that no, you weren't insane. It was someone who would love you, who had the potential to grow close to you simply by the strings of fate. Your soulmate. 

Someone who gave you nightmares for years.

'Get me out of here!' He would scream, sending your heart pounding while you tried to sleep as a child. 'Please, please, I need to see the stars,' he sobbed, 'I did nothing to deserve this!'

Once you grew old enough to deal with the screaming beyond what you thought was a schizophrenia disorder, nighttime brought a deep sadness to you. For some reason, your soulmate would never think during the day––which was incredibly odd––and during the night, the only time he was awake, he would scream and beg and cry until you could feel the hoarseness in your own throat. For your entire childhood, you stared up at your ceiling at night, eyes burning as you tried to calm the screaming.

It was all you could think about, as though the screams had muted your connection to him and strengthened his connection to you. Every now and then you would try to think, try to calm him down, but he never quite heard.

Then, one evening in winter, it stopped.

You were lying in bed, rolled onto your side as you once again listened to the man's yelling thoughts. But then he stopped, and both your hearts skipped a beat, followed by an incredibly clear thought: Thank the Gods, blessed Ra and Khonsu.

That evening you darted out of bed, jumping to your desk where you typed in with slamming, lightning-fast fingers, "khonsu." Ra you already knew––everyone knew Ra, and by connection Khonsu would probably also be a God. The only question you were left with was why you were hearing the thoughts of someone who worshipped Egyptian gods two thousand years after that civilization died.

As you continued your research, his thoughts continued.

They took my tablet?

Who are these people?

This man has no idea what he's doing, does he?

Why is he screaming at the Hun?

He's got my tablet.

About halfway into the night you gave up on your research, instead listening intently to the thoughts. With you entirely absorbed in your soulmates thoughts, you had little room to send your own words to him, which unbeknownst to you, would've reached him if you tried.

You weren't quite sure what to think of him for the following couple weeks. At first your assumption was that he was the insane one projecting his insane thoughts to you, but his quieter thoughts led you to believe there was something different in him. It is true what they say––geniuses are often tortured minds, and though you wouldn't classify your soulmate as a genius, he was clearly a knowledgeable philosopher of sorts.

He thought often of the human condition––the rise and fall of civilizations, the cruelty and the mercy of men that began the stories of bloodstained battlefields. Most of the time you just listened. Now that he wasn't screaming, his voice was soft and more of a comfort than you ever thought it would be.

Sometimes he got very sad. After a while you learned to not question the logic of his thoughts. Instead, you simply tried to understand what he meant, accepting him for where he was in his life.

I miss my brother.

I wonder what happened to my best friend.

I didn't think I would ever be this far from the Nile and the sun.

I abandoned my people, didn't I?

If only I could find where my sister was buried. Would that even make me feel better, though? What closure will I gain from seeing her tomb?

... if she even had one.

There's a melody going on in his head, right now. Something that could put you to sleep if you weren't currently working. It's nothing you've heard before, that you're certain of, and judging by the tone of it and your soulmate's previous thoughts, it sounds Egyptian.

Despite the museum being closed, most of the lights are still on. One of the night guards had a very strange insistence about it, but wouldn't tell you why. Oh well––questioning people is above your paygrade, since you aren't getting paid for this. It is volunteer work. Not that you mind; ever since realizing the voice in your head was Egyptian, you've gotten a palate for history. Currently, however, you're dealing less with history and more with files. The curator at this museum asked you to sort through the records of all the different exhibits that are here, or were once here at some point, which made a very large collection. Massive, actually––you're only sorting through A, and it's going to take you a couple weeks.

He's humming softly to himself. The tune carries into your work, and you allow yourself to enjoy his voice as you sort, going over every record to look for exhibits no longer displayed. For this you have a chart in your other hand––a log of all the exhibits currently public in the museum.

Although you're supposed to be concentrated on your sorting, you find yourself more entranced with the melody in your head, and the clearest thought that rings in your mind is, 'that is beautiful.'

The humming stops. Dead in its' tracks, about to reach its' peak, and it stops.

'My mother sang it to me,' he says, 'before I slept as a child.'

"Holy shit, are you talking to me?" You say out loud with bulging eyes before you can stop yourself. The moment you realize what you said, a bright blush coats your cheeks and you slap your hand over your mouth. But he doesn't seem to mind––actually, he laughs, and it's sweeter than summer sugar.

'You must be my heart,' he says in an astounded tone, and you can practically see his dream-filled eyes. You sit puzzled for a second before replying.

"Do you mean your soulmate?"

'Well... I suppose yes, that could be one of the names,' he says, and it only adds more onto the lists of questions you have for him.

"What is your name?" You ask first, hardly realizing you're still talking aloud to yourself.

'My name is Ahkmenrah," he tells you, and it takes less than a millisecond before the dots connect in your head. Instantly your eyes dart to the sheet in your hand, and near the top of the list, there it sits––Ahkmenrah.

'I know this must be confusing for you,' he continues, 'but I am from another time. While I lived then, I dreaded that I didn't have a heart, as I heard no voice. That fear has carried on into my next life, but now that you're here –'

"Oh I'm here alright," you say, unbelieving of both your circumstances and your unblinking acceptance at them. "I'm, like, two floors below you."

"WHAT?!"

A voice from above catches you, but as the same word rings in your mind, you realize with great glee that he instinctively yelled 'what' without thinking. You laugh, and the thought of your laughter reaches him.

Less than a minute later you can hear footsteps pounding down the stairs, landing at the closed door before the handle wrenches open. You quickly move to your feet, facing the man whose voice you know so well, who haunted your childhood and enchanted your adulthood. You can barely hide the grin that spreads across your face––whatever magic has brought you to this moment, you thank everything you can for it, your attention ensnared by the soft features of a 4,000 year old Pharaoh.

He pauses once he enters the archive, eyes finding yours immediately. His mouth hangs open slightly as he scans you, absorbs every feature on your body and face, and barely moves even to breathe for a good minute or two.

"I – I'm sorry, I j – I just realized I didn't ask your name," he says quietly, a small, ginger smile growing on his lips.

"(Y/N)," you say, but you don't quite know how your brain worked to make the word. You certainly didn't consciously choose to speak.

"I have waited thousands of years for you," he says, impossibly softer as he steps forward. He's really quite harmless, you realize––for all the fear you had of him as a child, he's nothing but a sweet-faced boy.

"Was it worth it?" You ask, and your voice cracks ever so slightly.

"My heart," he breathes out, affection lacing his name for you, "it was worth every second."

[acourtofsnakes]

Haran - Rogue, Chapter 8 | The Mandalorian x Force Sensitive! Reader (f)

Summary: The Mandalorian tries to get back on with his normal routine without you. So he decided to go visit Peli on the quiet, almost deserted planet of Tatooine. Where he will meet no one of interest or danger. At all. 

Warnings: Hmm, not many. Some light swearing and mentions of death briefly. 

Word count: Around 7139

AN: I’m not sure if everything I wrote about Tatooine is strictly ‘correct’, so forgive me if not!

As always, credit to whoever owns the gif. I usually find them on Google or Pinterest, so message me if it’s yours ♥︎

Rogue Taglist:  @snipskixandbeskar   @weirdowithnobeardo @the-bottom-of-the-abyss​ @jackgrzs @sarahjkl82-blog @boomtownboy

Rogue Masterlist | Introduction| 1: Solus| 2: Arir | 3: Tor | 4: Gaa'tayl | 5: Kyr’am | 6: Cabur | 7: Ret'urcye Mhi | 8: Haran

Mando’a translation: Haran – Hell

The Mandalorian watched you walk away. 

He watched your figure retreat further and further into the distance, each step taking you closer to Nevarro, and further away from him and the kid. He watched until he could see you no more, then sighed, murmuring to Grogu and returning to the cockpit to leave. 

And it hurt. 

He knew it would, he wasn’t stupid. He just hadn’t expected it to hurt so very much. Didn’t expect that it would feel like you’d wrenched his heart from beneath his armour and took it with him. 

He hadn’t even hugged you. Touch like that was rare for Mandalorians, wasn’t considered… ‘normal.’

But when had your… friendship... ever been ‘normal’? You’d started off as hunter and prey, for Maker’s sake. He’d hunted you down and took you onto his ship with every intention of delivering you to the new Client and being on his merry way. 

Only, you were different. You didn’t shy away from him. You didn’t cower or beg for your life. You were cocky, inappropriate and had a silver-tongue and knew how to use it. You got under his skin and drove him insane. 

But… he’d laughed more times with you than he had with anyone that wasn’t the kid. 

You made him feel… less alone. And he’d hoped he’d done the same for you

Then you’d saved his life. 

And he’d realised just how much he had come to adore your presence and your company. 

As cliché as it sounded, it was like having a little bit of sunlight in his ship. 

Well, no. That might not be the right analogy. You weren’t just sunlight. You weren’t just a flame; you were a blaze. 

You burned brighter than anyone he had ever met, determined not to be dragged down by your past. Your anger was a storm, ravaging everything it came near, with all the force of a tempest. He’d borne the brunt of it enough times in the few months he had been together. 

But you had a light inside you, a thirst to see the good in the world, the beauty no matter how dark it may have appeared. He admired that about you. There was a word for it in Mando’a. Shereshoy; a lust for life. 

The last argument you’d had… He knew from the moment you ran from the market, that you would lash out. He didn’t know how, but he’d seen the shift in your eyes, seen the way that fire had blazed – only to gutter out into consuming darkness. 

It had flickered as you had yelled at each other, and when he saw it go black, saw darkness cloud over and suck you into the depths, he’d dived right in after you. 

It had been instinct to run to you, catch you in his arms and let you both sink down together. Only he held you from being pulled too deep.

And you’d let him. 

The moment you’d let go and curled into his body, was the moment he felt everything change. 

It had broken a gate within him. A carefully and purposely crafted wall of adamant in his mind that held back the force of everything he shouldn’t feel. 

It was why he’d done what he did the other night. 

He’d been on the hunt, tracking the bounty. It was an easy one, so easy he didn’t even really need to think about it. Which of course, left his mind open to wandering. 

And it kept coming back to you, over and over again. 

What you were doing, if you were okay, if the ship was too hot for you and if he’d set the locks correctly. 

He always had the same thoughts whenever he left the kid, but with you there, they had eased. He’d trusted you from that first night you sung Grogu your mother’s lullaby. 

So that didn’t plague him. 

No, it was your hair that was the main subject tonight. That damn hair that he couldn’t take his eyes off of since the moment you’d let it down a couple of days ago. 

The light had caught it just right, turning it to gold and when you ran your hands through it…

He’d been struck with a craving so intense; it took his breath away. 

He yearned to move away your hands, replace them with his own. 

To shuck off his gloves and truly feel the silky texture of it, to feel anything but the worn leather interior of the material. 

He couldn’t have been more relieved when you’d landed on the desert planet. He had though that the Maker had taken pity on him, saving him before he could do something really stupid. 

The distraction had remained with him throughout his hunt, sneaking up on him whenever he should be at least trying to concentrate. 

By the time he’d caught the bounty and had begun to lug him back to the Crest, his body had begun to itch. Less of a persistent irritation and more of a yearning. At first, he’d thought it was from the heat, but when he’d climbed the ramp to the Crest, he could smell the lingering aroma of the soap you’d used in your shower. 

He’d quickly dispatched of the bounty in the carbonite chamber, eager to escape to the small storage compartment he had now taken up residence in. 

He hadn’t bothered to take back his sleeping quarters, something in him wanting to give you that small bit of comfort. Besides, he’d slept in worse places. 

He’d retreated there after a brief conversation with yourself, trying to clear his mind as he lay on the collection of blankets and sacks that he’d made up for his bed and waited for his body to relax and sleep to claim him. Eventually, it had. 

It wasn’t Grogu’s crying that awoke him that night, as it normally would. 

No, it was that damn smell. 

It had filtered through his helmet, invading his sleep and gently tugged him awake. 

He’d sat up and without a thought, followed that scent like a hound. 

It had led him to the kitchen and then…

Then he’d seen you. 

In that flimsy drape of fabric that could hardly call itself a dress. 

There was just… so much of your skin on show. So much of your smooth skin on display, lined with scars here and there but it didn’t matter to him. It told your story, your survival  

The Mandalorian’s own body had tightened, heat blazing across his skin and making his armour uncomfortable. He rarely acknowledged the heaviness of it, but standing there, looking at you, had truly made him feel the crushing weight. 

And when you’d turned, the water rolling down your neck…

The image of removing his helmet and catching that bead of water on his tongue, of trailing it up your neck and finally tasting your skin that he knew would be as sweet as your scent.. it nearly undid him. 

In fact, it did. It broke a restraint in him and set a haze in his mind that cleared only when the beeping of the autopilot had demanded his attention. 

He’d sat up in the cockpit for hours afterward, staring at his now gloved hands. 

He had touched you. He had removed his gloves in the presence of someone else, trusting in you not to turn around. He’d felt you. 

Felt that gorgeous, silky hair on his fingers. 

Felt the bumps of your spine beneath your skin. 

The noises you’d made, the sighs and the moans, they were branded into his memory, followed him when he finally went back to bed. 

They’d echoed in his ears, playing over and over until his trousers had become even more painfully tight and he was forced to fix the problem. 

The next day, the pleasure and breathless thrill of what had occurred went stale. It turned into shame, disgust at himself for treating you like that, thinking of you like that in the late hours. 

The snide voice in his head had whispered that it was time, time to invoke what he already planned when he was out on his hunt. 

And like a cowardly fool, he gave in. 

The betrayal and hurt in your eyes when he’d told you had been like a punch to his heart. 

He’d been battered in fights and that hurt less. 

Hurt less than this pain as he re-joined the atmosphere above Nevarro and moved the ship away. 

