#Finally the child is wrangled and doing plot things

[10thmusemoon]

Two angsty hurt no comfort Qijiu family plots I’m microwaving right now

1. CW Omegaverse + postpartum mention

Where YQY wakes up in the middle of the night to a missed call from a private number and a pounding at the door. When he answers it, there’s a baby in a carrier, an envelope tucked between the blanket blanket with a crisp birth certificate inside. Shen Jiu’s name is listed under the mother, and to his surprise, his own is listed under the father. As an omega, YQY knows with certainty he isn’t the other parent, never mind the fact that he hasn’t seen SJ in years, but before he can linger too much on it, his phone starts to ring. SJ’s voice cuts in and out, the crisp announcement of an arriving training heard in the background, and between in all, a frantic confession of thoughts that festered in the darkness of postpartum. The whole call is less than a minute, the phone line is disconnected within a day. YQY is left alone cradling a crying child, swallowing his panic, and promising to not fail SJ’s son.

A train and a flight away, SJ’s trembling hands clutch the fabric of his jacket like a lifeline. Shen yuan will be fine, he’s left him in the care of the only alpha that won’t hurt him. YQY maybe a faithless bastard, but he knows how to care for a child. In a few years when he’s picked up the shambled remains of his life after murdering QJL, he’ll come back for his son. If YQY hasn’t mated an omega by then, he’ll take him too. If he has….SJ will deal with them both as needed.

2. Cw aging parents and dementia aka actual old man yaoi

Not related to the first but it starts from the pov of a much older SY who has been a child of divorce for the majority of his life. He’s lived his life going back and forth between his fathers, from the high rise in the city to the rural cottage with a cherry orchard two towns over. He knows for a fact that his fathers, in their own toxic way, still love each other. Or at the very least, he knows yqy has always yearned for and spoken lovingly about SJ, politely disregarding anyone that tries to catch his eye. He clings to any news of SJ like a man in a drought searching for storm clouds. On the other hand, SJ only ever speaks bitterly about yqy, and only sometimes in the way SY knows is reluctantly fond. Whatever caused their separation, SY knows SJ never got over it and refuses to ever talk to yqy directly. SY has lived his life playing one miserable game of telephone after the next. Even his own wedding was a game of hiding and seek, Ming Fan and Ning Yingying doing their best to keep his parents apart while SQH wrangled a flirtatious TLJ from from either of them.

Now, back from his first visit to the orchard in a while, SY has the daunting task of telling SJ that YQY is forgetting things. Out of their sight, he has been quietly losing himself in time, the lifelong exposure to pesticides finally taking its toll. From one visit to the next, the degradation has been noticeable enough for SY to feel the need to intervene.

Whatever job Bingqiu have requires them to travel, SY barely has the words “home care” out of his mouth before SJ is throwing a fit and packing his bags. From here the pov would switch to SJ going to YQY’s orchard with some flimsy excuse no one believes. SJ spends the first few days talking down on the orchard and YQY’s tiny home, what was the point in clawing their way out of the dirt if YQY was just going to go back to it after the divorce. SJ didn’t need the condo! (SJ explicitly listed the condo in the divorce) but the more he looks around the more he sees signs of SY’s childhood, one more carefree than the one he had in the city. He sees small indicators that there was always room for one more, whether it’s the guest bedroom painted in his favorite colors or his preferred brand of tea well stocked.

SJ takes YQY to his doctor appointments, meets the people that have known yqy in his absence and hates them for it. Slowly he starts to fall instep with yqy, slipping into old habits like a forgotten set of gloves. The mystery of whatever this au’s lingxi caves starts to unravel from the doctor appointments and things yqy forgets to censor. Between the medication and physical therapy, SJ puts the pieces together and lashes out. Throws a proper tantrum like he hadn’t and decades, stays the night at the shitty inn this backwater town has before deciding he’s too old for this shit. They both are. SJ still calls SY to bitch about his useless father though. (When he hangs up SY turn to a concerned binghe and cheerfully says “sounds like they’re getting along”)

The next morning SJ walks into the kitchen in YQY’s house and knows from the politely blank smile and the tension in his shoulders, a widening of his eyes, that yqy is lost. He’s gotten good at hiding it, but SJ has always known him best, knows what to look for before yqy can tuck away the shame like a dirty rag and pretend like it didn’t happen.

But unlike every other time, YQY doesn’t chuckle to himself and shake it off. Instead, he asks, “excuse me sir, have you seen my husband?”

[devilfic]

❝right place, right time❞

IX. I'm the well they're gonna drag you down.

parts: previously / next plot: and they were rooommates. pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x gn!reader. cw: surgeon!reader, secret identities, slow burn, mentions of blood and stitches and drugs and alcohol, this chapter is fluffier because reader deserves a break, reader and bruce discussing their one-night stands, bruce thinks he's funny but he just can't hide how much he likes you okay, jealousy thy name is "disturbed". words: 6.9k. a/n: shoutout to allnurses.com contributing to at least 8 hours of research on how medications are stored in hospitals for one scene. any nurses in chat please do not stone me, I took creative liberties. also, in case there is any confusion, this chapter and the vignette take place all in (mostly) the same day.

The car gets about halfway down the street before Bruce observes out loud, "Something's bothering you."

You're clean and changed, but your hands are shoved between your thighs as you try to control their shake. Knowing what you know now, you have no reason to keep this from him. He is, by all means, the one person you should tell.

But you struggle to work up the courage without a mask looking back at you. The character of Batman you'd created in your head clashes violently with the character of Bruce. You'd written your own Jekyll and Hyde and tripped yourself up in the final act when it turned out they were one and the same, "You have a lot on your plate right now."

"So do you."

You resist the urge to grit your teeth, "It's about Judith."

Bruce thinks for a moment, "The old lady who doesn't like me."

"The very same. I... wasn't there for her last night, when I should have been. She was mugged on her way home."

Bruce doesn't make a big show of a reaction, though you notice he sits straighter, taking a break from gazing out of the window to glance at you every once in a while, "Is she badly hurt?"

"It could've been worse but... she's more shaken up than she wants me to believe."

"And her family?"

"Murdered." Bruce's car rolls by a street corner where a young mother wrangles her child back from the crosswalk, "I tried to convince her to have one of the deacons from church ride home with her from now on but she wouldn't listen. She doesn't want to be babied." Her stubbornness isn't at all unfamiliar.

"Did she see who did it?"

"She said some guys at the liquor store down the way. They hang out there every night," your eyes trail from the window down to the floor before finding Bruce's face. His profile is sharp and clean, the dark neck of his sweater stops just before the hair at his nape begins to cluster. Your eyes follow the bridge of his nose and it mirrors Batman's profile, a mix of pointed and blunt edges, "There's a... an heirloom in her purse. A lighter. She keeps it with her all the time. Her husband had it on him when he... well, he had an awful habit. She'd really like it back."

Bruce turns his head to you and you steel yourself. In the bright early morning, he is annoyingly resplendent. In the unfair way that all pretty people tended to be. It feels wrong to be asking him this. This is a stranger. You're begging for help from a stranger. You force down the sickness rising in your belly, "Please, will you-"

"I'll take care of it." He answers and it is final. He seemed to have made up his mind before you'd even asked.

The resolve in him is enough to slow your shake to nothing. There's a part of you that still doesn't quite believe what you'd seen last night, and so the certainty of Judith's well-being does not deluge you. It trickles down, dripping over your eyelashes, sprinkling off your fingertips.

You let yourself get caught up in his eyes the way you used to. You let the familiarity of them ground you and, though not with a sweeping acceptance, sigh in relief.

It's a small win in the grand scheme of steaming hot bullshit going on in your life.

You’ve taken things from General for Bruce’s sake before. Bandages and needles and disinfectants. This, however… this was a schedule II drug that could land you in prison if you got caught with it. And you were going to walk out of here with it like you were none the wiser.

A hand on your elbow forces you to slow down, drawing you back to your companion’s side. You don’t need to hear it so he doesn’t say it, but you’re embarrassed anyway. How Bruce maintains himself is enviable. “You’re a good actor.” Bruce peeks at you as you guide him through the first floor, “The thing with Gordon. You took it on the chin like a champ. You turned into a whole new person.”

“I avoid implicating myself when I can.”

“The party too. You diffused the tension, like, perfectly.”

Bruce hovers beside you as you call the elevator, a few patients and nurses lingering further behind. You can feel him probing your words for your natural line of thinking, “Couldn’t pull one over on you, though.”

No, you think, you just creeped me out while every bat-shaped clue flew right under my nose.

The elevator door slides open and the two of you squeeze into the back as the rest file in. You find yourself in a corner, braced against Bruce’s side as his hand reaches around your back to hold the railing. One of the nurses catches sight of him and swoons, the other trying (and failing) to look uninterested.

“Coming to see the new wing?” The swooning nurse asks, turning around to grin at Bruce. “Sounds like it’s coming along great. They make lots of helpful noise all day long.”

Bruce laughs good-naturedly, “Hopefully it’ll make up for all the trouble once it’s finished.”

The “uninterested” nurse nods, eyes frantically flashing from Bruce’s eyes to the floor and back over and over, “For sure! It’s really great you give back to General like this. Your dad would be proud.”

His face has no distinct reaction to it, nothing immediately telling that that comment hit too close to home. He smiles as he always does and thanks them as he always should do, and as they get off on the second floor, it’s just you two and an old man waiting for the next stop.

Bruce, to you, had long lived in his father’s shadow. The great Thomas Wayne who, despite his briefly smeared reputation, had been the face of the Wayne family for you. Even the some-twenty years after his passing had yet to shake that image from your brain.

It was his father’s legacy he was tending to here. All of the good and ugly that came with it. You couldn’t imagine how many times he’d heard his father would be proud. Did it comfort him? Frustrate him? Did he do this to make his father proud, or because it was expected of him?

Before the flood, you’d heard gossip about Wayne Enterprises going under, the reclusive in the tower giving no sign if he was alive or dead. Knowing what you know now, you wonder how much he truly wants to be a Wayne… with all the baggage that comes with it.

He’s wound tight. You can feel him against you.

Before you can talk yourself out of it, you find his hand on the railing beside you and cover It with your own. He’s shocked, judging by the way he jolts under your touch for a second. You think you’ve overstepped but when you go to apologize, he is already staring wide-eyed at you. Like when you’d caught him on the stairs.

The tension is still there, and his face has fallen in its warmth and friendliness. His hand had only partially slipped out from underneath yours, but as the seconds pass you feel it rest once more, not bothering to shake you away any further.

You both force yourselves to stare ahead until the elevator dings to let you out, but through the reflection on the door, Bruce is still looking at you.

You break first, distracting you both this time as you walk out, “You kept hitting me with your knee.”

Bruce, in a daze, asks, “What?”

“At the party. While me and Roberts were arguing, you’d nudge me with your knee like it was an accident.”

Bruce seems to remember who he is and where you are, because he quickly gets back to himself, “Guess I’m not that good of an actor.”

“Why’d you do it?”

“I knew where the conversation was going. I could feel you thinking.”

You remembered holding your breath as the mayor prepared herself for confrontation back then, “And the second time?”

“I was trying not to laugh.”

You flush. You’d been so impassioned that night, defending your hero who, unbeknownst to you at the time, was hiding a snicker behind his glass. You feared you’d be remembering a lot of moments like that over the next few days.

As soon as you both get into your office, you shut the door behind you, “I need you to wait here for me.” Bruce’s face tightens, “Don’t… argue. They keep extra vials of the antivenom down in the ER. I can grab one from the med room, but I can’t have you following me down there. It’s off limits for anyone without ID, let alone a patient and a donor.”

Bruce doesn’t look comfortable. Since last night, you hadn’t been anywhere Bruce or your police detail couldn’t follow. You hadn’t even been allowed to enter your apartment until the latter had deemed the place safe. A med room not much bigger than your office—locked behind an ID scanner—posed less of a threat than your two-bedroom ten minutes away.

But it was two stories down, and anything could happen in the time you were away from Bruce.

You can see the wheels turning in his head, trying to think up some plan that allowed him to remain by your side. You have to restrain yourself from feeling… flattered.

Flattery turns to bewilderment as Bruce reaches into his pocket and drops something into your hand. It’s a gadget the size of an AirPods case, shining in the light of the fluorescents. It looked perfectly unassuming and hid—lightweight as it was—a marvel of expensive technology. You could tell just by looking at it. “The hell is this?”

“It’s an EMP generator. Put it in your pocket and I can disable any communications within your vicinity, including cameras.”

“Okay, no. This is a hospital, and I’d be going into the ER with this thing. That’s too dangerous.”

Bruce looks offended. You can practically hear him say “You don’t think I’ve thought of that?” with his eyes. He silently holds his phone up to your face and you shouldn’t be as shocked as you are that it’s got live camera feed of the entire hospital. “I can control the radius. You said you trust me. So trust me.”

You swallow back your retort. You did say you were going to trust him on this. Whether or not it would be your doom had yet to be seen. You nod once, dropping the device in your pocket. “I’ll meet you back here in ten minutes. Fifteen at the most.”

Bruce’s lips purse together. He still doesn’t look settled with letting you go alone, but he has very little room to argue, “Ten minutes.”

You don’t waste time. You skip the elevator for the emergency stairwell, taking two steps at a time until you’re back on the first floor and walking to the ER. The med room at the very end of the hall would—if you were lucky—be as empty as the waiting room. All you needed to do was get in, grab what you needed and very quickly get the hell out of there. Without raising suspicion. You can feel the phantom pull of Bruce’s hand on your arm, begging you to slow down before you draw unwanted attention.

You round the corner to the med room, scan your ID, and head in.

The two nurses waiting inside greet you, analyzing you curiously, “Hey doc, need something?”

Words rattle in your brain like a d20 on a deception roll. You pray for something good, “I just wanted to grab some meds for my patient.”

One nurse sits at a computer, head titled in confusion, “Did you put in a prescription? You could’ve sent a nurse to grab it for you.”

Your eye catches the camera on the ceiling, its dark glass glinting at you, mocking you. A scrying glass recording your every move. And Bruce on the other side of it, hopefully buying you an alibi. “It’s a… special case. My patient needs it soon, so I thought I’d speed up the process and grab it myself.” You force a lightness into your tone, trying your best to appear apologetic and not at all suspicious.

The nurse hums. Then, she jabs the pen she’d holding over her shoulder, “Cart’s over there. Help yourself.”

You maneuver through the shelves separating either half of the room, keeping your head straight and eyes from wandering.

Your biggest hurdle was at the back of the room.

It’s a clunky cabinet on wheels with a monitor on top and an ID scanner on the side. In one of its many drawers, your golden ticket awaited, but these things kept logs of who checked out what, and if someone were to go through them later and find out you’d stolen a highly addictive drug without prescription…

You swallow. The generator in your pocket suddenly hangs heavy against your thigh. You glance at your phone for the time and note that four minutes have passed. You need to move quickly.

You approach the cart, fingers twitching at your sides, and right as you step up to the monitor, it flickers and goes dark. You give the power button a push for good measure but nothing happens.

Well, not nothing. You hear the cart drawers all click at once, like they’d unlocked by themselves. Tentatively, you try the top drawer and it slides out without issue. Glancing behind you, you check to make sure no nurses have wandered over, but you are the only one on this side of the room.

Your fingers drift down to the right drawer next and that one slips open too—by the grace of some god—and there you see it. It has an alien glow to it, a more subdued blue to its adversary’s green. The top of the tray holding the vials pops open with just as much ease as the drawer, allowing you to sneak one into your pocket. You shut the drawers, slowly backing away from the cart, but the monitor does not turn back on.

“What? This thing too?” You’re startled when the nurse from before suddenly jogs up from behind you, grumbling under her breath as she smacks the monitor.

You rush to cover, “It just went kaput on me.”

“Yeah, so did mine.” She maneuvers around the shelves and back to her desk where you see the other nurse at the desk scratching his head. Their monitor is glitching, having some gory digital stroke, “Here. You can sign out what you take for now and I’ll bother IT about this.”

You write down “Ibuprofen” and your name next to it, “Never seen that happen before.”

“Yeah. Thing froze up on me a minute ago. Guessing around the same time this thing died on you.”

Your stomach is still nervously fluttering, but you do feel a little smug. “Weird.” You hand her back the clipboard and go to grab a bottle out of a different drawer. “Good luck.”

You try not to sprint past the nurses as they fuss with the computer. You’re out and back upstairs before your ten minutes are up.

Bruce is sat leisurely on your couch, no doubt watching you scurry into the office on his phone. He looks from the pill bottle in your hand and back to you.

You toss the bottle into his lap, plopping down on the couch beside him. He frowns at the label. “For you,” you poke his injured leg and his eyes follow your every movement, “you’re favoring the other leg today.”

He can’t bring himself to deny that, even if the look he gives you from beneath his eyelashes says otherwise. You flash the antivenom at him as a peace offering. “How’d I look?”

His gaze flutters slowly from the vial to you before he shows you his phone. The screen is a recording of the medication room. It shows you greeting the nurses, walking up to the med cart, and then… nothing. Black screen for forty-five seconds. When it flickers back on, you're signing the clipboard and walking away. Your body sags into the couch with relief.

“You did good.” Bruce praises you.

“I thought I was going to go into cardiac arrest.”

“There are worse places to do it.” You look at him and he’s smiling just a little. You’re aware, though, that he’s aware of the toll this has taken on you. He takes the vial out of your hands and puts it in his own pocket, holding his hand out to you. “We should get going.”

Bruce follows dutifully behind you as you lead him back down to the first floor. You feel much better than when you'd arrived, but your heart stutters each time a security guard passes you by. Years ago, stealing and getting away with it was second nature to you. You were also arrogant back then, uncaring of what happened to you. How quickly the tides had changed.

You feel Bruce nudge you with his arm. He isn't looking at you, but you know what he's trying to tell you: you've got a few more hallways to turn down before the exit. You just have to-

Someone calls your name.

You spin around, nerves electrified, only to find Em running to catch up with you, "What are you doing back at work already? Is your arm okay?"

The adrenaline rush had done wonders for your pain tolerance. You didn't even think about it until she brought it up, "I'm fine, it's fine. It's-" You go to rush out some sort of explanation but at that moment, Bruce turns around.

You can see the moment of impact across Em's face as soon as she realizes who you're with, her back straightening and hand pressing down flyaways. In an instant, she has forgotten all about you. For better or for worse. She rubs her palm on her leg before holding it out to shake his hand, "Mr. Wayne! Hi! I'm surprised to see you here." Her eyes are twinkling, "Everything alright?"

"Just some leg pain, nothing painkiller can't fix." He flashes the pill bottle for good measure. You're honestly impressed he admitted to being in pain at all, "It's good to see you again, Dr. Madison."

Em's face droops into a frown, "Well, you look fantastic, but you've got a mirror," she pats your arm, "and I'm sure you're being well taken care of."