Was he making a mistake? Should he have kept you with him? OR stayed with you, even just for a little while longer? But what if someone had caught up to you or spotted you and gave you up. There would be no telling who would-

Ping!

A metallic note on the back of his helmet snapped him from his frantic thoughts, echoing in the confines of his helmet. It had come from Grogu’s direction.

He turned around, looking at what it was… and saw Grogu’s ball on the floor. 

“Hey, kid, what are you doing?”

An angry gurgle emanated from the little green creature, waving his arms in the air and his face full of disdain. 

Mando sighed, “Look, I know you’ll miss her, but we have to do this, okay?”

Grogu only waved his hands again, and suddenly the ball was flying through the air, bouncing off of his visor before rolling along the cockpit again. 

“Hey!! Now you decide to use your powers? That’s enough. This has to happen.” He pointed a finger at Grogu. 

Which just made the kid burst into tears and scream. 

Loudly. 

Mando swore under his breath, pulling him out of his crib and plonking him down on his lap. He turned back to the front of the ship, one hand holding the back of the kid’s head, the other piloting the ship, “Hey, hey… look, I’m sorry but… she had to leave. It wasn’t safe for her to stay with us..”

Grogu just wailed more, his little fists thumping into Mando’s belly. He was not happy with his father, and seemed intent on letting him know that. 

He sighed, letting Grogu pummel him. After all, his little hands barely made an impact, and it just reminded him painfully of that night in the cargo hold, where you fought him and broke down. He switched the ship to autopilot, tilting his head down to give Grogu his full attention. “Grogu.”

More wailing, the little tyke was determined not to pay attention. 

“Cmon, Grogu. Look at me.”

Grogu’s head shook rapidly from side to side, his little body shaking with sobs. 

“Not even for cookies?”

A pause. A questionable gurgle replacing the wailing. 

Mando couldn’t help the smile on his face behind the helmet, “Ah, see, I knew that would get your attention. If you look at me, I’ll let you have the pack.” It was bad parenting, not to mention bribery and he knew that. But anything to stop Grogu being upset – and to convince himself he’d done the right thing. “Just look at me, okay? And listen..”

Grogu lifted his head up, looking up at his father with glossy, tear filled eyes. 

Mando felt his heart break a little, and he gently wiped the tears from Grogu’s cheek with the back of his little finger, “I know you’re mad at me, and I completely understand why. But… there are so many people after her. After us as well.”

Grogu listened intently, little snuffly breaths rising from him now and then as a result of the previous tears. 

The Mandalorian reached across to a little box beside him, pulling out a package of the blue space cookies. He unwrapped them as he spoke, “The people that are after us all might start to work together. They might think that... if they can get to one of us, they can get all of us.” He pulled out a cookie, then held it out to the kid. “Everyone knows that I threw away the tracking fob. And that will draw more attention.”

Grogu took the cookie, biting it and his head tilted as he let his father speak, munching away. 

Mando leaned back in his seat, head still tilted down to watch, “If they find us… they find her. Any of the bounties I catch could turn, like that guy before with the tail. So.. if she goes to Nevarro… She can blend in and hide. Cara and Greef will monitor anyone coming in. They’ll keep her safe and steer away any authorities or hunters. She’ll be safer there than she will with us… and if we need to, I can draw away any hunters who think we’re all still together.”

Grogu’s ears sagged a little, a softer coo rising from him that flung a few tiny blue crumbs onto his fathers lap. 

Mando huffed a slight laugh, shaking his head a little, “Messy.” He brushed a few more crumbs from Grogu’s mouth, “Do you understand though? Why I had to do it?”

The kid nodded, though he still looked sad.

The Mandalorian held him closer, “I know, kid. I wish we didn’t have to do it either.”

~

The rest of the day passed uneventfully. Just travelling to Tatooine. His ship needed repairing, and the Mandalorian hadn’t met with Peli for a long while. 

And… maybe something in him was craving the comfort of… a friend? 

Besides, the kid loved her too and he wanted to cheer him up. 

He would see if the sparse planet had any extra work for him. He doubted it, the cantinas were rarely ever half full, but it didn’t hurt to try. He needed something to keep his mind occupied and away from thinking of a particular cocky, snarky, gorgeous companion. 

When he was close, he set the ship to autopilot, the display on the panel and his internal body clock telling him it was time to sleep. 

He scooped up Grogu, who had been playing with his ball, “C’mon, kid. Time for bed. You can come with me tonight.” 

The Mandalorian made his way to the little area that had become his bedroom. He looked down at the pile of blankets on the floor, pausing. 

Maybe he should return to his bed. The floor was wreaking havoc on his already aching back, and it was cold on the floor. 

He sighed, taking way too long to think about it, before returning back up to his sleeping compartment, pressing the pad on the wall to open it. 

Fuck. 

The entire compartment smelt like you. It hit him as soon as the door slid open, wafting under his helmet and filling his head with your scent. He swallowed back a soft groan, made his body move across the room. He didn’t need this. He needed sleep. He needed to focus. 

Mando walked across the room and set Grogu laying down closest to the wall, before sliding in and manoeuvring his clunky body and armour into the bed too. 

It was stronger here, the smell of your perfume. If he closed his eyes, maybe he could imagine you were there with him. Tucked up against him, sleeping deeply and evenly. 

He sighed, pulling the blankets over Grogu’s body and then his own, images swirling through his mind, the same ones that taunted him every night when he tried to sleep. He tried not to feel them, the thoughts that relentlessly filled his mind. It had made him restless, made his inhibitions low – hence why he’d found you in the kitchen, unable to hold back on the things he wanted to do and say. 

Mando said quietly after a while, rubbing Grogu’s ears, “You really liked her, huh?”

Grogu cooed, nodding his head a little before tilting it into his father’s touch. 

Mando sighed softly, resting his head on the pillow again and closing his eyes, “Me too, kid… Me too.” He allowed himself to inhale deeply, let that scent envelope him and lull him into sleep. 

~~

“Oh, thank the Force!! You’re still alive! Come here you little womp rat!” 

Peli’s excited exclamation was broken only by Grogu’s delighted squeal as he tottered over to her, arms outstretched and making grabby hands. 

Mando smiled behind his helmet. He knew coming here was the right thing to do. Grogu adored Peli, and hopefully this would cheer him up somewhat. He looked at Peli, the raised eyebrow evident in his voice as he leant against the side of his ship, “Did you expect us not to be?” 

Peli scooped Grogu up, holding him close after inspecting his body for injuries or hurts. “Are you blind, boy? Everyone is out looking for you. They know what you did, even out here. The droids picked up chatter from the town. Word is, they increased the bounty on your head and doubled the girls.”

Mando stood up straight quickly, “They’ve doubled her bounty?! That’s… That’s ridiculous. It was already the highest I’ve seen.” 

Peli narrowed her eyes, watching his reaction. “So, it’s true then. You kept another bounty. I didn’t know Mandalorian’s liked to collect things so much.” Her voice was a little disapproving, but she motioned for Mando to follow her. “You shouldn’t be taking such stupid risks, Mando. You’ve got a child to look after. Harbouring criminals isn’t the way to do that.”

The words left his mouth like an instinct, “She’s not a criminal.” He followed her though, his boots scuffing up dust on the floor. 

Peli looked over her shoulder at him, her own eyebrows raised this time, “Oh? She’s not? So that bounty fell on her accidentally did it? Look, if we heard of her all the way out here, she must have truly done something b-“

“She is not a criminal, Peli.” He tried to rein in the steel in his voice. Peli was just looking out for Grogu, and for him. But something about her tone had struck a nerve, reminded him of the own conclusions he had jumped to, and how badly it had hurt you. 

Peli didn’t even bother to turn around as she walked into the hangar, “And how do you know that? She tell you what she’s being hunted for?” She shifted Grogu to her other arm and pointed at the droids that rolled past her on their way to the ship, “Careful with those parts.”

Mando swallowed, hesitating as he looked back at the droids and then back toward Peli, following her to her desk area. “No. She didn’t. But I just know.” He sunk into a chair, picking up something from the desk and fiddling with it. 

Peli watched the movement, assessing him and she just hummed as she sat down herself, Grogu on her lap. “Look. What you do, who you meet and decide to put in your band of rogues is none of my concern. Hell, we know nothing about each other. But you have to remember, this child is still wanted by Moff Gideon. You’re still wanted by both sides. You need to be careful.” Her voice was firm, but there was a note of softness there that you had to look to find, but it was there all the same. “I assume she’s in that ship of yours hiding? You can bring her out. I won’t bite her.”

Mando swallowed, his words becoming a little difficult and he had to pause again, “No. She’s not there. I… we parted ways.”

Peli frowned, looking down at Grogu who had turned his head to her, cooing. His ears had flopped a little again, but he didn’t contest the fact. She made a thoughtful noise again, “Parted ways?”

Mando sighed silently, wanting to take the subject away from you, the pain in his chest, “How has business been?”

She blinked, then burst out laughing, “Business? Are you actually pulling a joke on me, Mandalorian? Do you see any business here? Tatootine is just as quiet as it was the last time you were here. Why? Looking for a job?”

Mando shrugged, setting down the object he’d been playing with, “It wouldn’t hurt to get some extra credits.”

Peli tilted her head thoughtfully, “Well, I can’t promise anything. But there have been a few new stragglers coming through the town lately. Some hunters, smugglers and the like. One of them might have something you can do. I wouldn’t rely on it though.”

He nodded, grateful for the chance to go and do something. Even if it was just walking into town, being told no, and heading back again. “Great. I’ll check it out in a bit.”

She wasn’t listening. She’d already diverted all of her attention back to Grogu, cooing at him and pulling faces.  

~~

Tatooine was just as dry, dusty and barren as it was the last time the Mandalorian had set foot here. Its inhabitants were scattered throughout the towns, which were dotted few and far between, though there were a handful more inhabitants here in Mos Eisley. It ws one of the larger spaceports, so had a little more traffic. 

It was still almost deserted though. 

You didn’t often see people or creatures in the streets, as the sun beating down was too much sometimes even for those that called the desert planet home. They also seemed to know when sandstorms were coming – which were often. Maybe there was another on its way. There was a wild wind brewing, stirring the sand. 

There weren’t many out today, maybe driven inside by the relentless sun, though a cluster had gathered here, in Chalmun’s Spaceport Cantina. 

It was a roughly hewn building on the outside, the same colour as the dusty ground. It was small, but its thick walls provided a natural shade, cool and dim out of the sun.

Mando ducked under the upper threshold as he stepped inside, ignoring the glances and muttering that occurred whenever he walked into a place. Even if he hadn’t been clad in shiny – albeit rather dusty – beskar, he still would have garnered the attention, simply for being a Mandalorian. 

He was used it to by now, but it did still make him feel uncomfortable sometimes. 

He surveyed the room, then walked to the bar, which provided the main source of light in the centre of the room. The atmosphere seemed…calm, though that could change at the drop of a hat and the bar could erupt into one of it’s famous brawls. 

The last time he’d set foot in this particular cantina, he’d helped a young bounty hunter… who’d turned traitor. 

He would try to avoid that this time. He only wanted a job. No help. 

The Mandalorian tapped the bar to gain the attention of the barman, “Hey. Anyone come through here with bounty pucks?” 

The barman paid him no attention, continuing to serve the customer, a pilot by the looks of his jumpsuit. 

Mando frowned behind his helmet, “No?” He was hot, a little agitated and he missed you. So his temper wasn’t the greatest. 

The barman snapped, “No. Come back tomorrow, maybe there’ll be a line of people waiting to fall at your shiny feet.” He looked at Mando in disgust then walked to the other end of the bar to serve.

Mando sighed, counting to ten his mind. He needed a job. He would just have to keep trying. 

And so, he did. Over the next three days, he went back again and again. And every day, he would come home with nothing. 

Each night, Peli would tell him over dinner that it was because of the approaching storm. That there would be more people once it had cleared. 

The third night, the storm finally rolled in. 

Mando was already awake, the lack of distraction meaning his thoughts were spiralling again, so he was conscious when the howling wind roared to life, bringing with it waves and waves of sand. 

He spent the night watching the wind move like it was an animal, unleashed from its cage to be free. It didn’t sound angry. It sounded mournful. Like it was tearing through the town looking for something, for someone. 

Mando couldn’t help but relate. 

~ 

The storm stayed for another four days. Endless howling of the wind, the cold chill it brought of a night, so different to the scorching wind of the days. 

Luckily, it gave the Mandalorian something to do. He secured his ship when the wind had died down a little, making sure there were no gaping holes or anything that could get damaged should the wind change direction. 

As much as he didn’t like droids, he had to admit that Peli’s did a pretty good job. 

After that, she had him clearing out any of her gear and belongings that were outside. 

Which meant hauling in all the nearby boxes and making sure the droids didn’t roll out and get buffeted and dragged away by the wind. 

When that was done, he was to spend his time clearing away the dust and sand that blew in through the openings. 

Peli told him she couldn’t work in a messy environment, but the scattered parts, oily rags and various paraphernalia dotted around would have him beg to differ. 

Still, it gave him a way to keep his mind busy. 

However, the jobs and handy work he did for her didn’t stop him from watching the storm every night, or from checking Peli’s rusty but still operational tablet for updates on the atmospheric pressure. 

…

The morning of the fifth day dawned bright and scalding. 

The storm was gone, reduced to a few gusts of heavy wind here and there, but nothing like the raging force of the past four days. 

The heat was even more oppressive than usual, like the wind had sucked any minuscule ounce of coolness from the air and left it feeling like fire in the lungs. 

Peli told him he was stupid, that the town would be deserted. She was even more annoyed when he informed her that he was taking Grogu. He had been penned inside for four days and was starting to act as stir crazy as Mando felt. 