"Only by the best."

You smile (borderline pleadingly), preparing to dismiss yourselves while you still have your wits about you, but then Em asks Bruce a question and, to your surprise, Bruce is happy to entertain her.

It strikes you that you had landed in your situation with no prior interest in who Bruce was, and it shows in how you barely keep up with the topic of conversation.

It's like watching a tennis match between the two. The topic in Em's court, then Bruce's, then Em's, back and forth without issue. No awkward pauses or uncomfortable looks. She recalls details about him out of thin air, your knowledge in comparison merely fringes of what Em knew.

The longer it goes on, the more it weighs on you that aside from the strange man who'd circled around you like a frightened kitten, you really didn't know anything about Bruce.

You knew Batman. You felt you knew him. Even when his identity was still a secret, you had felt comfortable with him. Vulnerable, even. He'd let you touch him in your home, fixing him up and helping you with this mess and... outside of that, what did you really know?

You feel an odd twist in your chest.

Em's voice floats back in, disrupting your retrospection, "I've always wanted to go to Italy. You must get so sick of these places after having been so many times."

"They still have their magic," Bruce grins, "but I don't like being far from home."

"Really? You could go anywhere in the world and you'd still miss Gotham?" Em's tone is teasing, but curious. Something flickers in her eyes as if she'd just remembered something.

Bruce takes in the hallway, chest swelling with pride, "Lots of things to miss about it."

"Name one."

Bruce's eyes cut to the side as he thinks, "The noise."

"You can get noise anywhere. LA, Chicago-"

"It's special here."

"No, try again."

His smile turns sheepish, "The rain."

"Now you're lying. Come on, pretty boy. I know you've got something. Penthouse, nightlife- heck, I'd even understand the freaks and clowns giving everyone PTSD."

Bruce exhales, purses his lips. His eyes flit around the white walls, "Okay. I'd miss you."

What the hell?

You straighten up. The absurdity (blatant sweet-talk) of the line shouldn't work—seriously, it wouldn't work on you—but Em goes pink in the cheeks. A strand of dark hair falls from her bun and frames her smile just so, "Well," she snorts, "aren't you just a flirt?"

To your utter dismay, they are both eating this up. "You light up the room, Dr. Madison. Your patients are very lucky."

"My patients are usually seven and way more interested in the candy I bring them."

"Candy?" Bruce finally looks at you, all humor and charm, "I never get candy. I just get yelled at."

Something in you is disturbed when Em grabs onto Bruce's arm, hanging off him as she pouts at you, "Oh! You're heartless!"

"Very much so." Bruce is somber.

"I don't-" Your voice comes out strained, a little too defensive right off the bat, "I don't yell." But you'd gotten close, and you got closer everyday, "But if I did, you'd deserve it."

Bruce is amused. You watch as he pretends to cower into Em, even as he dwarfs her in size. They start joking back and forth, more teases at your expense, and you notice that the persona he puts on around others is practically nonexistent here. You'd watched it dissolve within minutes. It's refreshing, you realize, that he seems to really be enjoying himself right now.

You catch Bruce insisting that he ought to get going, sharing pleasantries and desires to visit once more. Em looks genuinely saddened to let him go. The second Bruce's back turns, Em reaches out and squeezes your hand, whispering, "Please tell me he's single."

You fluster. You imagine yourself in the car ride back to the tower asking Bruce what he thinks about Em, offering to exchange numbers between them, and you're disturbed again.

Twenty-four hours ago, you would've been warning her to run for the hills. Twenty-four hours ago, he was only Bruce Wayne. Now he was Batman and all that came with it and, well... once upon a time, you would've wanted nothing more than for Bruce Wayne to sweep Em off her feet. Batman had always been more your style.

Then, you realize, you don't actually know the answer to her question.

Em looks expectant. You shrug. She exaggerates her disappointment but releases you all the same, "Keep me posted."

"I'm comparing the samples from the crime scene to the antivenom. I should have something in a few hours." Bruce taps the antivenom vial, watching the remaining blue liquid slosh against the glass, before handing it off to Alfred.

You're mesmerized by this backyard (or, more aptly put, garage) chemistry lab. Beakers and flasks spread out on the long table as you watch from a stool a few feet away, "How'd you get so good at this?"

"College," after a few seconds of silence from you, he adds on begrudgingly, "I started messing around with stuff down here when I was 13."

"You had all this when you were 13?"

"Some of it, whatever I could get my hands on. I liked to see how things worked."

You have a unique opportunity to learn about Bruce here, so you take it with both hands, "You majored in chem, then."

"And biology, and physics."

Your eyes blow wide. "You had three majors?"

"I bounced from one to another, sometimes double majored if I liked the professors. I followed my interests and they took me everywhere," Bruce picks up the venom test tube, little drops of green pooling at the bottom of the glass, "I've enrolled in more universities than I have degrees."

Your eye twitches, just a little annoyed, "Must've been nice going wherever you wanted, whenever you wanted."

Bruce senses your tone of voice. He peers at you from the side, elbows resting on the table, "I spent a lot of time away from home. It must've been enough because I don't miss it."

"You said the same thing to Em earlier." You recall.

"I didn't think about it as much while I was gone, but when I came home for good... I just couldn't imagine myself leaving like that again."

"He barely liked boarding school," Alfred chimes in from the other side of the room, lazily reading a book at Bruce's desk. Boarding school was posh. You imagined little Bruce in a school uniform like the British boys in movies, "I should bring out the scrapbooks once we have a moment."

Bruce sets the test tube back on its rack with a bit of aggression, "Thank you, Alfred. You can go now."

Alfred chortles. He skims one more page of his book and then shoves it under his arm on the way back up. The elevator clinks and rattles up the tower until it stops some sixty stories up.

It's quiet now. You sort of appreciate the silence- the relative silence. There is the steady drip, drip, drip coming from here and there in the cave. The whirring of the machines, the humming of the lights, the very faint sound of a news anchor forecasting snowy skies this weekend. Bruce's breathing.

It's harder to hear unless you focus on it. His mountainous build hunched over the table—staring into the venom as it stares back—rises and falls in slow rhythm. You watch him being and it captivates you. For the umpteenth time since last night, you are struck with the reminder that this was Batman. In all his broody glory, an arm's length away from you, about a hundred feet under the city.

It's funny; you paid so little attention to the man before, and now you wanted to take him apart and examine his terrible insides. You have accidentally become obsessed with the man.

"I want to take you to Blackgate."

"Sorry?"

"Lucien is there," the name makes your blood run cold, "he was with the Vipers the longest. He could answer a few things for us."

You do your best not to immediately say no. Not because you think he'll force you, but because you know—somehow—that he won't, "What about Detective Gordon? Shouldn't that be his job?"

"I think he'll talk to you." Bruce turns slowly until his back is pressed against the desk, arms crossed over his chest and pulling his shirt completely taut. "He knows you."

You hadn't seen Lucien since the night Alex died. For once, you're kind of grateful Bruce can read you. He turns fully toward you, "I can go alone."

"You just said you think he'll talk to me."

"I can make him talk." His head droops a little to meet your eyes, expression impossibly understanding. You have no doubt he can. Your throat feels like it's on the verge of closing up. Somehow, sending Bruce alone to handle him felt worse.

"But you think I can..." You have to pause to force in a breath, feeling yourself go lightheaded, "You think I can get more out of him." Bruce doesn't respond to that. He's still watching you like you might start stress-sobbing. "Okay."

"You sure?"

"Mm."

Bruce calls your name. You'd been tracing the lines of his arms with your eyes to distract yourself, not processing how much closer he'd gotten until you feel his breath against your eyelashes.

His arms are uncrossed now, one hand pressing into the table beside you, the other hovering by his hip. His fingers twitch. Does he want to touch you? You were about to go three for three with the crying in his arms thing.

You force yourself off the stool and the speed at which you stand gives Bruce very little time to react. Your chest bumps against him, but you're already slipping behind him, "Lemme see your stitches," you rasp, hand ghosting over his shoulder, "need to... redress them, probably."

Bruce tries looking over his shoulder at you but you hide behind him and after a moment, he relents. His shoulders drop in defeat. You watch him drag your stool into the light and sit.

The dismal mood did you a favor. He looked like he'd be submissive today.

You're halfway through clearing away his dried blood when you ask, "Are you single?"

Bruce's shoulder jolts just the tiniest bit, almost driving your finger into the stitch. "What?"

"Em asked," you quickly explain, "and I realized I didn't know."

You don't know exactly what he's thinking, but his answer is as straightforward as you could hope for, "Yes."

"Oh."

"You sound surprised."

"I mean... I sort of assumed..." What did you assume, exactly? You couldn't see him with a long term partner, definitely not like this, but the idea that there wasn't anybody didn't sit right with you, "no flings? Situationships, even?"

"Why? Is Dr. Madison interested?"

Your jaw clenches. You force the muscles in your face to relax, "I just don't want any secret lovers of yours adding me to their shitlist if I go through with your plan. I can't stress how little I want to fake-fight over you right now."

Bruce huffs. You finish cleaning around his wound when he pipes up again, "I had something... someone. It didn't last."

"Oh. Are you... tender about it?"

"Not anymore. I don't have time for that kind of thing anyway."

He says it like it doesn't bother him, but in the way someone might brush off a scrape on the knee or a paper cut. Like it stung, but you had to be a big boy about it. The pain would go away eventually.

You press new gauze over the stitches, taping it down as gently as you could, "I assumed someone like you would have a whole lot of someones, a revolving door even," your eyes flit over his other bruises and healed cuts, "I never made time for relationships either. I was kind of just going through the motions."