Peli yelled at him, even threatened to take apart his ship but he respectfully ignored her and made the trek anyway. Even if every step in the blazing heat made it feel like his armour was melting to his body. He’d popped Grogu into his crib, to spare him from the scorching air. 

Why did he decided to come to another desert planet?

Maybe he would go somewhere cold next. 

Yeah, that sounded like a good idea. Somewhere where he could take a breath of chilled, icy air. Somewhere he could show Grogu the snow..

~“Snow and ice are stunning. They’re powerful and strong. I’ve only ever been in a proper snowfall once, and I fell in love. The way the flakes float down and.. dance even if there’s the faintest breeze. And then when they land on your skin or your eyelashes like little cold kisses… The sound it makes under your boots when you walk on a fresh fall. And it softens everything, makes it easier on your eyes to see across the landscape… it’s quiet, muffled…”~

Mando’s heart wrenched as he remembered your words, the way your face lit up and your eyes danced as you described the feeling of snow on your skin. He swallowed, shaking his head free of the memory and walking into the cantina, Grogu’s crib floating along with him. 

The barman sneered at him, “What, no questions today?” 

Mando just shook his head, ordering a bowl of cold broth for the kid and then he retreated to a table in the corner, sinking into his seat. 

Maker, he was tired. So, so tired. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a proper sleep and it was beginning to catch up with him now. 

The tiredness, mixed with the physical work of the past few days was getting to him. His back ached and his shoulders were constantly tense with the weight of his armour. He wasn’t a young man anymore, things had started to niggle and irritate more than usual. 

The quiet ambiance of the cantina and the soft slurps of Grogu enjoying his broth were beginning to lull the Mandalorian into sleep. His body relaxed into the hard bench seat, his eyes began to close behind the helmet, no matter how hard he fought it. 

Maybe he could just close his eyes for a moment… just to rest..

It wasn’t until Grogu’s sharp warning cry echoed through the fog in his brain, that he realised he’d actually fallen asleep. His head shot up from where it had rested on his chest, adrenaline shooting through his body so fast it made him dizzy. His hand had flown to the blaster on his hip by instinct, and he looked around rapidly for the cause of Grogu’s cry. 

And then he found it. 

Sitting opposite him and the kid, was a male figure, draped in an expensive looking black cloak that was embroidered with golden thread. The hilt of an ancient blade protruded above broad shoulders, sheathed down the figure’s spine. The cloak hid anything on the figures body, but Mando knew it was lined with weapons. 

The male figure had an elbow on the table, a long arm propped up with his hand disappearing into the darkness of his hood where he presumably had his chin resting. 

He knew that this man was a hunter. 

A predator. 

He could sense the coiled energy slumbering within the relaxed stance, just knew that the heavy material of his cloak hid an arsenal of weapons. 

That and the fact he could see the faint outline of a knife hidden within the man’s sleeve. 

The Mandalorian straightened, alertness flooding every single sense, along with the anger at his own sheer stupidity for falling asleep. He reached out, pulling Grogu off of the table and back into his crib in one fluid movement, shielding it between his body and the wall behind him. 

He might have chosen a corner table, might be backed into that corner, but at least no one could get the jump on him from behind. 

Mando had already marked the exists and potential attack points the first time he’d come here, so he didn’t need to worry about those. 

He was in the process of trying to spot any tells on his new acquaintance, when the figure laughed. 

A laugh like silk, flowing over the skin. A laugh that was designed to draw you in, to caress you and seduce you. 

The voice was the same. Low, with a rich baritone like velvet that slid over the Mandalorian’s bones, “Relax. You don’t need to go on the offence, Mandalorian. Though I know that might be hard for you.” He was grinning under that hood, and Mando could almost imagine a set of fangs to match the voice, itching to sink into flesh. 

“Don’t I?” The Mandalorian’s voice was hard, cold. He needed to get out of here… but something was making him curious about who this shadowy figure was, something niggling at the back of his mind like he knew. 

The figure shrugged, an easy gesture, “Nope. Trust me, if I wanted you dead, you wouldn’t have woken up from your little nap there. I could have killed you and that Peli woman during the storm and hung your skins out as wind gauges.”

He knew who Peli was? Who was he?

The Mandalorian said nothing. He supposed someone from the town could have spotted him staying at Peli’s. He’d have to leave. He didn’t want her getting hurt because of him. 

The man laughed again, set Mando’s teeth on edge, “Honestly, Mando. Are you always wound this tight? No wonder you don’t sleep.” He dropped his hand, resting both forearms on the table and lacing his fingers together. They were clad in fine leather gloves, perfectly snug to his hands. “I won’t kill your little friend either, I promise. I’m here on business.” He paused, “Acceptable business, if you could call it that. Not my usual or favoured type of business, mind you.” 

Mando kept his hand on his blaster, kept his other arm held slightly out in case Grogu’s crib was on display. It was only then that he’d noticed the entire cantina had emptied out. It was just the three of them. How long was he asleep? 

“What business would that be? I don’t exactly fall into the ‘acceptable business’ category myself.”  He couldn’t keep the snideness out of his tone. 

The figure leaned into his hands, no ounce of light creeping past the hood. There was nothing there, just heavy darkness shrouding his face. “I need you to find someone for me. I’ve been tasked by someone supposedly important to bring them in, and I heard you’re almost as good as me.”

Mando had a feeling he knew where this was going. “And who am I helping you bring in? I don’t have sidekicks.”

The figure snorted, like Mando’s words amused him, “You think I’d be your sidekick? Please. You’ve been living with your head in that bucket too long. You obviously don’t know who I am.” He might have shaken his head beneath the heavy cloak, “I digress. Here is the person I want you to help me find.” He slid a puck onto the table, “I think you’ll be able to help. I’d be happy to split the reward in half with you. It would be enough for you to take your little one to one of those sanctuary planets.” 

He didn’t want to press that puck. He didn’t want to reveal what he already knew. “Sorry. I just remembered. I’m busy.” He made to rise from his chair. 

The figure didn’t even move a finger, and suddenly an iron grip wrapped itself around the Mandalorian’s throat. He choked, his hand slipping from his blaster to his neck, trying to prise away whatever was suffocating him, but it wasn’t there. Nothing was touching him. 

The man watched him, “Sit down.”

The pressure became tighter, dragged down Mando’s body and forced his legs to relax and for his body to dump back onto the bench. “Now. Activate the puck.” 

Mando shook his head, gasping for breath beneath the helmet, his lungs already fit to burst and his eyes tearing up. He had to protect you and the kid.

This man, if he was one, snarled softly, “Unless you want me to crush your windpipe and slit your baby in half, open the damn puck.”

Mando growled, clawing across the table and slamming his fingers onto the puck. 

At once, the pressure immediately vanished. The man still sounded calm, casual, “That’s a good boy.” 

The sudden rush of air was surprisingly not what had Mando gasping. It was your face, lit up in holo with the now absurdly high bounty flashing above it. 

He’d known it’d be you, but it was still like a blow to his heart. The hazy blue mirage of your face, projected into the air stared at him, cutting right through him. 

Mando shook his head again, his voice hoarse, “I don’t know where she is. I lost her. I don’t have the rights to go after again.”

The shadowy man leaned forward closer, flicking the puck “I knew you’d say that. I also knew that roughly a week ago, you dropped her off in Nevarro. I know that she’s currently staying under the protection of Marshal Cara Dune and Greef Carga.” He pressed the button to deactivate the puck. 

Ice spread through Mando’s belly. How did this freak know where you were? How did he know where you were staying? Had he been following you?

His heart started to increase rapidly in his chest, his brain scrambling for a way out of this conversation. If it were anyone else, he would have ripped them apart and left by now. 

But some primal instinct told him if he tried, he wouldn’t be the one walking away. 

The man pulled the puck toward him, slipping it deep within his cloak, “You catch on fast. You’re right. You wouldn’t be walking away. There wouldn’t even be enough of you left to paint the walls of this disgusting building. Not even with your precious baby.”

What the fuck? He just… 

A silky chuckle emanated from the hooded abyss, “Yes, yes. Don’t dwell on it, Mandalorian. There are bigger things to worry about.” He sat up straighter. “Now, I’m assuming you don’t remember what I am. So, I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt. I have been employed by someone who is far too arrogant and overestimates both their intelligence and their influence.” He paused, “No… employed is the wrong word. That would imply that they are my boss, and that is simply beyond ridiculous.” He tapped the table, “Anyway, as I was saying. I have been paid by someone to find your little girlfriend. And I will not stop until I find her. There are no ifs, buts or maybes. I will find the girl. And it’ll be sooner rather than later.” 

Mando couldn’t breathe. There was a roaring in his ears. 

The man continued on, “My client has asked me to bring her back to them. And I am nothing if not a gentleman of my word, so I have promised that she will be taken to them. On one condition.” He reached behind him, unsheathing his sword and resting it on the table in front of him with a movement so smooth it could have been choreographed. “I will have her returned to me after they are done with her. For she belongs to me, truly. And I will do to her whatever I see fit.”

A deadly fury rose within Mando like a tidal wave at the disgusting possessiveness in this mans words, but it was diminished when he saw the blade.

As long as his arm, a metal so black it sucked the very light from the room. There patterns within the surface, liked it was folded back onto itself again and again, until it was virtually indestructible. The centre of the blade and its hilt were etched in gold with symbols that Mando didn’t know. 

But he recognised them. 

With a sudden clarity, it came rushing back to him. 

As a child, he was told bedtime stories, of a terrifying phantom of death. He rode the night sky, which answered to him. He slipped through the shadows and into people’s minds. He could kill a man from the inside out without touching him, reduce him to a screaming pit of fear, so tortured that he would tear out his own eyes. 

He left behind no trace. He killed without mercy, without remorse for he had no soul. 

There were rumours that beneath his hood, lay the head of a monster, so vile and cruel that the deepest pits of the galaxy spat him back out because they were too good for someone like him. 

There was even talk of him in Mandalorian culture. Warnings. 

This being was the one thing that a Mandalorian should never engage in. For he would make even the most skilled hunter or assassin cower. He had slaughtered in the Mandalorian wars, killed thousands on either side and then returned later to suck the souls out of the dead. 

There were multiple names for him in Mando’a, the two most prominent being Werda which meant shadows, or more commonly, Haran. Translated, it meant hell, or cosmic annihilation, as he was said to be older than time. Older than the galaxy. He was death. 

Haran chuckled softly, “Ah, I thought that might stir up some memories. I admit, I was surprised when I learned that the Mandalorian’s knew who I was, and even warned you about me. As if they believed that would save you. I thought you were all… what’s the phrase? Ori'buyce, kih'kovid. All helmet, no head."

He might throw up. Mando might throw up right here. He couldn’t wrap his head around what was happening. A fucking myth, a legend told to Mandalorians and people across the galaxies, was sitting opposite him. 

He was real. 

He could speak Mando’a better than some of his fellow Mandalorians. 

He wanted you. 

Haran was caressing a gloved finger up and down the edge of his blade, “I am going to get her, Mandalorian. She will be mine. She has belonged to me since the moment she was born, our fates entwined like threads of time. I will have her back by my side, and I will teach her everything that she is. I will help expand her past the limits of what she can be. She will be unstoppable. Indestructible.” There was a hunger in his voice, a hunger that struck genuine fear into Mando’s heart. 

Mando croaked, the only thing he could manage, “What are you talking about?” 

Haran tiled his head again, his movements stilling, “She never told you?” That irresistible voice actually sounded surprised, then he chuckled, “Oh, that’s interesting. She’s obviously tried to forget who she truly is. No matter, I’ll show her soon enough.” He appeared to be thinking about something, then his cloaked head tilted up and Mando knew he was watching him. 

If he even had eyes under there. 

“You can go and run off to her now. But you won’t be able to save her.” Such simple words, spoken with such a casual knowledge, a man used to being right. 

The Mandalorian didn’t even think. He lurched from his seat, numbly pressing the button on his vambrace that had Grogu’s crib following him. 

He had to get back to Peli. He had to get back to the Crest. He needed to find you, needed to take you somewhere far away, somewhere where you’d be safe from this monster.

“Wait.” 

The man caught Mando’s arm as he made to go past him, gripping it with an iron strength that seemed to reverberate throughout his bones, root him to the spot. He couldn’t move. 

“I tell you what. I’m a generous man, so I’m going to give you a head start. I’ll be here for the next seven days. After that, I’ll be making my way to Nevarro. And I will lay waste to anyone that tries to stand in my way. ”

Mando couldn’t speak, his tongue had frozen to the roof of his mouth with that same phantom grip. He could only make a choked noise, a growl that sounded as threatening as he could. 

The man laughed again beneath that fucking hood, letting go of the invisible grip and sheathing his blade, “Better hurry… Lori.” 