"No one interested you?" Bruce rolls his shoulders once you peel away from him. He doesn't look at you when he asks that.

"Just... childish crushes here and there. Sometimes I'd let someone take me home..." Your voice catches in your throat for a moment. You recall a stamped down memory, one of you standing blindfolded in your apartment imagining the Batman with his mouth on your throat. That wasn't very long ago. Your breath shudders as you fit Bruce into the memory instead. You don't... know how to feel about it.

"Never back to yours? And here I thought Judith was just hard on me." You belatedly register Bruce standing, rolling his shirt up his arms before pulling the neck over his hair. His question hangs lightheartedly.

Your shoulders sag, "You're not gonna believe me if I tell you I was paranoid about letting one-night stands into my home."

"Why? 'Cause you let me in?"

The back of your neck grows hot. "What about you? You ever bring yours back to the cave?"

After he's done tucking his shirt into his pants, Bruce shakes his head at you, "No. Just you."

That was the second time he'd said that to you. You were starting to feel special.

You step out of the shower and you think, almost as soon as your foot touches heated floors, that you really despise Bruce Wayne.

The towels are warm too, waiting for you as you preen yourself in the mirror, a clean you staring back. You kept your toiletries bag on the bathroom counter, afraid to unpack anything as you rustled around for deodorant. It was massive and quiet. The water pressure alone had you swearing at the marble lining of the shower.

Bruce eventually lured you downstairs with the promise of making dinner. Alfred was skeptical, but had backed off and allowed Bruce full range of the kitchen, still possessed by his book next to the fire.

He'd asked you what you had the stomach for. Eventually he was copying something out of a celebrity recipe book with you beside him.

You argued that he hadn't really made you dinner given that you had helped him do half of everything, but it was his ingredients and it was his kitchen and the food tasted good so you didn't argue long.

After Alfred offered his stamp of approval, he'd retired for the night and left you and Bruce in the kitchen to clean up. Bruce had left the pots and pans to you when you proved too nervous to handle the porcelain, "Alfred won't kill you if it breaks."

"Alfred would kill me for less, I think."

Bruce gives a short laugh, drying off the last pot. He's pouring you a glass of the wine you'd opened last night when you slide his little gadget across the counter, "I forgot to give that back to you." You swirl your glass, admiring the color as Bruce packs away the leftovers. "You looked like you were enjoying yourself with Em earlier."

"I was. Your friend is funny."

"I... also noticed something you said. When she asked you what you would miss about Gotham, you mentioned the noise and the rain. Would you really miss all that?"

Bruce glances at you, popping a top onto a glass bowl, "Of course. It's part of what makes the city."

Your eyes narrow, searching for the lie, but there isn't one. He's being sincere. "Is that why you became Batman? Because you love this city that much?"

You can feel the mood getting doused with ice water. It forces you upright in your chair, makes your hand clench around the stem of your glass. Anyone with eyes could tell you'd just touched a nerve.

But he answers you, intense as it comes out, "I hated it." The loathing is a mere shell of what it used to be, you can tell, "I hated what it took from me." His eyes cast down to the countertop. "At first, I was aimless. Everyone was worried about the future of the company but Alfred and I were just trying to make it through the day. Over the years, I boiled up with this... restlessness. I still didn’t know where I was going but I was full of something for once. I studied, I traveled, I learned from all manner of teacher. And when I came home, I was... determined."

His words sit heavily on you. You can see flecks of that restlessness in his eyes, the slight tremble of his hands as he rests them against the countertop. "Why a bat?" You whisper.

"They're what I feared the most."

Past tense. "Feared?"

"I got over it. I won't let them close enough to bite, but..." The humor in his voice breaks the intensity of his expression.

You mull that over, "You became what you feared to strike fear."

"Not anymore," his head shakes, "fear is a tool, but... there's enough fear in this city. I wasn't making a change, I was making it worse."

You remembered the first time you'd ever heard of the Batman. Back then, he was just "Vengeance". In the grand scheme of fucked up things this city had to offer, someone running around dressed as a bat didn't register as abnormal. Another Tuesday, maybe. You awaited what they'd say about his crimes: a mugger beaten and strung up on the street, a gang felled and dropped at the GCPD's door. You remembered something stirring in you when he put away the Joker.

"I remember when you became a hero. Like really, to everyone. When you took shape… they were flying in people. I was rushing in patients while you stood on top of the Garden and pulled people out of the flood. I hadn’t felt hope like that since… yeah."

Your admission moves something in Bruce. His eyes find yours, "I was just doing what you'd been doing for years."

"But I never left that hospital. You transcend boroughs, the gangs, everything. I used to think you couldn’t possibly be one guy. I still can’t believe it. How are you not dead on your feet by now?" Bruce smiles knowingly at you and you feel yourself flush, "Besides that. You’ve been doing this for longer than I've been around to patch you up."

"That would be Alfred."

"You should tell him, you know. That you appreciate him. I think he'd like to hear how much he means to you more often." Bruce's eyes soften. He doesn't debate you. "Anyway. How's that sedative going?"

"I'll take another look before I leave tonight."

Oh, yeah. This guy is Batman.

You don't know when next you'll get this chance, "Can I ask a favor? Can I... watch you put it on?" Bruce wobbles to the side, genuinely confused. "The suit?"

He examines you, mouth almost curling up into a shocked smile. He hadn't expected you to ask that, that's for sure. "All of it?"

You grip your glass so hard you think it might shatter, "No." And then, when he has the audacity to snicker, "Asshole."

He stays true to your request.

You watch with your back pressed up against the wall. His under suit hangs undone at his hips while he leans over his desk, digging his fingers into a can of black paint. He uses the reflection of his computer screen to smear it over his eyelids and under his eyelashes until the white skin beneath disappears.

Next is zipping up the under suit. You barely resist rushing over to hold his bandage steady as the suit catches on it, but he manages to get it up and over without pulling it off. Then come the plates of armor. Each piece clips into place, clinging to his waist and chest and arms. You've seen it up close enough times to know the quality of it, a wonder how he'd gotten his hands on that kind of stuff until now.

You don't ask him to, but when it's time to put his cowl on, he turns sideways so you can see.

His gloved hand combs through his hair, pushing back the longer strands so he could fit the cowl over it.

It's kind of embarrassing how it takes your breath away. Bruce had quite literally transformed before your eyes, and now there was no denying it.

Bruce stands still as your eyes bore into him.

After a few seconds of admiring every piece of the suit, your eyes flit up to his face. He's not looking at you, almost shy. Apart from Alfred and, perhaps, his someone, Bruce has probably never put on the suit in front of anyone else. Is it weird you missed seeing him shy? "It fits perfectly." Your voice is barely above a whisper.

Of course it does. You know it's dumb to say. Bruce doesn't say that, though.

He waits a beat before turning away from you, his cape sending a breeze of cool air up against your legs. His car awaits on the train tracks, headlights beaming into the near endless darkness as he approaches and you follow.

The car thrums eagerly with life at the push of a button, sending vibrations through the ground, all the way up to the ceiling where you hear a sudden flurry of wings and chirping. Bowing your head close to Bruce, you watch about a hundred bats scurry about above you, disturbed by the sudden rumble of the engine. Bruce holds his cape over your shoulder, though none of the bats fly low enough to concern him. "They don't freak you out a little bit?"

"They haven't bothered me."

"Well, when you dress like them I guess they get confused."

"I'll be back before sunrise," Bruce promises, "and I'll look into Judith for you. Maybe you should... call first."

You're tickled by the discomfort he's so desperately trying to hide, "Scared of a little old lady?"

He pointedly ignores you. You step back as he throws open the door and settles into his car, but before he can pull off into the darkness, you shout his name to get his attention over the roaring engine, "Hey! Be safe."

Bruce looks at you and... you don't know what he's thinking, only that the muscles in his jaw relax a bit. Was he used to that? Did Alfred often stand on the cold, empty train tracks before every patrol and wish him luck on another night of beating criminals to a pulp? Was he used to the worrying? Annoyed by it, even?

He doesn't say anything. The car leaves in a spray of dust and you hide your face in your shirt to shield yourself from it. By the time the dust settles, you can only see two red lights blurring into the distance.

[idontknowreallywhy]

Expert

I left a little idea hanging in this fic which really needed some investigation. And the muse finally returned on my commute yesterday so, while this isn’t my most well thought through or deviously plotted fic, the idea entertained me so I hope you’ll enjoy it too :) Wee Tracy fluff!

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“Scooooo-ooooott!!!!!”

“Scottyyyyyy?!!”

Don’t panic don’t panic don’t panic.

“You win, little man! You’re so clever! Can you come out now?”

A little bead of sweat tickled its way past Jeff’s eyebrow and he swiped at it impatiently. It was important to keep the panic out of his voice so he kept up the singsong tone:

“Where aaaare you, Bluejaaaay?”

He was missing something.

“Please come out now? Daddy needs a cuddle!”

He’d checked all the usual places. Twice.

“Do you want a snack, Scotty?”

Surely that would…?

“Snack time!!”

Nothing.

What was he missing?

Jeff Tracy was 3 months into being a stay at home Dad while Lucy was off being incredible at the university.

And while the first few days had been inevitably shaky, until this morning he’d been pretty confident he was nailing it.