Previous chapter| Next Chapter

[liquid-luck-00]

Habits

Bio!Dad Bruce

Day 4: Habits

@biodad-bruce-month

First ~~~ Previous ~~~ Next

~~~~~~~~~~

The bat boys went out of their way to make Marinette feel included into the family. However she seemed to always get lost in the manor. Little did they know that she was using the horse miraculous to travel to and from Paris and still hasn't had enough practice with Kaalki.

Yet when they do happen to find her she seems to always be lost in thought while sketching or designing.

They had noticed early on that they could still hold a conversation with her and she would respond and remember the conversation.

---

Marinette hadn't been at the manor for two days when the first incident occurred.

It was Jason who first caught her completely focused and to say it was a shock was an understatement. He had walked into the living room, trying to find her and Tim to play Mecha strike, so when he saw she was designing and Tim was sitting on the other couch reading.

"Hey Replacement, Bluebell who wants to play UMS III?" Jason asked the room.

"I'll play," Tim responded looking up from his book. Both boys then looked at Mari, who seemingly didn't hear them. Tim got up and walked over to her along with him. While

Marinette seemed to be hyper focused on her design that she didn't respond when Jason asked her again. So Jason decided it would be smart to tap her on the shoulder to get her attention. That was a bad idea. . He had snapped her out of her thoughts, but as he did she glared at them.

"Holy Fuck" Jason screamed as he backed away from her.

"What is wrong with you. You break my concentration and then scream. Like seriously Jason." She was holding her head covering her ears while glaring at him.

That was when Tim seemed to find his voice again. "Well if genetics hadn't proved you were Bruce's daughter, you giving Jason his signature glare would prove it."

"Well I guess that explains a few thing now" she hummed.

"That is all you get out of this?" Jason asks.

"What else was to get out of this?" she asked tilting her head, "so what did you guys want anyways?" she went back to her sunny personality.

---

The second incident occurred later that same day but with only Dick. He had gone to find her for dinner, so he went to her room. He had heard from both Jason and Tim that she could pull out the Bruce 'Batman' Glare so he did the smart choice of first knocking on the door.

"Come in" was her only response.

She was sitting at the desk staring at one of her sketchbooks. Her chin was resting on her arm her nose was scrunched and eyebrows furrowed concentrating on the image in front of her.

It wasn't the Batman Glare but she looked just like Bruce when he was in deep concentration.

"Dinner is almost ready" he answered after entering the room.

"Dick thank goodness" She snapped her head up and looked at him with her full attention. "I can’t decide on a color for this blazer. It would look nice in an emerald or in a sapphire blue. I know I want to use gold as an accent around the main part that is black stitched with holographic music notes but I don't know maybe"

"Mari" he interrupted her. God she even over thinks like Bruce, that was why he had stopped her. "Breathe please. Now is this for a certain person or no one in particular?" He asked breaking her slight panic.

"It is for a commission so a certain person." she answered calming down.

"So would the person's hair or eyes clash with those colors" Thank god Barbara always dragged him shopping and complains how certain colors clashed with her hair.

"Neither would clash necessarily, but the sapphire blue would complement his hair and skin tone better" she finished writing something in on the page.

"Okay now that, that is settled why don't we go down for dinner Little B" Dick gave her a smile.

"Little B?"

"Little Bruce" be elaborated, really be meant little bat, but she doesn't know that yet so he improvised.

"Why?"

"The way you scrunch your nose and eyebrows when concentrating is just like him. That and completely overthinking and over analyzing things is just like him"

"It's a habit I've been trying to break" she answers sheepishly.

"Don't, just ask yourself questions to not get sided tracked, it is one of the best qualities a person can have" he answered honestly. "God only knows Bruce wouldn't come up with half of what makes up WE if he didn't overanalyze every little thing" she seemed to cheer up a bit at this and he is glad he could help his little sister.

---

The third incident happened with Tim to say he was surprised when he saw her awake in the kitchen at 3 in the morning as he came back from patrol was shocking.

Honestly the only people awake at that hour were either the Bats, criminals, or him well him or even Bruce who would still be working. But here she is completely awake making, wait is that.

"Is that coffee?" He ended up asking out loud.

She turned to face him "Yes. Want some?"

"Please!!" he practically begged.

"Fair warning this is my special blend, I haven't found anyone else who could handle it" she warned him, but he took it as a challenge.

"Try me" and she did, she set a cup down in front of him and also poured herself one. After the first sip he realized it was strong, much stronger than his usual, and that usually had an entire cup of espresso. "That is good. You are making this again if you don't give me the recipe" she giggled.

"Let's see if you can handle a cup and make it to breakfast." she countered and she left to her room.

When morning came he was still wired in fact he was practically bouncing in his seat while having breakfast and everyone was staring at him. Granted he was usually a zombie in the morning so this was new, actually functioning properly that is.

"You okay there Timmy" Dick asked him, and that was confusing.

"Yes, why wouldn't I be?" Tim asked.

"Now your beginning to scare us. Wait did you actually sleep, Replacement?" Jason asked him.

"I don't think he did Jason" everyone turned and stared at Marinette. "Half a cup" she said staring at him.

"Care to explain Bluebell." 

"So turns out I'm not the only one awake late. Someone" she stared at Tim, "caught me making coffee last night, drank a single cup and still seems to be wired" she shrugged "so half a cup next time Tim"

"Wait, he is the most awake he has ever been in the, almost six years I've known him, and he hasn't slept." Damian stated bored. "what did you put in the coffee?"

"Nothing much, but if you know how to roast the beans right anything is possible" she rose the mug she was holding. That was when they all noticed the mug in her hand.

Out of concern, he is guessing, Dick and Jason moved to take the mug from her. They turned around to face each other with a smirk and they saw that they were both holding identical mugs to the one in, wait Marinette still has a mug.

"Enjoy the cocoa" she smiled as she took a sip from her cup.

"You really are Bruce's daughter if you can pull that with little to no sleep." Tim replied. Her only response was a head tilt. "I swear not sleeping and still being able to function absurdly well is genetic. You, Damian, and Bruce are alike in that."

---

The fourth incident happened and was witnessed by Damian. He was sure that he would be able to have the gym to himself as everyone was out on patrol but he was mistaken.

There was Marinette a headset on, with her hands wrapped moving between punching a bag and a sequence of movements. He watched her until she seemed to finish her set. She looked up and when she noticed him he walked towards her. She wasn't being her usual bubbly self, in fact it looked to him that she was upset.

"I didn't think anyone else would be in here" he stated."

"Oh, really" she answered lowering her headset ”I won't be a bother and did you want to take the punching bag." she said a slight frown on her lips. Okay he may not be the best at dealing with emotions, but he was extremely good at perceiving them on others.

"Something is bothering you, isn't it?" he was blunt sure but he wasn't expecting her to freeze and look around before taking a breath and schooling her features.

"No, everything is fine"

"It. As if I would believe that"

"Really now why don't..."

"Either you talk or we spar" he cut her off. He was expecting her to speak not take off her headset completely, set it down, and take a stance. The two began to spar and after almost two hours they were both lying on the mat exhausted.

"Thanks Damian, I needed a good spar"

"Any time you need, ask" he got up and began walking back to his room.

If he didn't already know she was a Wayne then that would prove it. Only a Wayne would rather not face their emotions and would rather fight.

His sister was his and he would be damned if he didn't at least help her. Albeit it he wasn't the most mushy of the family but she already was the most bearable of his sibling. Maybe he'll teach her to sword fight, then maybe someone would be an actual challenge for him.

Next

~~~~~~~~~~

Tag list:

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[marvelite624]

My brother, Frankie, had always been the one in charge when we were kids. 'The world was his oyster' as the saying goes. I lived in his shadow most of the time and was happy to be there. But Frankie didn't seem as 'in charge' as he once was and I, well, I was eager to carve out a piece of that oyster for myself, or is that supposed to be pies, carving pies? No matter, I had to find out where I belonged in the scheme of things... especially since Mom...

Left for college almost two years ago. The experience was new and exciting! It was also sometimes scary. I didn't have my brother's shoulder, always there for me when I found things slipping. Frankie was my rock! He didn't even flinch when I unloaded the fact that I was gay on him. Without missing a beat, he hugged me, told me how happy he was that I'd told him, and then added, "Well, at least I won't have to worry about you stealing my dates or anything." He gave me some quick 'noogies' and that was that. What a relief it was to find nothing had changed between us. He never treated me any differently, never put me down, and never let me down either.

Something has felt 'wrong' where my brother was concerned lately. It started weeks ago, nagging insistently; I couldn't concentrate or think about much else, not even my studies. Calling home, I got Sarah who assured me everything was alright. She said Frankie had 'taken off' for a few days but was back now. "Everthing is fine.", she said. It did little to ease my mind but I had to finish the quarter. Tuition is non-refundable, unfortunately.

Soon as I could manage, I hopped on a bus for home; even that felt 'wrong'. Sure enough, we got a flat about sixty miles out and had to wait several hours for repairs. When we finally hit town, I caught a lift out with a girl who was dropping a friend off at the station. Her vibe had 'free ride' written all over it. Her face was saying, 'I want some of that' as she looked me up and down...I felt guilty taking advantage of it. Her name was Mercy coincidentally. She was very sweet and NOT playing hard to get as she gave me her phone number.

Crawling off the sofa this fine Sunday morning, I could hear voices from the kitchen. The conversation stopped me in my tracks near the doorway. Frankie was asking Sarah who she'd spoken to about little Becka's party. The answer was, "No one really, just Constance, why?" Frankie told her what I'd said about calling the Thrift Store. "So, if no one else at the store knew, and Constance was AT the party, Gil was...being less than honest with me. Why, I wonder." "I'm sure he had good reason, hon. Just let it go, ok?" Bless her, she had my back without even knowing it.

I walked in innocently, rubbing my eyes, "Mornin' guys. Any more of that coffee left?" "Mornin', Gil!", Sarah said cheerfully. "Have a seat, comin' right up!" Frankie started, "You sleep ok on the old sofa?" "I was so beat, I could have slept on a park bench; that sofa felt good." "Well, we'll work on somethin' a little more accommodating today. Here, I found this for for ya." He stood up halfway, reaching across the table to get at something folded there. I took it and, getting a good look, let go of a belly laugh that caught us both by surprise.

"The last thing I heard before turnin' in was the first thing I thought of when I opened my eyes. I did some diggin' and found that old rag. Try it on, if it still fits, keep it...you won't have to borrow it anymore. Always suited you better'n me anyway!

It fit like a glove. "Thanks, man! You know I always loved this shirt!" "Yep, and I always knew which one of your drawers I could find it in too!"

Sarah placed a steaming cup in front of me as I sat back down,"You gentleman even a little bit hungry?" "I could eat the south end of a north-bound horse this mornin'!", Frankie exclaimed. "Eeew! I'll be struggling with that image the rest of the day, thanks! Yeah, Sarah, I'm starved!" About that time, Becka bounced into the room,"Mo'nin!!"

I replied to her exuberance, "Hey there, Sunshine!" "Unca Gilly! I dit'n know you was here!" She raced across the short distance, arms outstretched and I scooped her up! "I was trying to get here for your party, baby girl...but, that dumb ol' bus had a bad tire. Sorry I wasn't here. I got some of the cake though!" "Mommy makes good cake!" "I know that's right! Hey, do Gilly a favor and go look in the side pocket of his bag! It's next to the sofa. If you find something in there, bring it here, ok?" Sliding back to the floor, she scampered away.

Moments later, she returned. "What's this for?", she asked sheepishly, already aware of what she held in her little hand. It was a small, transistor radio, the kind that Radio Shack had built its' name on. "That's for you, Tidbit! You like music don't you?" "Who doesn't?" "Well, now you can listen to some any time you want, anywhere." "I get to have it? A wadio!" "All yours, happy birthday, sugar!" "Thank you, Unca Gilly, I wuv it so much!" She hopped a couple of times and reached out for another quick hug as she gave me a peck on the cheek.

With a puzzled look on her face, she addressed her mother next. "Where I'n gonna sit, Mommy...my chaew is gone?" "You're a big girl now! You don't need that old highchair any more! Pull out the one across from Daddy." She fumbled a bit, but got it out enough to see her new booster seat. She began to clap, "I'n a big guwa, now! A big guwaaa!" "Upsy-daisy!" Frankie lifted her into the booster and slid her up to the table.

It could be the cause, I don't know but, just as the smell of bacon frying began to fill the room, the cat sneezed. I'd forgotten about him. Becka spun her head quickly in that direction, "PESKERS!", she shouted. "You found Peskers!" "Somethin' you want to tell us, Angel?", Frankie asked softly. "I put him inna basement so he could be safe, Daddy." Frankie placed an elbow on the table to provide a prop for his cheek, "Peskers?" "Uh huh, he kept comin' up outside an' peskerin' me til I gave him bites o' stuff...so I named him Peskers." There was a moment of silence until, "I can keep Peskers, Daddy? He'll be a good boy, I jus know it!" "You think, now that you're a big girl, you can take care of him?" "I was alweady takin' care of him, Daddy...befow I was big yet." "Ooh, she's got'cha there, bro." "Well, since he was caught earning his keep...", another moment of silence, "Sure, honey, Peskers can stay. Consider him Daddy's birthday present...if the vet says he's ok, I will too." "I do get all the best pwesents!....thank you too, Daddy!"

Sarah placed a bowl of Frosted Flakes and some juice in front of Beacka before continuing to prepare breakfast. "So, Gil... any 'special someones' in your life these days, a furry plaything perhaps, hmmm?" "Seems your husband is the expert on finding furry playthings these days...but no, there's no one really. A social life is too distracting right now. Just me and the books are all that's cuddling I'm afraid." "A strappin' lad like you don't have half the campus on his doorstep? Ok, then, keep your secrets if you want..." "No, really!" "Suuuure." She was never going to believe me.

After breakfast, I asked Frankie about the guys he always ran with. He told me he had lost touch with Cale and Donny but, he didn't say why...I think I already knew. Asked him if I could borrow his truck later, after I did some work on the yard he'd been neglecting. "I haven't been myself lately, Gil. I've gotten slack, let some things slide.", he said. "I understand, Frankie." And I did, better than he knew. "You know where the keys are hangin', buddy...anytime.", he told me.

A little after three o'clock, I was almost finished mowing the grass, the part I'd planned on doing today at any rate. I was thinking about Donny and how I'd always had the biggest crush on him. He and Frankie were closer than they wanted anyone to know about back then too. But I could tell. The gaydar would be screaming up a storm when they got together. How was I the only one who could tell? Even Jeb and Cale were clueless. Frankie had walked the yard picking up branches and other obstacles for me; he was now in the house with Sarah cleaning some things out of the spare bedroom. I went inside.

"Can I help you guys with that?" "Haven't you done enough today?", Sarah threw her hands on her hips as she spoke, "I think we've got this." "Ok, then...if you're sure. I'm gonna jump in the shower real quick." "Yes, please do!", Frankie teased. "I'm going, I'm going!"

Showered and spruced, I noticed the butterflies in my stomach as I got dressed. Donny was still dominating my thoughts and I looked forward to seeing him again, maybe too much, I don't know. That's where I was headed, out to his place. I was making a habit of surprising people these days but, I didn't want to call, give him a shot at telling me "no". I pulled the keys off the wall and announced that I was leaving. A not unexpected, "Don't do anybody I wouldn't do!", from Frankie. To which Sarah added, "Well, that just leaves him with nobody period, stupid! You go have fun, be picky, be careful...but, have fun."

Less than twenty minutes later I was pulling up at Donny's. Wearing my best cologne and sporting a case of the jitters, the worst ever, I crawled out of the truck. The front door opened as I approached. Donny leaned out a little and, to my relief, let a smile cross his face.

"Gilbert James! As I live and breathe, Gilly-boy!" His voice was as sexy as I remembered. I offered my hand for a friendly shake. He gripped it firmly and snatched my nervous tail on up the stairs, followed with a surprising hug. Up close like that I got a whiff of 'manliness' that almost curled my toes.

"How's it hangin', Gil? You been doin' alright? Come on in, have a sit down...tell me some shit!" I walked in not expecting much. To my amazement, the interior was much nicer than was suggested by the exterior. The trailer was small but, neat, clean and furnished well. He had taste and a good eye for spacial design. Why that surprised me, I don't know, he was 'family' after all. I took a seat and began to jabber on about school, looking for anything to hold his interest.

Donny had set a cold beer in front of me, asking if beer was ok. I do believe he'd already had a few before I arrived. He sat there all man-spread on the sofa looking like Sunday dinner, finger-lickin', salty goodness and he must have noticed the hungry look on my face too. It prompted him to order a pizza, "You look hungry.", he said. Yeah, he'd noticed, but it wasn't pizza on my mind.

We'd talked for several hours, the sun was setting on us. It was strange that he'd not said much about Frankie. He was obviously avoiding the subject. All of a sudden, he rose from the sofa stating with certainty, "I don't smell too good right now." He pulled a twenty out of his wallet and asked me to pay when the pizza arrived. "I'm gonna go clean up a bit, do you mind?" "No problem, you go do whatever. I'll be here." I watched as he headed for the bathroom, an oh-so-slight stagger in his swagger, still an awesome sight to behold!

The delivery guy came and went. The box went straight to the counter as I checked the time. He'd been gone for like twenty minutes, give or take, and not a sound since the water stopped running. I used it as an excuse to check on my host. Outside the bathroom door, I pecked gently, "Donny, you ok in there?" No immediate response made me wonder for real but, I wasn't able to discern anything alarming. Nothing until a wave of sadness washed over me unexpectedly. From the other side of the door Donny called to me, "Gilly-boy...I gotta tell ya..." I opened the door and poked my head in, eyes to the floor, he continued, "Come on in, let me tell ya."

I walked on in slowly, lowered the lid on the toilet, and parked myself there. He looked so hot in the tub. My heart was pounding so hard but, none of that could erase the vibe tearing through me, I wanted to cry and had to choke it back. Donny spoke again after I'd seated myself, "I was the one who found him. Just lying there like that! I called for help and just dropped to my knees. Held his head in my lap while I waited for someone to come! I was so afraid I'd lost him forever! I cried so hard, Lord, I'd never cried that way, ever!" He began to weep now and awkwardly tried to hide it from me as I left my perch to crouch next to the tub. I wept with him, "Let it out, Don, let it go.", I told him. Leaning toward me, he did let go, laying his forehead to mine as I stretched my arm across his shoulders. A few moments later, he spoke to me once more, through his tears and anguish he asked me, "Can you stay with me tonight, Gilly? I'm so tired of bein' alone." "I'll stay as long as you need me to, Donny...I'll stay."

Assuring him I'd be right back, I found the phone and called home. Frankie beat Sarah to the phone; she must have been doing the dishes or something. "Frankie..." I was interrupted, "Where you at, brother?! Nevermind, unless you're in trouble, I probably don't want'a know. What." "Would you mind too much if I didn't come home tonight? I have a friend who needs me..." "Hey, do what you need to, Sarah can take me to work in the mornin'...she wants to run Peskers to the vet for a checkup anyway. No problemo, man!" "Thanks, Frankie, you're the best." "No, you are!" "See y'all tomorrow."

I returned to the bathroom where I was greeted with a smile and a warm, sincere atmosphere of relief. Donny stood up, suds running down the length of his body, "Hand me a towel, would you please?" I did. That pizza would go uneaten for quite some time yet. Neither of us was hungry...for pizza.

(to be continued in Part 7)

•This is an original work of fiction and labor of love, written by me, Terry G. Nunley.

[heyiwrotesomethings]

Nicknames

ShinoMitsu Week 2021 Day Five: (Long Distance, Nicknames, Kimetsu Gakuen)

A/N: I kind of got a little carried away with giving Mitsuri’s siblings names and some screen time but I don't think it made this too much longer. Two more days left! Thanks for reading! Word Count: 3,074

“Hi, cutie pie!” Mitsuri said just before she clamped onto Shinobu’s back after classes let out. “Did you have a good day?”

“That one’s a miss.” Shinobu had answered. “But yes, my day was fine.”

“Aw, but you are a cutie pie!” Mitsuri grumbled.

“No.” Shinobu denied.

For some reason, seemingly overnight, Mitsuri became obsessed with finding Shinobu a nickname, but Shinobu had thus far rebuffed all of her attempts. A few names in the long list Mitsuri had tried were babe, baby, sweet pea, honey bunny, peanut, snuggle bug, muffin, cupcake, donut, marshmallow... a lot of them she had come up with while she was hungry. Every single one had been rejected with a laugh or a cringe, or a deadpan expression by Shinobu, but Mitsuri was not ready to give up anytime soon!

“Okay then speedy, I’ll walk you to the locker room.” Mitsuri tried again.

“My dad calls me speedy.” Shinobu revealed, “He’s been calling me that ever since I could walk.”

“What, so I can’t call you that?”

“No, you can’t.”

“Ah! How about my butterfly! That’s perfect!” Mitsuri shouted in excitement.

“Sorry, that’s claimed as well. Mom calls Kanae, Kanao and I her butterflies.”

Mitsuri huffed, disappointed, but she wasn’t done yet, not by a long shot.

“Very well then, milady.” Mitsuri said with a small bow.

Shinobu snorted.

“No, just no.” Shinobu shook her head while Mitsuri puffed out her cheeks.

“It’s harder than it looks!” Mitsuri defended, crossing her arms. “I’d like to see you come up with a nickname for me.”

“I call you Mitsu sometimes, don’t I?” Shinobu asked, retrieving her track bag from her cubby.

“Yes, and I like that, but, it’s very inside the box. Try something different and see how hard it is!”

“Mitsuri, no offense, but I think you’d like anything I came up with. You’re kind of a sap for this stuff.” Shinobu said, distractedly looking into her bag to make sure she had everything as they walked to the locker room.

“I would not! Trust me, not any old throwaway nickname will be enough to sway me.” Mitsuri stated confidently.

“Hmm...” Shinobu tapped her chin, thinking for a moment. Mitsuri was right, not any old nickname would be good. She had to think of something that she would actually like to call her girlfriend. Something that was near synonymous with her. Just before they reached the locker room, a small smile curved at her lips and she stopped in her tracks. Mitsuri watched her expectantly.

“Thank you for walking me to the locker room. I’ll see you on the bleachers, my sunshine.” Shinobu winked, she goddamn winked without looking like a total ass!

Mitsuri’s heart leapt in her chest and her face felt hot. She tried to hold it together, but Shinobu just sounded so genuine and sunshine was actually a really cute nickname and— argh!

“That’s not fair, Shinobu!” Mitsuri whined, covering her face. She swore it was growing even brighter as the Kouhai laughed.

“Keep trying, I’m looking forward to see what you come up with next.” Shinobu said before heading into the locker room.

Mitsuri didn’t waste anytime hurrying to the bleachers so she could figure out a nickname for Shinobu while she practiced. She sat there, tapping her feet against the metal plank below her. Her elbows on her knees and her hands holding up her head as she stayed completely zeroed in on Shinobu. Watching her, she hoped for something to come to her like some divine intervention.

Shinobu had an affinity for purple, maybe plum would be nice? Sugar plum? No, Shinobu never seemed to thrilled with the food related pet names.

Perhaps sleeping beauty? Whenever they slept over, Shinobu always looked so enchanting in her sleep. Maybe a good choice for when she just woke up or was notably tired, but it’s not exactly a catch all name that could make sense at anytime.

Flower, maybe? A certain type... lily seemed too on the nose. Shinobu always smelled like blooming wisteria, but Mitsuri didn’t think that made a good nickname. It was pretty, but it just didn’t sound playful enough.

Mitsuri blinked, breaking from her concentration as she realized that Shinobu had been swarmed with a handful of her teammates and they were all looking right back up at her with big, troublesome grins.

Apparently, Mitsuri was staring so obviously and with such intent, that she had made a bit of a spectacle of herself. She gave an embarrassed smile and waved down at them whilst blush prickled at her skin.

“Kanroji and Kochou sitting in a tree—” Mitsuri heard one of the girls start to sing before Shinobu punched her in the arm. Mitsuri recognized the girl as Makio-chan, a friend from her class.

The other two she recognized simply because they were usually in Shinobu’s relay team. Makomo-san and Ozaki-san smiled good-naturedly as they laughed along. They were also well known from the swim team and tennis club respectively.

Shinobu rolled her eyes, her cheeks lightly flushed. She shooed the other girls back in their positions and leveled a small smile up at Mitsuri before darting off.

Mitsuri relaxed her muscles with a sigh. An afterimage of Shinobu’s dark, purple eyes stuck in her vision. They reminded her of the cool, vastness of space and when the light shined on them just right, Mitsuri swore she could see stars, whole galaxies even. If Mitsuri was Shinobu’s sunshine, then Shinobu was like Mitsuri’s moonlight.

“That’s it!” Mitsuri cheered loudly, her fists rocketed up above her head. She quickly covered her mouth however, once she realized just how loud she had yelled. Everyone in the bleachers around her and in the field below glanced at her curiously before turning back to whatever they were doing before.

“Just you wait, Shinobu.” Mitsuri mumbled much more quietly under her breath, tracing Shinobu’s figure as she leapt over the hurdles, “I’ve got some really good ideas now.”

***

Mitsuri waited for Shinobu to exit the locker room after practice, poised and ready to strike! As soon as the younger girl emerged from the room, Mitsuri pounced. She took Shinobu by the hand and quickly maneuvered out of the building.

“Where’s the fire?” Shinobu teased. “I knew you must have thought up something good judging by how loud you yelled during practice, but I don’t see the need for urgency.”

“You’ll see when the time is right! I want this to be as organic as possible.” Mitsuri said, still pulling Shinobu along even as they left the school gates.

“Whatever you like,” Shinobu smiled, “but whatever you are planning, surely we can walk? I’m kind of exhausted.”

“Oh, right!” Mitsuri remembered, coming to a sudden stop that had Shinobu bump into her back. “Sorry.”

“You’re okay.” Shinobu reassured, re-adjusting her hold on Mitsuri’s hand before they continued to walk at a more sustainable pace.

Before school, they had already agreed that they would go to Mitsuri’s house to watch over her younger siblings while her parents celebrated their anniversary. Almost as soon as they opened the door, Mitsuri’s mother ran up and quickly pushed the fussy one-year-old twins into the girls’ arms, one for each of them.

“Thank you Mitsuri, Shinobu.” The exhausted woman said, already halfway out the door. “We’ll be back before midnight, have fun and be good everyone!” She called over her shoulder before quickly shutting the door behind her. The girls swore they could hear the squeak of car tires as Mitsuri’s mother quickly drove away to pick up her husband as he got off work.

“Wow.” Was all Shinobu could manage as she recovered from the woman’s quick exit.

“I know,” Mitsuri giggled. “It’s one of the few days a year she doesn’t feel guilty getting away from all this chaos,” she lifted her little brother higher so she could blow a raspberry on his tummy, making him laugh. “It helps that you’re here of course, it makes her feel better because you’re so good with everyone.”

“I still don’t know why these kids like me so much,” Shinobu shook her head, taking hold of the hand of the near identical girl in her arms so she wouldn’t pull her hair.

“It’s impossible for a Kanroji to not like you, take my word for it.” Mitsuri said, making her way further into the home.

It was true, for some reason the rest of the Kanroji family fell in love with Shinobu right away and were eager to welcome her into their home. She was thankful of course, but part of her was sure the Kanroji parents were just excited to double the amount of free babysitters at their disposal. Still, they treated her well and she looked forward to visiting the busy home that greatly contrasted her own.

Six siblings, Mitsuri being the eldest at seventeen, almost eighteen now that Shinobu thought about it. Then there was Akimitsu, the oldest boy of the family. He was thirteen and went to the same middle school as Kanao. Shinobu thought the boy couldn’t be more different than his older sister. He was a very no nonsense soul and rather particular.

Natsumi was the middle child. She was eight and every bit as energetic as her sister which could lead to trouble if she was left alone. Mitsuri had told Shinobu one story where Natsumi had been unusually quiet so she and her mom had gone looking for her and found her in the bathroom with the tub overflowing with bubbles that she had dyed blue with some food coloring she had managed to snag from the kitchen.

Last but not least were the twins, Haruka, the girl, and Hayate, the boy, born just last year. When they were first born, Mitsuri had said it was hard to tell them apart at first glance. Now that they were getting older, it was much easier to tell who was who. They were sweet babies, but their moods could easily diminish at the drop of a hat. Fortunately they seemed content enough for the time being.