Sure, he had to confess (and did so with a great deal of admiration most every evening) that he couldn’t work out how Lucy had been doing all this AND working remotely while he’d been up on Alfie. She’d just smile contentedly as he nuzzled her neck and reminded her she was a goddess walking on earth. Usually she would have denied this vehemently, but sharing a house with a child whose sleep-in-his-own-bed record was 30 mins 47 seconds meant neither was willing to waste a single moment on pointless humility…

Anyway, she clearly had Powers he did not.

For a standard issue human, however, he was doing ok. He’d read the toddler-wrangling manual cover to cover. His son, apparently, had not, but there were one or two tips that seemed to hold fairly true. Most of the time. But he was beginning to think he could write one himself, because while Dr Whatsherface might be an expert on the average toddler, Jeff Tracy was an expert on his own rather unique version.

Rule number one - never blink. The kid moves faster than sound.

Rule number two - Accessorise.

Jeff had taken to wearing combat pants with multiple pockets and thus perpetually had snacks, wet wipes and toy planes on standby. He had a tennis ball to hand at all times… turned out that what worked for a puppy sometimes worked for a two-year old too.

The squeaky chew toys were their little secret.

Yes, the key to his success was in the gadgets. The baby swing he’d fixed into the door frame had been a great way to enable the little whirlwind to let off steam while remaining in one place. The delighted squeals of “‘Cotty fwwwyyyy!!!” really brought a tear to the eye. The height and speed his child managed to achieve using the thing brought a slightly anxious twitch to the eye also, but it was all fine. He just needed to be close by enough to intervene…

He solved Going Out with a gadget too. Scott wasn’t really a pushchair kind of a guy but wasn’t yet able to appreciate that tugging his little hand out of his Dada’s and sprinting out into the traffic wasn’t ok. After a few days of hanging limp from it, 12 kilos of dead weight, in protest, Scott had eventually taken to the cunning harness-leash device which meant their little trips into town were less of an adrenaline rush. Marginally.

At some point Jeff was definitely going to get punched for barging his way through a crowd by some irate person who didn’t appreciate he was attached to a tiny rocket on a string.

But the main thing was he wasn’t getting lost. Or flattened.

Yep, Jeff was nailing this parenting thing.

Tying the kid down while he made a hasty trip to the bathroom had seemed a step too far, however. Scott had been enclosed in his supposedly escape-proof playpen, temporarily absorbed in nyoooming a plushie space ship from one duplo planet to another.

Jeff had been three minutes, tops. Barely 180 seconds.

Where could he go in 180 seconds??

He cursed himself for the rookie error of under-estimating his first-born and stood at the kitchen door, running through a mental checklist of all the places in which he had located his feral offspring to date.

Cupboards. Check.

Curtains. Check.

Top of bookcase, window sills, under the beds. Check check check.

On top of the big wardrobe in the master bedroom? One of spider-baby’s favourites that one. Check.

He’d looked there three times actually, nearly got himself wedged the third time as he clambered up and reached all the way to the back just in case his eyes were deceiving him and a cherubic blue-eyed menace was hiding in the shadows.

A face-full of cobwebs: No Scotty.

“Daddy’s getting pretty lonely out here, I wish you’d come and play with me!!”

The house wasn’t that big. Where on earth…?

The windows were still locked shut.

The front door was still shut. With the chain in place… even tiny Houdini couldn’t have put that back on behind him.

The back door was locked, key still on the hook.

So he couldn’t be outside.

So… no need to panic. Unless he was stuck or hurt somewhere and Jeff wasn’t with him!!

“SCOOOOOOOTTYYYYY?”

It had got to the stage where Jeff was doing ridiculous things like looking behind lamp stands and under cushions that were far too small to hide a human toddler, particularly one that moved so constantly he even vibrated in his sleep.

But there wasn’t anywhere left!!!

… or was there?

In desperation, Jeff pulled down the telescopic ladder and stuck his head into the attic-space, in case somehow his child had suddenly developed both the ability to fly and to pass through solid objects during those three unforgivable minutes of inattention.

Obviously Scott wasn’t there.

This was wasting time.

He retraced his steps to the kitchen, calling as he went.

“Scotty I really need you to come out now please? Daddy’s getting worried!”

The cupboard under the sink? It was big enough… The child-proof door closures should have made it impossible but this was Scott Tracy: Tiny master of impossible feats. Jeff really hoped he was wrong because if he’d got in there… where the cleaning things were kept…

“Scotty!”

He sped up and began to reach down as he covered the last few metres… then gasped as his foot slid from under him and he skated, flailing wildly, across the linoleum.

“Sco-aaaaaaaaaaaaggghhh!!!”

Jeff’s graceless ice dance was halted abruptly as he slammed head first into the fridge and crumpled to the floor.

Jars rattled.

Jeff’s teeth rattled.

The fridge said “Dada?”

Jeff’s ears said “riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing”.

The floor was sticky. Feeling a little hazy Jeff lifted a hand and sniffed it cautiously… cinnamon? What?

Wait.

Blinking the stars from his eyes Jeff, dragged himself to his feet and hauled the door open to find his son tucked neatly on to a high shelf, curled around a pie dish.

Jeff’s jaw dropped.

He snapped it closed it again and bit his lip lest any inappropriate words escape.

“Dada! ‘Cotty duck in fidge. Oh no!”

The tiny child lifted his apple sauce covered hands and looked at them as if suddenly realising they were attached to his arms. Bright blue eyes gazed down at him with an expression of extreme innocence:

“Oh no! ‘Cotty all messy! Ooopsiiiieee!”

A chunk of apple fell from his little eyebrow and Jeff nearly burst a blood vessel trying to keep a straight face. Don’t reward the unwelcome behaviour with a reaction, the book had said. If he laughed now, Scott would only do similar again. And he needed to impress upon him that it wasn’t ok to hide away like this.

Or consume the majority of a family sized dessert by himself.

His lip twitched.

Jeff would have put serious money on the supposed expert never having anticipated this scenario.

Clearly realising his father had no follow-up questions to his comprehensive situational update, Scott plunged his hand back into the dish and shoved a fistful of pie crust into his mouth.

Jeff covered his face and screamed silently into his palms. Then realised he had given himself a matching set of apple pie eyebrows.

Piebrows.

He snorted.

Scott snorted like a pig in response and burst into giggles, spraying pastry crumbs into Jeff’s hair.

Expert schmexpert.

Jeff laughed loud and Jeff laughed long. Scott giggled and clapped his sticky hands together then reached for Jeff with one of them, the other clutching the edge of the pie dish possessively.

“I think you’ve had enough pie, Bluejay, don’t you?” Jeff prised the little fingers free and realised his son’s skin was incredibly cold.

“Bloody hell, kiddo you’re freezing! Come ‘ere …” he plucked the small icicle from the shelf and hugged him close. “We’d best get you in a warm bath. What are you, Elsa?”

“Leddid gooooo!!! Leddid gooooooooo!!!” The little lad closed his eyes and waved a sticky fist in the air as he sang.

“Yes, son, let it go.”

Scott hid his last handful of pie behind his back and shook his head vigorously.

“No Dada!! ‘Cotty’s abble bie. Buddy ell, Dada! Oh no!”

Jeff swallowed hard. “Oh no” indeed.

Maybe he’d put a pin in the book idea, just for a little while.

🤍💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍💙

[thesupernaturalhouse]

Damn yall are liking this Hazbins Fallen au- I'm glad!! Honestly I was hoping people would like it but like, still a shock you know-

Anywaysss, I am busy but figured I'd post some fact/headcanons of the au, aoke plot points, mostly surrounding Emily because she's the main change of the au

Emily has a pretty big sweet tooth, and when she does get sweets she always gets extra for Razzle and Dazzle

Again, I will say this, Vaggie, Charlie and Emily are wrangle and dazzles moms. Keekee is not counting as a child cause the seems more like. A ept while Razzle and Dazzle seem mroe sentient, at least to me

Charlie and Seviathans relationship, post break up ofc, is like Ron Swanson and Tammy 2s, no the uh- getting back together part but the '....she's here-' part, Charlie absolutely hates his guts and whenever he's near her more demon features come out as she looks around trying to spot him

Emily barely holds herself back from killing slaviathen, you'd think it'd be Vaggie, but no, it's Emily

Emily design resembles a succubus, it was by complete accident, she lieks the color of horns and didn't realize what it could resemble-

Emily absolutely hates Al but hides it ebhidn a cheerful smile, silent anger so to speak(she does end up snapping at Al and I am so excited to write that scene)

Husk is Emily's father figure I already have a whole chaoter planned surrounding how they bon, Emily calls him dad from that chaoter onwards

Angle constantly makes 'I fucked you dad' jokes, even if they aren't true, at Em cause he knows it pushes her buttons....she retaliated by buying water balloons and throwing them at him one day when he makes the same joke again

Husk just watches.

In the pilot, vaggie holds up her spear and Emily pushes it down like "...no, no..." the Katy says soemthing homophobic and she immediately moves her hand away and says "nevermind. Do what you want."

Emily hates waking up early, she's done it for YEARS in heaven she'll eb damned if she does it for more in hell (plus there's nobody on her about being on time to places)

You knwo that scene where Husk is calling everyone out? Well, he looks at Emily and goes "and SHES....well....I've got nothing on her, she's perfect" you can tell who his favorite is

Remember when angle brings them ti a bdsm club? Yeah, I've- I've got a FUN scene idea for that-

Screw shoes let charlie show her hooves- especially since I 70% sure that hoped animals have to walk on their hooves or else they risk a lot of different things so- yeah, I'm throwing away her shoes.