Shinobu followed Mitsuri, lightly bouncing Haruka in her arms as she walked. They followed the sound of the tv to the main portion of the home and found Natsumi laying flat on her stomach, coloring while watching some anime. Akimitsu was sitting nearby doing his homework.

“Hello Onee-san, Kochou-san.” Akimitsu politely greeted before turning back to his studies.

“Shinobu-chan is here?” Natsumi whipped her head around, jumping to her feet with an excited grin. “Hey, hey! Can we make something explode today?”

Shinobu had helped Natsumi make elephant toothpaste once for a school project and the little girl had been hounding her for more experiments ever since.

“I’m here too, you know.” Mitsuri griped, setting Hayate down in the play pen. Shinobu knelt down to place Haruka beside him.

“I see you everyday, Onee-chan.” Natsumi stated plainly.

Mitsuri crossed her arms and turned away to sulk in the corner. That seemed to do the trick because Natsumi went from hanging off of Shinobu, to comforting her sister, hugging her tightly until Mitsuri smiled and spun her around.

Akimitsu really made the work easy by helping out when he finished his homework. Natsumi was always so invested in what Shinobu was doing that they didn’t have to worry too much about her slinking off to cause mischief.

So while Mitsuri and Shinobu made dinner, Natsumi cheered them on and Akimitsu watched over the twins.

“Pancakes, pancakes!” Natsumi singsonged. “Hey Shinobu-chan, is that what you use to make a volcano explosion?” she asked, pointing at the tablespoon of white powder in Shinobu’s hand.

“Not quite. This is baking powder, baking soda and vinegar are used in most volcano simulations.” Shinobu informed.

“I wish you hadn’t told her that,” Mitsuri sighed. “I’m gonna have to put those in the lock box from now on.”

“Sorry.” Shinobu smiled.

“Come on Onee-chan, can’t we make one little mess please?” Natsumi asked, her bottom lip protruded.

“You’re still on notice after the coke and mentos fiasco.” Mitsuri reminded.

“Boo.” Natsumi jeered, now resting her head on the table.

Shinobu found the way Mitsuri scolded her siblings incredibly cute. Even as silly and childish as the older girl could be, she wasn’t a pushover and was very responsible.

“Onee-san,” Akimitsu emerged in the doorway looking a bit green, “I think the twins need to be changed.”

As helpful as the young boy was, even he had his limits.

“I’ll help you,” Shinobu graciously offered as she finished mixing the ingredients.

“Thank you,” Mitsuri smiled, turning back to her brother, “Okay, just a second,” Mitsuri called back, turning off the preheated griddle since they were walking away.

“Natsumi, why don’t you color in the living room while Shinobu and I clean up the twins, okay?” Mitsuri added as a thought. She couldn’t leave Natsumi in the kitchen unattended.

“Fine, I guess.” The younger Kanroji huffed before following Mitsuri and Shinobu out.

Akimitsu looked queasy as they entered the living room. Mitsuri giggled and ruffled his hair before picking up Hayate. Shinobu hoisted Haruka up and then they went off to the nursery room.

They cleaned the little ones up and changed them. Mitsuri getting done noticeably faster than Shinobu since she had to change more diapers than any normal seventeen year old should.

They weren’t really in much of a rush though and spent a little time in their semi-private room to talk to each other and babble with the twins, stealing a kiss or two before heading back.

“Natsumi!”

Mitsuri and Shinobu heard Akimitsu yell. The kitchen. They looked at each other before quickly putting the twins in the play pen and jogged towards the kitchen, Mitsuri in front of Shinobu.

“What’s going on?” Mitsuri called worriedly just before crossing the threshold.

“Onee-san, look out!” Akimitsu warned just a fraction too late as Mitsuri stepped on something slick and her foot swung out above her as she lost her balance and began falling backwards.

Mitsuri let out a surprised yelp and squeezed her eyes tightly shut, waiting for impact. Fortunately, impact never came. At least, not in the form of the cold hard ground, but rather, lithe yet firm arms.

“That was close, are you okay?” Shinobu asked from above. She had managed to catch Mitsuri just in time, hooking her arms under her girlfriend’s.

“Yeah,” Mitsuri nodded, a bit breathless, “yeah I’m okay.”

“Good,” Shinobu adjusted her hold, “Now, if you could adjust your footing that would be great. I don’t think I can hold this position much longer.” she said, her arms trembling a bit as she tried to hold Mitsuri up.

“Right,” Mitsuri grabbed the nearby counter and steadied herself, finally looking to the ground below caked in pancake batter. “What happened in here?”

“Natsumi.” Akimitsu answered, crossing his arms. “I'll admit I was resting my eyes because the twins left me with a bit of a headache. I didn’t realize she would take that as a cue to ruin dinner.”

“I didn’t mean too.” Natsumi sniffed, “I was trying to help. I wanted to surprise you and Shinobu-chan.”

“Well, surprise us you did.” Mitsuri smiled sympathetically. “Help me clean this mess. We’ll have to think of something else for dinner.”

“Okay.” Natsumi replied despondently.

The peace that was once fell over the Kanroji household was broken. Pancake batter all over the kitchen floor and griddle (that thankfully was still off) and the twins started wailing and were inconsolable. Shinobu and Akimitsu left the kitchen to try to calm them while Natsumi and Mitsuri cleaned everything up.

Mitsuri called for Shinobu to order something for delivery as it became increasingly obvious that the mess was sapping up all her energy and she was too hungry to start a whole new meal.

Thankfully, after an hour of struggle, everything seemed to get better once the food arrived. The babies especially responded favorably in presence of dinner. Though is seemed that more food ended up smeared on their faces than in their mouths.

After dinner, Shinobu washed off the twins while Mitsuri bid her other siblings good night. Then she came back to help Shinobu put the twins in their cribs. They watched the energetic babies wiggle at babble at each other between the bars, laughing at jokes only they could understand.

“Hey, that was a really good catch earlier.” Mitsuri said, placing her hand over Shinobu’s resting over the bar of the crib.

“I couldn’t not try to catch you. I’m just happy it worked out.” Shinobu said in return.

Mitsuri leaned down, resting her forehead on Shinobu’s shoulder, a small grin growing steadily on her face.

“Thank you for saving me from slamming into the slimy, hard floor, my knight.”

Mitsuri felt Shinobu stiffen and frowned slightly. She had high hopes for that nickname when she started taking a different approach. Slowly, she eased herself back to her full height.

“Did you not like that one either...” Mitsuri trailed of a bit before a wide smile overtook her lips.

Shinobu, though rigid, was flushed pink. She busied herself with Hayate, letting him pull her finger around, seemingly unaware of, or unwilling to answer Mitsuri.

“You like that one.” Mitsuri singsonged, wrapping her arms around Shinobu, rocking her from side to side with a satisfied giggle. “My knight in shining moonlight, Kochou Shinobu!”

“Mitsuri, cut it out.” Shinobu mumbled with very little bite. Her skin prickled with embarrassment as she was pushed around by Mitsuri’s movements.

“I thought of starshine too. I thought it would be cute since you called me sunshine.” Mitsuri went on instead. “I was thinking about how your eyes make me of outer space so I had a few more like comet, shooting star, my Venus—“

“Okay, okay,” Shinobu chuckled, “you had your hit, let’s not get too out of hand here.”

“So you really do like it?” Mitsuri asked.

“Maybe.” Shinobu replied stubbornly. She slipped her finger out of Hayate’s hand and retreated out of Mitsuri’s hold and out the door. She stopped just outside of the room to peer back at Mitsuri.

“Movie?” She asked, clearly attempting to change the subject.

Mitsuri playfully rolled her eyes and nodded. Giving the twins one last glance over before following after Shinobu to make some popcorn. Popcorn that she was going to drizzle with maple syrup since she couldn’t have her pancakes.

[adsosfraser]

The Stone’s Toll - Chapter Eleven

Read on AO3

They had been so careful. On the supposedly most fertile days of her courses, they had, well they had done other things. She religiously took her vial of posies and fennel each day and used the protection provided from her twentieth-century life. For months now. Still, it wasn’t enough, and she knew the only one hundred percent assured prevention was abstinence. She felt the ghost of a flutter in her womb. 

 Jamie found Claire on the floor next to their bed, her cheeks stained with tracks of tears and snot crusted against the deer pelt that her face was squished into. The chamber pot full of her sickness had been shoved away from her on the wood in her dejected anger. 

“Is it true Claire?”

 “Can ye..” he swallowed thickly. “Yer wee herbs can ye-“

 “No, that’s the last thing I want Jamie! God!” Her palms rubbed into her eye sockets. “I just wish- there wasn’t so much uncertainty. I could never survive- Jamie promise me, if it ever came down to it, you would save the child, not me.”

 “Claire,“ he levelled a determined gaze at her. ”That will never happen. Ever. That I will promise ye.”

 “But it might. You made me promise, should the time come, that I’d go through the stones. Of course, I was reluctant, but I did give you that promise. I followed through on it. Now you promise me.” 

 “Aye Claire, I’ll save the bairn, but it’ll no’ come to that.”

 “I’m going to instruct you. On how to help me. No matter if it goes wrong or the delivery is perfect.”

 “Ye wouldna prefer someone else? A woman?”

 “You’re the only one that I would trust.” She smirked in anticipation of her next words. “And you’re the one who did this to me, you can see it through.” 

 “Ye seemed pretty enthusiastic, if not overly pleased the many times I did that to ye. And I seem to recall the many times ye were the one clawing at me.” 

 She laughed at the big goof and then sighed into his embrace, relieving her stress and worry into him. 

 What if the baby never even made it long enough to make its true presence known? What if Jamie did have to follow through in his presence? Would she be able to survive the birth? She’d never given birth to a live, full-term baby yet. Or, even worse, would she be a terrible mother? When her mind drifted to these thoughts, she shook her head out of the daze. Stress wasn’t good for the baby. And if she constantly worried about her child’s health, her thoughts may very well become a self-fulfilling prophecy.

 It was March, and flowers and trees were slowly crawling out of their hibernation. Claire’s pregnancy felt… off from how she carried Faith. It didn’t raise alarm for her baby’s health, but she did have her suspicions.

 “What is it Sassenach? Ye’re smiling so hard I fear yer lips will fall off.” 

 “Well, I have been a bit… bigger than usual.” 

 “Aye, yer round wi’ my bairn. And I’m no’ complaining one bit. Wi’ yer fine plump arse even bigger than usual.” He grasped a healthy amount of said body part and smirked.

 “Well, I think I’m carrying twins.” 

 “Ifrinn!” All the colour drained from his face. “Two bairns? Two bairns! Sassenach!” He gripped her in his arms as joyous laughter rumbled through his chest and her feet left the floor. More words of love in his native language rumbled out and her eyes crinkled with her smile. 

 When she was absolutely sure it was twins, Jamie’s daily ritual of one kiss to her belly each morning and night turned into two kisses on either side of her stretched skin. 

 Not only did one life depend on her at once, but now two. She was terrified. Even with constant reassurance from Jamie that the bairns kicking in her stomach were braw, a twitch of doubt seeped into her mind. 

 To ease her worry, she thought of something that could reassure her. She traced the design onto the back of a discarded pamphlet. A pinard horn. So Jamie could hear the strong heartbeats of the babies tumbling within her belly. Fergus laboured hard on the project immediately, while his ‘milord’ was off working the lands of their croft. It was expertly crafted, even with her rudimentary designs. 

 Jamie manoeuvred the hollow horn over the expanse of her belly, brow furrowed in concentration. He paused over one spot and nearly fainted. 

 “Ah Dhia!” His eyes widened in fascination. “He’s really in there!”

 “Yes, they are.” She placed her hand over his on the pinard horn and slid it across where she thought she felt the other heartbeat to be. 

 His hands were shaky now and he choked on his tears, almost painfully bursting with joy. “Two braw bairns. Wi’ wicked thumping hearts.”

 They felt more concrete to him now, actual people instead of the imaginations of what they could be. He spoke every day to them in Gàidhlig, when Claire said they should be able to hear now.

 It was bittersweet. She was carrying them for over seven months now, longer than her other children. She was constantly caught between unflagging joy and unrelenting grief. Sometimes it felt like a betrayal to be so happy. But she carried through, with her husband and son by her side, and the promise of the future tucked under her heart.

 The day after Jamie’s birthday, she started labouring. Jamie commented on the decency of his children to not eclipse his day with their own arrival. It was as difficult as any other birth, but thankfully there were no complications. Claire had gripped, clawed, and screamed at her husband. She’d scream the promise to have him castrated many, many times. While she paced around the room, Jamie tried to assure her or crack jokes to lighten the atmosphere, but every word he said she turned it against him. He was silent after that, but then Claire would call out for him as each contraction ripped through her body. He stood behind her squatting form above the straw and she dug her nails into his arms as she bore down. A beautiful squalling boy was born after nine hours of labouring. William Brian Beauchamp Fraser. While she felt distraught placing the name Brian within the middle, Jamie assured her it was to not only honour his father, but now the child that they had lost, and she warmed to the idea as well. His brother met the world soon after, almost a quarter of an hour apart, looking exactly the same as the brother who beat him out of the womb. Henry Alexander Murtagh Fraser. Beautiful healthy boys, both with tufts of the same brown downy hair and slanted Fraser cat eyes. 

 They opted to have their sons sleep in their bed that night rather than the cribs Jamie had carved, tucked in securely between their parents. Neither of them could sleep and Claire was watching the steady rise and fall of each small chest. 

 “They’re real.” She whispered, brushing her pinky across William’s cheek. His lips tugged up into a smile, just like his father’s did. 

 “Thanks to ye Claire. Ye were braw.” He squeezed her hand, their arms hovering over their sons. “But I dinna wish to ever see ye like that again.”

 “Is it wrong to feel so happy? To rejoice in my sons while-?” 

 “They’ll be happy fer their brothers. I ken it. And they’re watching o’er them as their angels now. Lord knows how much these lads will need it. These two will be trouble, I can feel it.” He affectionately patted their bums. 

 Claire finally let her exhaustion take over and curled protectively around her son as she drifted off to sleep. Jamie never slept that night, too preoccupied with the sight of his wife and the children she had blessed him with. His wife learned just how real her sons were in the middle of the night when they would scream their lungs out unceasingly until attention was paid to them. Jamie insisted she rest and recover, and leapt up at every cry to take care of it, but was instantly horrified at what he found in the cloth swaddling Willie’s bum. 

 Fergus was elated the next day to meet his new brothers. Jamie and Claire had already spoken many times about how the new babies wouldn’t change anything about how they felt for him, but they could still sense some worry. 

 “Would you like to hold your little brother Willie?” At the indication that it was true, he had a little brother, all his worries vanished.

 “Oui maman.” He was so gentle with them with so much adoration in his eyes, and it made Claire cry just to see her boys together.

 He traded for Henry next and Jamie pulled Claire into his lap. 

 It was six weeks after the birth, and Jamie and Claire were equally ravenous. Both the babies had finally fallen asleep together, being unusually generous to their parents.

 “I need my wife.” He crawled over her. 

 “You still want me? After seeing all that…?” Her confidence has waned slightly. She was still pudgy around the middle and there were new scars lining her belly. There was also the fact that he had seen her sweating, cursing, and wailing like a cow on their bedroom floor before the fire, and had taken multiple peeks down there to check her progress. It was apparent, however, that he wanted her desperately despite of and maybe even because of that fact. 

 “I could never stop wanting ye Sassenach.” He peppered kisses across her abdomen and paid special attention to the fading purple streaks on her skin. The burns on her stomach had long since faded and were barely even noticeable unless one were to look very closely, as her husband was now. She let her knees fall to the side and a moan escaped her lips when he ducked further down. 

 “Now, as much as I love yer wee noises mo nighean donn, ye’ll have to be quiet tonight.” He covered her mouth with his, silencing the cries that he brought out of her body.

 When they both had finished, laying boneless on the sheets, Jamie pulled Claire’s back close to his chest and she curled back into him. Henry began to cry, waking his brother as well and throwing them both into fits of hungry wails. Jamie silently walked over, wrapping his kilt loosely across his hips and placed a baby in each of his arms. The sight made Claire want to ravish him with a sudden ferocity, even though they had just joined together moments ago. But, her babies’ hunger won over and she placed one on each breast. Jamie watched fascinated, as he always did. The babies hungrily gulped down their meal and then slumped against their mom, tired from weeks of growing, crying, and eating. Their tiny fists laid on top of her skin and Jamie slowly adjusted himself to hold Henry. He fell asleep, Henry’s body rising and falling with each of his father’s breaths. Willie stirred again, inquisitively staring up into his mother’s eyes. Claire stroked Henry’s cheek eliciting the same smile she loved so much, and then reached for Jamie’s as well.

 “God, I love you, Jamie. So much.” Her attention shifted down to the babe on her breast. “You have such a wonderful father, don’t you Willie?” She spoke down to her captive audience. “And I love you.” She kissed his small nose, then leaned over for Henry’s “And you.” She pulled on Jamie’s bottom lip. “And God how I love you.”

[stargazing-enby]

The Mysterious Case of the Unclaimed Jumper

Thanks @april-thelightfury115 for betaing!

Drarry | 2k | Teen and Up | Eighth Year, Pining, Fluff | Read on AO3

“Harry!" 

Ron and Hermione halted, leaving Harry no choice but to do the same. He was exhausted, and it had already taken too much energy to get up from their table at the Three Broomsticks so they could make it to the Hogwarts grounds before Filch closed the gates in their faces. The last thing he wanted was to talk to people, lovely as Madam Rosmerta was. 

“Sorry to keep you, kids, but someone forgot this on one of the tables. Would you please do me the favour of taking it back to Hogwarts with you? I still have patrons to attend.” 

“Uh...sure.” Harry took the khaki jumper she was handing him—gosh, but it was much softer than it looked—and she smiled at him appreciatively. 

“How do you know it’s from a Hogwarts student, though?” Hermione asked. 

Madam Rosmerta snorted. 

“Because none of my patrons are naive enough to step into the inn whenever you kids are taking over the town. Teenagers are loud as all hell, in case you hadn’t noticed!” 

“All right,” Harry said quickly, dreading the idea of the exchange turning into a full-fledged conversation. “We’ll take care of it. Have a nice evening, Madam Rosmerta.” 

On their way back to the castle, though, Harry started to regret his decision. It was the beginning of the school year, and the transition from summer to autumn had fooled many Hogwarts students into putting on warm clothes to fight the morning chill, which meant practically everyone had ended up carrying jumpers and jackets over their shoulders and around their waists for most of the day. The jumper could be anyone’s. 

“What are you going to do with the jumper, anyway? It could be anyone’s,” Hermione echoed his thoughts, turning from Ron to Harry.

“I have no idea,” Harry admitted.

“Maybe you could hand it to one of the Heads of House. Or...” Her voice shifted into that tone of hers that meant she knew she’d come up with a brilliant idea, “we could tell the ghosts to ask around the castle and see if anyone is missing a jumper!” 

Even as Harry nodded, Ron shook his head in disbelief. 

“Or you could just smell it,” he said like it was the most obvious thing in the world and he couldn’t believe it hadn’t occurred to either of them. Harry and Hermione just stared at him. “What?” 

“That’s kind of creepy,” Harry said. 

“Wha— No it’s not! Don’t you know clothes smell like their owners?” Silence. Ron looked increasingly exasperated. “Come on, don’t tell me your families didn’t smell the clothes lying around the house all the time to figure out who they belonged to!” 

“Er…I’m afraid not.” 

“That’s probably only a necessity when you have seven kids’ clothes to keep track of,” Hermione offered. 

“Yeah…fair enough,” Ron grumbled. “Still, it won’t hurt to try. If it’s from someone our year we’ll probably be able to recognise them.” 

Harry doubted that would be the case, but then Hermione and Ron turned to him, expectant, and he didn’t have a choice but to bring a corner of the jumper to his face and give it a sniff. 

“...Oh.”

“Well?” Hermione asked. 

“It’s…” Harry smelled it again. “It’s familiar.” Familiar and nice, he thought, giving it one extra sniff for good measure. “But I just can’t tell who it is.” 

“Oh?” Ron grabbed a sleeve, brought it to his nose. “Hmm…Yeah, I see what you mean. It’s definitely not a Gryffindor bloke. ‘Mione, why don’t you try?” 

“I’ll pass, thank you very much.” 

“Eh, that’s fine. I’m sure if we leave it in the Eighth Year Common Room someone will claim it sooner or later.” 

“Yeah,” Harry murmured, folding the jumper properly over his arm. 

As a new conversation started, Harry held the jumper a little bit closer. 

***

The stupid thing was still where they’d left it—hung over one of the Common Room couches, the one nearest the hearth—when they came back from Hagrid’s, its pale khaki tone contrasting starkly with the purple sofa. 

Hermione led the way to their usual corner of the room, keen on getting some more homework done before bed, and Harry tried to ignore the jumper, just visible out of the corner of his eye. His friends had clearly forgotten about it, and Harry didn’t bring it up again. 

But the feel of it, the scent of it, was ingrained in his thoughts, and concentrating on his Potions essay soon proved to be an impossible task. Merlin, he knew that scent. He knew it well; every time he’d sniffed the jumper, it’d been like a word was on the tip of his tongue; like a thought in the back of his mind wouldn’t come forth.

Like there was a need, buried deep within him, that he couldn’t fulfill, because he didn’t know what it was he was yearning for. Who it was he was yearning for. 

So he looked. Every few minutes, as much as he tried to avoid it, he looked back at the couch, waiting, hoping that someone would walk past and go, Hey! That’s where it was! And the missing piece inside Harry’s mind would finally click. 

But no one picked the jumper up, and when practically everyone had gone to their dorms, and Ron and Hermione had finished neglecting their homework—Ron’s fingers tracing Hermione’s knuckles, her cheek resting on his shoulder, a goofy smile brightening his face—and seemed ready to call it a night, Harry decided he simply couldn’t leave it alone. 

“You guys go ahead,” he told them. “I feel like I’m finally making progress with this essay, and if I stop now it’s going to be impossible to pick it up again tomorrow.”

As soon as he was alone, though, Harry stuffed the parchment in his bag and made for the couch at a pace just slightly faster than could be reasonably considered walking. 

Ah. The scent was just as enticing as he remembered it from earlier. 

Harry basked in it for a few moments. When someone walked into the Common Room—Terry and Hannah, who nodded at him on their way to their dorms—he let go of it as though it had burned him, but as soon as he was alone again he draped it over his lap and raked a hand over it, thinking, wondering. 

It wasn’t Hannah’s or Terry’s, Harry knew: not just because they hadn’t recognised it on sight, but because the smell did not belong to either of them. It was…deeper. It was masculine, definitely—a hint of sweat at the armpit area, like the owner hadn’t taken it off straight away after growing hot underneath it—and it was intense, in that it did things to Harry; riled him up, and brought him back down from the high, only to make his heart quicken again as soon as the thrill of it had diluted in his veins. 

Sighing, Harry lay on his back and placed the jumper, once again, over the armrest behind his head, just close enough for the scent to reach him. 

The hearth crackled. A House Elf vanished the crumbs and dust from the floor with a spell and disappeared again. Nearly-Headless Nick floated by, but didn’t seem to notice him. 

The door to the Common Room didn’t open again. 

***

“Are we going to do this every night now?” Greg grumbled, dragging the last word—practically dragging himself to the Common Room behind Draco. 

“Only until I force Slughorn to give me an Outstanding,” Draco said. “Which won’t take long, because my first essay was clearly perfect, and if that one wasn’t enough for him, this one will for sure. I swear that old man has it out against me!” 

A portrait shushed him, and Draco flipped it the bird. It wasn’t like there was anyone sleeping in the bloody halls. Or roaming them, for that matter: only Prefects and Eighth Years were allowed outside the Common Rooms past curfew, and it had been a good hour since he’d seen any of the former around. 

“Gardyloo,” he told Sir Cadogan upon reaching the Eighth Year Common Room entrance. Glad as he was that he didn’t have to share a space with people from other years, entering his new Common Room had to be one of the most draining moments of his day. And so, before Sir Cadogan could start spewing nonsense about him and Greg, Draco Silencio’d him, watching as the knight gestured dramatically without uttering a sound until the door had closed. 

“Draco, isn’t that your…?”

Draco saw it just as Greg pointed at it. 

“My jumper.” Salazar, he’d put that jumper on that morning, hadn’t he? When had he even taken it off? He’d completely forgotten all about it. 

He doubted he would ever forget the sight that greeted them, however. 

“Uh, Draco…? What’s Potter doing with your jumper?” 

“It would seem that he is cuddling it, Gregory,” Draco said, tone flat. Completely out of tune with his raging thoughts. 

“More like curling himself around it,” Greg murmured, and Draco could only agree. 

Merlin. Potter looked so young when he slept. So small, like he was afraid to take up space. His hair fanned over his forehead and his face, some of it caught between his arm and Draco’s jumper. His chest falling and rising slowly, evenly. His feet pressed close as if to keep their warmth. 

Draco shook his head, annoyed that he had allowed himself to be caught off-guard by the sight, and walked up to Potter. Grasped his jumper, and pulled at it. 

Potter’s eyes snapped open and stared right into his. 

***

Oh. 

Oh. 

“Fuck,” Harry slurred, sitting up, half-asleep and entirely too awake, as Malfoy took the jumper from him and just stared at him. “Fuck. Sorry. Madam Rosmerta told me to bring it…the...you’d left it there. It’s yours, right?” he asked, even though he didn’t need to. It was Malfoy’s, of course it was Malfoy’s. His strong, deep, alluring scent was unmistakable now. 

“Yes,” Malfoy said. He sounded weird—strained. His eyes were fixed on Harry. “It’s mine.” 

“Right,” Harry nodded. Then, after a few moments: “Er. Sorry about that. I must’ve fallen asleep.”

Malfoy snorted. 

“Never would’ve guessed.” 

“Can we go to bed now?” 

Harry whipped his head around—he hadn’t noticed Goyle was there with them. 

“Go ahead,” Malfoy told him. “I’m right behind you.”

“M’kay then. G’night, Potter,” Goyle said with a yawn, dragging his feet to the stairs. 

“Er…night?” 

Malfoy huffed again. 

“Don’t mind him. He’s an idiot when he’s sleepy.”

“No offence, but he’s an idiot all the time,” Harry said. 

“You’re one to talk.” Malfoy looked at him, then. He wasn’t as stiff now, although he was still weirdly clinging to his jumper, a gesture that reminded Harry of his own fixation with it earlier. “No one with more than two brain cells falls asleep in the Common Room, honestly.” 

“Piss off, I was exhausted!” 

“Oh, I’m sure you were,” Malfoy retorted. “That still doesn’t explain why you didn’t utilise your perfectly comfortable bed to meet the need, though.” 

Harry glared at him, and Malfoy arched an eyebrow. 

“Well?”

“Why do you want to know so bad?” Harry bit back—a little childishly, he knew, but it wasn’t like Malfoy was acting much more maturely right now. “Did you enjoy the sight that much?” 

“Wh—don’t be preposterous!” Malfoy spluttered, a grimace distorting his sharp features. A grimace that did nothing to distract Harry from the angry blush spreading across his cheeks. From the way Malfoy averted his gaze, clutching at the jumper so hard he was almost twisting it. 

“Oh my god,” Harry breathed. “You did enjoy it, didn’t you?” 