Also have her show sone more demon features, I love making designs so much- and of course their gonna be more animalistic, cause I love expanding on animal nosies and behaviors and stuff, it was always planned tho I didn't have a specfici bird in mind for vaggie until the hawk feather exorcists au, she also makes moth noises

I am going to have so much fun making their designs-

Also, Emily and Peter are best friends in this au, mlm and wlw solidarity when they go back up to heaven while Sera is tlaking Peter is jsut staring at her

'I know' she knows he knows....she silently promises to catch him up before the trial and he finally looks away satisfied

I feel liek while Emily would be very quick to accept husk is her father figure I think Husk would be a bit hesitant to accept that HE is a father figure

You know victor from lackadaisy? I dont knwo why but I kinda like to imagine husk as him- like I'm debating if I should make husk have had a daughter when he was alive who he didn't get to see cause of the divorce and turned to alcoholism slowly. And Em reminds him if her and that makes him SCARED

Fun little idea I had that I may or may not include, depends how I'm feeling honestly, I do wanna ta leats keep some things liek how 'gruff' he is and apply it to husk, idm I feel like their personalities are every similar, thoguh that might jsut be me-

Husk would teach Emily how to play Chess

Charlie knows Vaggie and Emily are angles and all that stuff, as I've said before. So I'm debating wether or not to keep Al's deal in, I think I will but tweak it a bit

I love Al, but he is an above avrage overlord at best, the only reason he was able to fight agaisnthe exrocists and Adam was due to them not being used to people attacking BACK and seeing it more as entertainment then actual hunting.

Anyways Em may or may not call him out casually on multiple occasions- 'he does realize if he fights Adam he'll die- oh, and there he goes called it!' She doesn't like him

Em was very much called 'lucifers replacement' by many angles, not Sera but even Sera soemtimes accidentally said lucis name instead of Ems at Keats a few times. Anyways she hates lucifer despite never meeting him and for soem reaosn never realized he was Charlie's father-

Al and Rosie are Charlie's uncle and aunt, foudn family my beloved

The reveal that Emily is Emily the seraphim....well, lets hsut say when revealing vaggie to be an exrocist doesn't work. lute notices how fimiliar Em looks..... it's gonna be a very interesting chaote rthats for certain

Speaking of the episode list- probably gonna alter them cut ep6 into 2 parts to, I'll make a diffeent post about it-

[s2pdoktopus]

I found Lilai!! My baby <3

Since I have this, I'm gonna gush about her

Lilai is born between a Yu disciple who followed Jiang Cheng in the name of the Violet Spider and a rogue cultivator who followed him during the Sunshot campaign. Her parents' love story is quite famous (or infamous, depending on the person retelling it.) Its popularity rivals the stories about Jiang Yanli and Jin Zixuan.

Yu MeiSi is a stoic woman, borderline emotionless and her falling for a clumsy no name rogue cultivator was a hilarity nobody saw coming. (Jiang Cheng was busy wrangling a wayward Wei Wuxian to witness the events)

After the Sunshot campaign MeiSi basically approached Gui Peng and asked him what he thinks of her. (When she first saw him she thought he was hot. No one else saw what she saw in the guy but it's love at first sight for her.) Peng, not sure why one of their best generals was asking his opinion, said that he thought she was strong and that he's honored to have fought with her in the war. MeiSi was pleased (it didn't reflect on her face) and left. After that she kept coming back to him for tea time, joined him in his errands and kept insisting that she wanted to help in the area where he was rebuilding. Hanging out with her made Peng fall for her and he later complained to his friends that she's out of his league. The response of his peers at the time being, "I thought you're already seeing each other?" (MeiSi definitely thought they were dating) Peng got a realization and in a drunken fit of confidence, asked for her hand in marriage. MeiSi accepted gracefully (in her head she thought "FINALLY!! how long should the courtship be??") They gathered everything they could for the wedding in a ruined, rebuilding sect and surprised Jiang Cheng with the request to officiate the wedding.

Jiang Cheng was teased for officiating a wedding when he wasn't married himself. When he broke this news to Yanli she told him to collect her money from Hao Fei (there's a bet between the girls on whether Peng will realize or not. The guy is very oblivious.)

The wedding between MeiSi and Peng happens then the canon plot happens, Jin Ling is born and then almost a year later Yu Lilai is born. (Her dad chose to give her the surname Yu to show her connection to a clan)

Yu Lilai is the first child born to a Jiang disciple in the Jiang clan.

She is currently the best swordswoman in her age group, as if she was born with a sword in her hand. She is considered to be a genius at it. Although it does appear as if the gods took away her ability to understand social cues in exchange. She's strong, she knows she's strong and she isn't afraid of many things, her sect leader included. Whenever the disciples want to ask their leader something (like, for example: a torture dungeon) they ask her to do it.

Jiang Cheng is exasperated about her lack of tact. (He has learned from the many many interventions he had to do between the children that she has no ill intentions. And has small to zero emotional sensitivity. Or social awareness) Small mercies, she's well mannered, polite and obedient. She's learned that asking for his permission to speak first is important to avoid offending diplomatic guests. Jiang Cheng is happy when she's racking up points for Yunmeng Jiang in cultivation conference exhibitions though.

She is often with her XinXue Shijie and Lian Shixiong. XinXue enables her bad habits and Lian made it his responsibility to dodge possible diplomatic problems made by them.

She was also Jin Ling's friend as a young child. But since Jin Ling isn't spending all of his time in the Jiang Sect, and with the new kids her age joining the sect giving her more options, they kind of just fell off. She's too oblivious to notice that this affected him. She does remember that as kids she and Jin Ling promised to marry each other.

One day, in Jin Ling's attempt to reconnect with her, he asked her to join him and his new friends on a night hunt. She offhandedly mentioned the childhood promise, wondering if they'll fulfill it now because he needs a wife. This embarrasses Jin Ling (Lan Jingyi wouldn't let him live it down) and vehemently disagrees. Yu Lilai doesn't get why it's a big deal but promises Jin Ling that she'll wait for him anyway. (Jin Ling is embarrassed but also weirdly touched)

(Whether there's actually anything there, the adults only wish they would figure it out)

Every time she emotionally compromises someone important to her, she gains a little emotional maturity. Her dad feels kind of bad about it because she definitely got it from him. Her mom consoles her husband by saying that it was cute. They are one of the Jiang Sect's weirdest families, second only to Jiang Cheng's own.

[ovyy-pvcure]

Ok well nobody asked but I'm bored so wild transmigration Naruro au borne of madness go.

So first things first Kishimoto made one gigantic mistake and that was making and naming a bit character that's easy to do the whole 'dead modern human pops into the body of a canon character' thing.

^ That's Tobio who shows up exactly once in the entire series at the start to accidentally knock Naruto off balance and kick off literal decades of shipping. This convinent oc stand in blank canvas is the turning point of the au that means when he accidentally dies as a result of that one off-canon event the universe* steps in and sticks a random schmuck in place to keep things basically on plan. There's, like, prophesies to fullfill (and cosmic schemes going on). Which is why and how a late age teenager finds themselves stuck in a 12 year old's body ("it matches your emotional age") after an unfortuante accident with nothing but the basi s of chakra and history downloaded to their brain and no psrsonal memories of the new body to call on. Oh, and a cheery "good luck" before getting dropped into basicially the start of the plot just before team allocation. Where, as the top student in the "espionage and subterfuge" class he's assigned as the final member of team 7.

To give the basic skeleton of what's taken shape in my head already the first arc would follow tobio as he tries to wrangle the cats known to the public as Sasuke and Naruto without actually letting anyone know he has literally no memory of anything that's happened to him before a couple months ago. Oh and surviving the grueling change of lifestyle inherent in becoming a Child Soldier. He's doing Great this arc. Not stressed At All as he tries to juggle managing his teammates' egos with getting stronger because he has none allies or parents or connections to fall back on if he stumbles.

Well he thinks so anyway he's Kakshi's favorite adorable little student because he's the one who keeps pulling NaruSasu apart and making them actually, you know, cooperate. Naruto likes him because tobio treats him like a person and Sasuke at least appreciates that he doesn't have a fangirl in his squad and he's even focused on getting better so no deadweight. Also Mizuki's hovering around asking how he's progressing and if he feels ready which is odd since wasn't Mizuki beaten to an inch of life for all that treason he was up to? Well, not tobio's problem.

If you're curious how tobio died so is he! He can't remember; he was just told in the void of space time that he had an accident, died and now he's getting shipped off to 12 year old boot camp. What he does know is his own sarcastic rebellious wit has nothing on the universe's* considering it called him a quote "sarcastic bitch" as it did the whole transmigiration thing.

Blah blah blah team building, lunch at ichiraku's using future knowledge to climb trees early the usual oc stuff up until Wave. Things even go kind of normal up until the city is reached where kakshi's chakra lesson gets more than a little derailed by tobio already knowing how to do the whole shebang. Instead of being sent off to guard the bridge he suggests Naruto do so with clones since he's been thinking of a way to make use of his specialized training and making this mission truly worth Konoha's time.

A reoccurring element of the first arc is that the people around him not really knowing the OG Tobio that well is a boon his training in espionage is also guiding tobio to keeping his own secrets under wraps. tobio wants to infiltrate Gato's orginization and siphon money directly into The Leaf's coffers as recompense for making it impossible for the village to get properly paid from the outset. Besides Zabuza's gonna kill Gato so it's fine. Kakshi is against it but can't deny the logic and concedes but insists tobio's top priority is his contiuned survival.