Malfoy’s panicked gaze turned back to him. 

“No, I didn’t!” 

Almost as mesmerised as he was amused, Harry stood. He took one more look at Malfoy’s increasingly flushed expression, just to be sure he wasn’t reading it wrong, and then stepped into Malfoy’s personal space. When Malfoy’s breath hitched, Harry, heart in his throat, brought a hand to his flushed cheek. It was soft: softer than the jumper. 

Malfoy stood completely still, wide eyes stuck on Harry’s face. A breath stuck in his lungs: waiting. 

Heart racing, Harry let his hand stray back. Let himself caress Malfoy’s cheek and jaw, let himself cup Malfoy’s head at the nape, play with the hair there—Merlin, was there anything about Malfoy that wasn’t illegally soft?—and lean forward to take a long, deep sniff of his hair. 

Malfoy shivered, and it suddenly hit Harry just how close their bodies were. 

“Potter.” a broken whisper.

Harry inhaled again, his own skin tingling with excitement—anticipation—lust for that scent. That scent that belonged to Malfoy, that now had every reason to drive him fucking insane, to draw him near, to leave him hanging. How had he not recognised it straight away? There was nobody else who could elicit such a response from him. Whose mere closeness thrilled him like this. 

“I needed to know,” Harry said, voice low, as he let his hand slide down slightly, a caress that ended on the jut of Malfoy’s spine at the base of his neck, fingers splayed over the edge of a shoulder blade. Then, pulling back his hand, taking a step back: “I needed to know who that intoxicating scent belonged to.”

As Harry retreated toward the stairs, Malfoy swayed, eyes closed. Jumper clutched close to his chest. 

***

The following evening, when Harry arrived at the Common Room after dinner, a deep grey jumper was draped over the armrest of the couch closest to the hearth. 

[novelconcepts]

novel, just look at this https://www.instagram.com/p/CMILP2ZAjsw/?igshid=1ve4cwcbiy69y

mayhaps you could use this as a prompt sometime? 👀 (no pressure)

The greatest injustice in the world, Owen Sharma thinks, is in how many women he’s buried. How many loved ones--why are brilliant young women always punished?--he’s laid to rest. How many times he’s looked away for only a second, only to find they’ve slipped through his fingers.

The greatest injustice in the world, Owen thinks, is in how many times he’s stood over the graves of women who should have had so much more time. Women with new recipes untested, new cities left unexplored, new experiences permanently unlived. Rebecca Jessel will never practice law. Hannah Grose will never see Paris. Dani Clayton will never...

Dani will never...

He’s never even there. Maybe that’s the worst part of all--that he’s always just off-camera, always just this side of where he ought to be. At home, when Rebecca drowned; at the manor when his mother passed; looking at his shoes while Hannah...

And now: now, with no warning at all, the phone ringing in the middle of the night. The voice on the other end is almost unrecognizably flat. The voice on the other end, he thinks, will haunt his dreams for years to come.

“Come to Vermont.”

“Jamie?” She sounds wrong. Not simply too calm, not simply too level, but as though all the life has been wrung from her body. As though she’s calling him from another plane altogether, and Owen will later be embarrassed by his first awful thought: She’s dead. She’s calling me from her own grave. It’s Hannah all over again.

But of course nothing ever could be. Nothing could ever match Hannah, the impossibility of her that summer. The impossible, cruel way the universe had of pushing her nearly into his arms before letting that trapdoor fall open beneath his feet. Jamie isn’t dead; Jamie is breathing into the other end of the phone, as though straining to keep herself together. Which can only mean one thing. 

He’s on the first flight. A bag with a few changes of clothes, a passport, a photo he is to this day unable to travel without. The plane juddering beneath him, his legs crammed into the small space, he presses his thumb to the smile beneath the plastic sheet. 

Hannah, I don’t know how to do this again. He’s never quite known how to do it at all, how to be this person--and wasn’t that because of Jamie all along? Jamie, who had found Rebecca’s body and made all the appropriate calls, her expression stony as she’d explained to the police how they’d found her. Jamie, who had answered the phone that night, turning on her heel with eyes that suddenly took up half her face, apologizing as he’d never heard her do before. Jamie, who made arrangements for food and drink while he stood like a puncture wound in blue jeans staring at what was left of his mother’s estate. 

Jamie, who stood beside him in front of a well, looking down even when he hadn’t been able to stomach it any longer. Jamie, always looking down into the face of cold reality. 

He’s never quite where he needs to be when it happens, but Jamie is. Jamie has always been. She is almost unfairly good at it: standing tall, accepting the truth, holding them all up when they shatter. 

And now, here she is: opening the door in cuffed jeans and a rumpled brown flannel shirt. Here she is, a few years older than Paris, looking at him like she’s never seen him before. Like the woman who called was someone else entirely. He thinks he sees a little of his mother in the blank distance of her eyes, and his heart cracks. 

“What happened?”

She turns from him, gesturing for him to come in. The flat, which has every hallmark of home, is surprisingly warm. Surprisingly messy, too--there are clothes on the couch, most of them things he recognizes as Dani’s from the photos they’ve been mailing his way for years. The floor is covered with pots, lemongrass and tiny succulents and a large-leaved plant he doesn’t recognize standing proudly amid clods of dirt, a watering can, several crumpled packs of cigarettes. 

She reaches for one of these now, taps out the final smoke into her palm, crunches the wrapping. “Want one?”

That voice again, that strange timbre--the accent a little less than he remembers, a little ironed-out by nearly fifteen years in this country, though that isn’t what works a shiver up his spine. It’s so flat. It’s so toneless. Jamie has been many things since he’s known her--angry, aggressive, cool, even violent--but never this detached. 

He’s never seen her like this. He’s never thought to worry he ever would. Jamie has aways been the most stable of them, taking up the mantle when even he couldn’t carry it. 

We, he thinks wearily, are the survivors. The witnesses. No one ever talks about what that’s like. 

Untrue. People talk about it. People who do useful things, like attend support groups, or get themselves to therapy. Henry does, sometimes--nursing seltzer, smiling ruefully at Owen over dinner. We think it’s the losing them that hurts the worst, until it happens, he’d said once. It isn’t. It’s the part where you have to keep waking up, dreaming for a split second each morning they’re still here. 

Nearly fifteen years, and there hasn’t been a single morning Owen hasn’t thought absently of calling her up. Not one where he hasn’t thought, Been too long without her voice. Without her laugh. God, that woman’s laugh. 

“Jamie...”

Her head comes up sharply, her eyes flashing--and then, like it was never there, the expression passes. She lights the cigarette with a steady hand, settles herself back on the rug with it clamped between her teeth. There’s soil smudged on her cheek, caked into her hair, and he wonders when last she showered. 

“Jamie, do you want to talk about it?”

She doesn’t. He knows that. He remembers too well how she’d sat beside him on a sofa in 1987, passed him a bottle of wine in silence. How she’d said simply, covering all bases in two words, “Fuck it.” 

It had been Dani, he remembers, who spoke of it first. Dani, looking paler than normal, looking shaken, saying firmly, “We should do something. We should do something for her.”

“Sit,” Jamie says without looking at him. She’s already getting back into it, he realizes--working her hands carefully back into a terra cotta pot, brushing the soil from spindly roots with loving care. It’s how she looked after Rebecca, brow furrowed, smoking and working in silence. There are problems that can’t be managed, he understands, and the only way someone like Jamie can tolerate that fact is to find new troubles to set right.

“Where is she, Jamie?” She’s not going to like this, he knows. He’d hate it, in her place. Had hated it, whenever someone dared speak Hannah’s name for those first few months. She’s going to hate him for it now.

But someone has to speak. Someone has to throw the line, lest she drift too far to come back. She called. There was a reason for it. 

“Jamie. Where is she?”

She gives him nothing. Jets smoke, taps ash into an empty beer can, keeps her eyes on the work. This isn’t like after Rebecca, he can see--Jamie back then had been hard-edged, furious that she hadn’t gotten to Becca in time, but she’d at least been willing to hold conversation. More than willing. It had seemed to ground her, reflecting on the Peter Quint of it all, on the shame of not being able to help enough, on how to explain it to the kids. 

Now, she sits with her back against the couch, her eyes not tracking the progress of her own hands. Owen, kneeling beside her, feels as though the room is waiting for something. Waiting for a knife to slide into the bubble she’s built, tearing it open to allow all that building water to rush in. 

He changes tack. “How long have you been doing this?”

“Three days,” she says. Her face is scrunched with concentration, her fingers testing something he can’t track in the roots. 

“Have you eaten?”

“’Course,” she says, gesturing recklessly with the cigarette at a stack of pizza boxes, several empty wine bottles, a dozen abandoned mugs. “All the food groups.”

“Slept?” He remembers that was the worst part, sleeping. Before it had all gone wrong, he’d gone to bed each night with a promise: Tomorrow, I’ll tell her. Tomorrow, I’ll finally do it. 

After, he’d stayed up until dawn in the kitchen, kneading dough, testing wilder and wilder concoctions. Jamie would stumble in at three in the morning, still half-asleep, to find him shoving a bowl of batter under her nose. 

Here. Try this. What does it need?

Cinnamon, she’d say gamely, though she’d clearly only been craving a glass of water. He’d slump against the table, head hanging between his arms.

She’d say it was divine as-is. 

Yeah, well. She always did like to see that idiot grin. 

“Jamie,” he says now, patiently. “Have you slept?”

She shrugs. He doesn’t need to walk down the hall to know the bed is likely sitting untouched, perfectly made--or, worse, exactly as she’d rolled out of it the last time. Exactly how she’d left it, when whatever had gone wrong had happened. 

It’s so easy, leaving things. 

It’s nearly impossible, setting them right again when the bigger problem can’t be fixed.

“Where is she, Jamie?” He hates himself. Hates pushing her. Hates the way her shoulders square a little tighter, her jaw clenching, her muddy fingers stretching to find an unopened pack of cigarettes to replace the one burned to nearly nothing between her lips. “Jamie. You called me.”

“Wouldn’t have,” she grumbles, “if I’d thought you’d talk this fucking much.”

Not true. He can see it in her, the shade not of the woman she’d been when they had met--hardy, rugged, a little grin around her mouth that said she’d make him regret it if he even considered pulling on her strings--but the one Dani had loved into being. We are all, he thinks, shaped by the love they give. Changes the molecules. Turns us from dough to something worth serving. 

The woman he’d met, tempered by a past she never discussed, patience she couldn't quite get a handle on, wouldn’t want him to talk this much.

The woman she is now, the one who had sat in his restaurant watching Dani like she was written in the only language worth knowing, called for a reason.

“Jamie.”

“Stop.” She closes her eyes. Her hands are shaking too hard to work out another cigarette, too hard to urge the Bic to light. 

“Where,” he asks gently. She’s shaking her head. When did so much silver slip into her hair? When did those lines crop up around her mouth? How long has it been, since he was where she needed him to be?

Didn’t need me. Not then. Had everything she needed, with Dani, but now--

“Jamie, where--”

“She’s gone.” Her eyes are blazing, her lips trembling. He has never, never seen this look on her face. This shattered, almost exultant misery is impossible to endure. She doesn’t look like Jamie now. She is only a collection of her worst fears made real. “She’s gone, Owen. She’s--”

She hunches into herself, a single crack splitting like a windscreen beneath a thrown rock. One foot lashes out sharply, sending a pot cartwheeling over onto its side. 

“She’s fucking gone,” she repeats in a voice like a woman kicked in the stomach. She raises her eyes, red-rimmed, and almost smiles. “I fell asleep.”

Strange, he thinks as he shuffles across the rug to wrap his arms around her, the last thought that kicks out when they’re gone. Not I should have told her, not I should have been there, but: I was in the kitchen. Not I should have stopped her, not I should have been faster, but: I fell asleep. The should doesn’t matter anymore, once they’re gone. All that matters is what you did. Where you were. What you can never change. 

“I fell asleep,” she repeats, and there’s nothing flat about her voice now. Even speaking of Rebecca, the Wingraves, Hannah, she’s never sounded half this shattered. “I fell asleep, Owen. I fell--”

He’s pressing his face against her shoulder, feeling unforgivably enormous draped this way over her slight frame. She folds double, rocking back and forth, one hand digging so hard into the other arm that he’ll be gently patching bloody gouges in an hour’s time. For now, he only sways with her, allowing the momentum of her grief to rock him back and forth, back and forth.

“She’s gone,” she says again. “She’s gone. She’s--”

He’ll stay a while--not quite feeling secure leaving her on her own, not quite willing to risk letting her slide back into this space. He’ll stay, helping her in the kitchen (She was better at it. Less likely to poison us, anyway.), and with the nightmare of making those phone calls (Her mum needs to know. Hated me, but still. And Judy O’Mara. And Henry. Fuck. The kids won’t even...). She won’t let him near the bedroom, won’t let him tuck her into that bed. The one and only time he’ll offer to help sift through Dani’s belongings, she’ll flex a fist around a bottle like she’s thinking of swinging it at him. 

She won’t look at him when he steps into the bathroom to find the tub draining over the side onto the floor, either, the sink full of clean water. When he opens his mouth to question, she’ll reach past him, slap down the plunger, stride out of the room without a word. 

Leave her whatever rituals she needs, he’ll think, remembering all those unnecessary three-a.m. cakes. Leave her whatever ghosts she can’t let go. 

He’ll stay as long as she needs, he decides with her beginning to sob at last. He’s never quite been there, when it happens--never been able to look death in the eye as Jamie has. It’s the greatest injustice in the world, how many loved ones have gone on without him, leaving only stories in their wake. 

He’s never where he needs to be, to stop it happening--but he can be here. For a little while, at least. He can hold her, and he can look down. 

There is no justice, this time, in letting Jamie believe she needs to be strong enough to do it alone.