Due to all the miscellaneous ne'er do wells romping about it's easy for a trained Ninja to slip in and start liberating ryo for Konoha (and maybe some for Wave while he's at it). Things contiune apace until The Bridge Showdown where in the confusion tobio once again slips into the waiting horde of Goons. Right next to Gato. Kyubi chakra comes with a weird feeling alongside the terrifying bloodlust from Naruto himself and tobio seizes the opportunity to take out Gato himself before the order to fire on Zabuza can be given.

In the temporary silence we have a dying Haku, a dead Gato and a disguised tobio skipping out of the goon squad cheerfully announcing Gato's plan to shoot everyone left on the bridge dead before his interference and daring anyone to contradict him. They can't mostly because the small child with blood dripping off their knives has scared them silent, and instead of fighting they flee with a furious Zabuza in pursuit. Haku doesn't survive but Z does to contiune his bloodly plans for revolution but now without his restraining bolt. This will cause problems for our heroes later. But for now Wave is a success and only one of the children has killed anyone in cold blood. Only Kakashi is worried about this. Oh and all the builders who are now wary around the killer kid who mocked and psychologically attacked his victims first. Victory all around!

Kakashi can not get the privacy needed to properly talk to his genin about the thing he did until they're back in Konoha where he overhears Mizuki grilling his student for details on the mission and dropping info he really shouldn't be re: the kyubi, and implying Tobio was meant to somehow harm Naruto. Which is the conversation that tips tobio off to the divigerence which is that oops Tobio was doing himself a Treason. Thankfully tobio is a fully trained fluent liar who reports to Mizuki that he never had a chance to harm Naruto and that, no, there was no hint of the Kyubi both of which are lies the eavesdropping Kakashi catches but isn't sure what to make of. tobio himself is basicially flying by the seat of his pants as he describes Sasuke's growth and personality even as he internally starts to panic as he realizes just how epically Screwed he is since he also doesn't know Kakashi is there, and now Mizuki and Tobio's treason is his problem. Crap.

A sweep of his apartment has tobio finding a journal of his days in the academy where one day Tobio reports Mizuki pulling him aside and pointing out he'll be lucky go get a proper jonin teacher and get out of the genin corps if he continues on the normal path but Mizuki has a solution since he feels so bad for another orphan of the Kyubei attack. His new plan is to join the E&S course the so called "kunoichi class" and with Mizuki's help-all helpfully noted down by Tobio and utterly obviously manipulative to tobio-he can ace that and get put on a star team with a good future. With Sasuke he means so someone can keep an eye on the Uchiha for Orochimaru. The journal also veers off into a hateful anti-Konoha rant at the revealation of Tobio's parents killer's continued existence and favortism from the Third via Naruto. However misguided a start by the time of graduation testing Tobio had been perfectly groomed into Mizuki's personal spy who had a sneering relief that he could leave Konoha and a dead Naruto behind after they secured the scroll for their actual master.

Well, to be forewarned is to be forearmed as they say, and no one else in the village has as much foreknowledge as tobio who thinks it's high time he got serious and picked put a proper name for himself: Otogiri Tobio sounds perfect.

Otogiri doesn't know Kakashi knows even half of this but luckily neither does anyone else yet. While the poor scarecrow man tries to figure out just what is happening without directly confronting a possible traitor in his own squad even as political pressure mounts to prove one of Konoha's founding clans has a strong future by putting Sasuke (and his squad they guess. Whatever.) into the chuunin exam. With an effective A rank under their belt and Otogiri's proliferation of funds Kakashi would need a pretty sound reason not to bend to the council's "suggestion" and he doesn't want to leave the boys alone with a possible traitor but he also doesn't want T&E descending on his student for maybe nothing. So in they go causing the domino effect that ends with the K9 (sans sakura plus Otogiri) all enrolled in the annual deathmatch.

Ignorant of all this back door politicking going on Otogiri's already gearing up for the Invasion. Chuunin exams? Sure he's signed up the squad's in. Whatever. He's got bigger problems including Mizuki dropping in and telling him to meet up and assist the incoming Sound kids. No one notices the dog watching this play out not that Mizuki's sloppy enough to say anything outright but Otogiri catches the subtext, but also sees a chance to start turning the tables on that creep. After all Orochimaru already wants Sasuke, and Naruto's becoming pretty strong himself maybe they should pull everyone in?

So on the prophesied day squad 7 is coincidentally in place to welcome and show around the teens from the newly founded village of Sound. Otogiri is a little concered but the thing about Naruto is that yes he's loud and arrogant and annoying and has to be physically wrestled into bathing regularly but he's charismatic enough for all that to be liked anyway. And Zaku? Is loud and arrogant and definitely had to be wrestled into a bath at least 5 times so he likes the kid, and their friendly little mole's hinting that he's not been treated great by the Leaf so why not get along and lead the kid astray? Could be fun.

Kin has a headache. She's met louder blonde Zaku and she wants to Die about it. She and Sasuke bond over it as they have to quiet the duo down.

Dosu is amused by Kin's discomfort and Zaku's weirdly instant attachment, but as long as they serve their duty he's fine with it. They're the best the Sound has to offer that could pass as genin. The mole worries him a little, he's a little too quick witted and sharp to feel like he's really their ally and he never says anything to give him a hint of where he lies beyond the veiled code phrase he introduced himself with to mark him as the Tobio they were supposed to meet. The blonde's infectious energy and loudness doesn't leave him exposing weaknesses in the village, and The Uchia clearly looks down on their little village. Well he'd change his mind about that once the rest of his squad turned on him or Dosu would have the personal pleasure of wiping the smug off his face.

Otogiri is not having a great time he has a little over a month to get Dosu to trust him so he can derail Orochimaru's chess style pawn sacrifice strategy for his own shogi inspired pawn theft strategy. Some people might claim using alternate universe future knowledge is cheating. Otogiri would claim that he's trying to outwit someone who even with his ages combined has 20 years minimum on him so really he needs every advantage he can get. Especially because Dosu is so damn distrusting that getting an in to try and make the older boy waver on his desire to gain glory is harder than making Sasunaru work together back in the first arc.

Blah blah blah chuunin exam stuff test speech forest of death. Where Otogiri realizes there was a fight with Rock Lee but no declaration of lust from him without Sakura. And he has no connection to Ino beyond her sort of hating him for stealing what she thinks should be her place. No it doesn't matter Sakura outranked her, Otogiri's on the wrong end of Ino's many grudges and eventually despite his best efforts he winds up with an unconscious chakra dampened Naruto and a freshly Cursed Sasuke. No allies forthcoming and probably 3 teens expecting an easy kill on their way. To be killed to make Sauske stronger.

Otogiri must once again consider that actually The Universe* is just screwing with him. With a bit of deception, luck, and just plain knowing more than he should Otogiri convinces the trio when they show up they're not really meant to try and kill Sasuke it's all a test of how wisely they can act on a mission. He bluffs that Mizuki told him what The Master could do and how he marked Sasuke betting on Dosu at least managing to link Curse Seals and their Effects on the mark on Sasuke.

Sound trio on side Naruto and then Sasuke wake up groggy and foggy as hell but hey safe! With their new cool allies! Naruto's devious nature surfaces and he makes a plan to net both teams all the scrolls they'll need with his prankster past . While he has the time Otogiri pulls Zaku aside and warns him to watch his tubing around the Aburame since their bugs follow and eat chakra which is a huge vulnerability for specifically him. Sorry Shino it just ain't your time-line.

Successful plan put into motion everyone moves onto The Tournament where things play out basicially as they do with the exception of Shino getting outplayed by Otogiri's timely warning. Naruto does a little better and wins less with a stroke of luck and more by being just enough better at chakra control the seal doesn't completely stop him. And of course Ino tries to vent when she gets paired up with her new Fated Rival (that random boy who was better in class than her and hasn't given her a second thought all story) but Otogiri is tired stressed and over it so he forces a grapple pins her hand with a kunai and presses his advantage until he knocks her out because Ino is Not A Quitter. By any sane metric Ino does fine but Otogiri's got his sights aimed way higher and has been training accordingly. Sorry, Ino just ain't your timeline either.

Seconds into the fight he gets even more stressed out as he realizes all at once the various things even a brief jaunt into his soul/mind would reveal. Making him fight way more aggressivly and mercilessly which the other K9 minus s7 don't like. Zaku and Kin do but boo on them.

Easy part over Otogiri has to rededicate himself to several things all at once: untangling the invasion's plans without drawing too much attention to himself. Keeping the sound trio alive and out of Orochimaru's hands to keep him from going full Necromancer on the Third. Keeping Naruto and Sasuke safe from the wretched hands moving on them. Again not drawing aggro himself from Danzo and ROOT. Or Jiraya. Noted spymaster. Old teammate of his new archnemesis. Naruto's newest teacher. Whooo.

Meanwhile in the mountains Kakashi is training Sasuke because he got paired up against a serial killer jinjuriki. Which is one more gray hair on his head along with all the other stuff including Otogiri seeking him out in private and explaining the attack, the seals and who he suspects was the attacker. Which. Kakashi is smart, he now probably knows who Mizuki sold Konoha out to and how and why Otogiri would know who he is but he still has no idea what angle the kid is working. Or if approaching him about it is smart. Kids are hard and Kakashi has been avoiding this for years. Obito please come back and help him you were always basicially a kid you'd know what was going on.

Otogiri has come to the conclusion it's officially time to call Gondor for aid and seeing as there's maybe 3 people who could be discrete enough to trail the trio and play off if they got caught. One was on a mountain one is him and one is...capable of self replication. Welp time to put a hand over Naruto's gross mouth and explain the bullet points.

A pinned Naruto with two hands over his mouth later gives more context to the Mizuki mysteries; he confirms it was Mizuki who told him of the special pass requirement and that he never showed that night. Iruka found him and he remembers an odd smell but has no memory beyond a very verbal lashing. Neither boy knows how Mizuki got away with it, but Otogiri spells out the "truth" to Naruto about Mizuki's plans to steal the scroll and leave Naruto to rot for it. In return for the tiny lie Otogiri tells Naruto he knows about the Kyubei and has decided that Naruto's too kind and simple to be a demon fox so he's cool with him.

Before even a single sappy sentiment can be shared Otogiri launches into his suspicions about how valuable Orochimaru finds their new "friends'" lives and Naruto is all about protecting them (believe it!). Together with a little "totally unknowing" help from a certain Toad Sage they figure out Kabuto's ninja info cards have summoning seals on them and before Dosu can go and get himself killed the new duo gush about how excited they are to see Zaku and Dosu kick butt in the stadium which is enough to mollify Dosu's increasing need to go out and prove himself. Barely.

Zaku's feeling right offended they were given "information cards" as if they needed the help to kick a bunch of kids' asses in a straight fight. Otogiri could kiss that lanky moron because he just handed him the answer and he makes a big show of agreeing and saying they should prove it by getting rid of those useless cards and giving them to him and Naruto who could use the help. Dosu's suspicion gauge raises another tick but the trio do and those cards find themselves in Jiraya's hands lightning quick.

Surprise surprise the cards have summoning sutras on them to send the holders to a preset location. Jiraya with the subtly of a trained deceiver who's lead a spy ring for decades pries a lot of information from Otogiri very skillfully and concludes what Otogiri already knew regarding the intentions of summoning cards the holders didn't know about. So, the sound trio receive a friendly visit from a friendly toad man who gleefully shows them the trap on the cards and notes whoever gave them these might not be as trustworthy as they thought. The trio say nothing, cutting contact with OtoNaru.

Come the tournament a lot of the usual beats play out; late Sauske, Naruto's still heated about Nehi being the ultimate Heel wrestler, Shikamaru proves he can make wise tactical decisions and before the oragnizers have to awkwardly side step there's one too many contestants Sauske dramatic entrances in and the fight begins. A fight Naruto Otogiri and Shikamaru miss because Dosu and company have given it some thought and are going to just full Bail but they know what's about to start and at least want the duo (and shikamaru they guess) to be awake and away when the fighting starts.

Naruto Talks at them and tries to fire them up agaisnt ol copperhead as everything Pops Off including a pall of mist that descends over the arena. Zabuza's found a fellow revolutionary it seems. Sasuke takes off after Gaara with Naruto hot on his heels with a shove from Otogiri seeing as their the "same".

Otogiri rounds on the trio and decides to use his own version of Talk pointing out that they owe one person one thing and that's revenge on Orochimaru. He tried to sacrifice them multiple times hasn't been in contact with them, and was gonna do who knows what with their bodies without consent. They can flee in the middle if they want but don't they want to pop him in the metaphorical face first? Zaku does. Kin does. Dosu doesn't anymore but his almost-friends (all 4 of them) aren't budging so he figures he might as well prove how non disposable they are by messing up snakey's plans.

Shikamaru is thoroughly disgruntled because Naruto dragged him along to the Gaara mess which is going basicially like canon. Shino's even here his bugs having devoured the genjutsu and wanting to back up his non insane classmate. An exhausted Shikamaru can barely hold back a desperate Temari until the timely ringing of bells saves him. Kin's strings may not have much shadow but they are a direct path to a disoriented Temari who has to watch her little brother actually struggle and bleed before she gets introduced to a tree the same way Kin was to a wall. Naruto summons a giant frog.

Meanwhile Kakashi is meeting back up with Zabuza, his ninken already have the swordsmaster's scent and this time they do need to settle the score. Zabuza's both mad at Kakashi for reasons he knows aren't sound and persuing his goal since Orochimaru will eventually tear down Wave and he says will leave it to Zabuza while he goes after the rest. He has to make Haku's sacrifice count so Leaf has to die on the vine just in case this time the promise is real. No points for guessing who wins in this confusing melee. Final tally: 3-0 kakashi:zabuza it was close though.

Meanwhile again Mizuki's poised to take some sweet justice against Iruka for, frankly, being a better instructor ninja and person than him wheb Otogiri shows up playing it like he wants the honor. No dice, Mizuki's wanted this for awhile and the kid's nowhere close enough to be subtle and he just has to drop the genjutsu on Mizuki to make him miss and engage his manipulator in a direct confrontation to end this whole twisted mess. Good thing Mizuki doesn't have that filler arc power up because Otogiri's fighting an uphill battle on this one.

But first Hayate Gekko's girlfriend the ANBU member Cat is engaging his canonical killer Baki the sand jonin her swordsmanship sharp enough to leave Baki's attempts to entangle her blade useless. And him open to said jonin's surprise strike taking out the sandman. Oh how the turntables. Is what someone who knows the alternate timeline would say since that confrontation didn't happen in this one since Dosu wasn't trailed and Hayate killed for Knowing Too Much.

Speaking of Dosu he and Zaku have run into Kabuto who's cover is very blown because Konoha's Spymaster got a peek at his Trap Cards and no one is happy with anyone here. Dosu and Zaku aren't exactly jonin level even combined but in a chaotic melee large windbursts and balance altering soundwaves make up for a lot when your speciality is up close precision scapel attacks. Kabuto would win ordinarily but he's a wanted man and there's an angry snake lady willing to take out her misplaced sense of displacement on a willing medical collabteour. Kabuto gets away in the end but Anko takes one look at the trio once everyone's round up in the end and asks "is anyone gonna claim these kids?" And not wait for an answer.

Back to Otogiri who lacks the element of surprise of numbers to overwhelm Mizuki and is going pretty even but for all the cheap kill shots he has to prevent from taking out a defenseless wounded Iruka who himself got taken down protecting the academy kids not named nepotism. Mizuki isn't his usual sneering jackass self here because he's pissed that the kid he'd been grooming slipped out of his control and had taken to playing him for a fool. Otogiri bullshits back that after seeing how Orochimaru treated his soldiers he made the choice to back out before he was sacrificed for a madman's goals stubbronly ignorning the Danzo in the room for now.

Injured, humiliated and generally unpleasant Mizuki lunges for Otogiri and gets his hands around the boy's throat. Any plan of escape is cut off by a torrent of rage and red as Otogiri loses it after all of Mizuki's crap and he simply rips the man's hands off him and before the former instructor can process the impossible thing he just witnessed he's driven into the side of the academy and has a kunai driven through his neck. Good thing Iruka passed out from his wounds and no impressionable children saw that. Oh hi Konohamaru don't wanna come out of hiding in that closet and say hi to Naruto nii chan's friend? No? Suit yourself he's gotta hurry Iruka to a healer anyway no time to stop and ask questions like "how" or "what the fuck?"

The final results of the invasion are far from pretty. Konoha's numbers are still pretty cut down as are Sand's who are still totally playing that "Orochimaru killed our kage and was giving orders so us invading you is totes not our fault" card they did in canon. It's accepted for the same reason as in canon: the sharks are already circling with blood in the water no need to churn the tide when a perfectly good excuse is offered up.

Third watch: without two other kages backing him in a restricted space and not enough time to restructure the plan to get Mandra in on the action sun wukong and The Professor taught a hard lesson in getting absolutely whomped. Orochimaru got away alive sans a working leg, but old man bodies aren't really still made for pitched life or death combat and his body's heavily protesting the return to combat. The can can be kicked a little further down the road safely but they need a qualified non Danzo candidate and soon.

Sound Trio: the corps aren't totally happy about it but they need manpower and they've got friends on the inside and a grudge against orochimaru so...probation working with Anko. She already adopted them they can't say no. And by adopted i do mean carted them away in a net to get lodgings and food. And a good medic to look at Zaku's arms.

Otogiri: in so much trouble you have no idea. His various schemes finally came out around someone without the good sense to lie about it so T&I would like a word with him. And Kakashi? Who is now claiming before anyone can even threaten pain or a jaunt through his head that they were in already working against the threat to Konoha since Wave. Kakashi?

His claim is the money stolen from Gato to insulate Wave and brought back to Konoha was in preparation for the coming storm. Obviously deep internal agents like Mizuki and Kabuto left Kakashi little choice but to keep Otogiri in deep cover to root out the problem without drawing suspicion by having contact with known figures like The Third. Kakashi had total control of the situation the whole time. Honest.

Otogiri's just kind of nodding along because he is just getting windmall slammed by haymaker after haymaker in a pretty short window of time. Ibuki is Not Buying This but the kid's actions prove his loyalty at the end of the day and if Hatake wants to take the lumps for his kid? Well, more power to him. Ibuki reminds Kakashi there are 'proper verified channels' for internal operations and he should remember to use them in the future. He expects a full concise report regarding everything from both of them and sends the teacher-student pair off with a glare.

This is where all that Kakashi stuff from earlier gets revealed to the audience as he goes over how and when he caught Otogiri mid treason and how close an eye he's actually been keeping on the boy. It is as terrifying as Kakashi's tone is light. Otogiri's just so incredibly thankful he declares his undying loyalty to his sensei for looking out for him and following his own principals so closely. Yes, Otogiri is crying at this point why do you ask?

This is the peaceful denouement of part 1 as Otogiri goes around catching up with who he can he is left to ponder why he has Kyubei chakra. How did Tobio even die anyway? And why is Jiraya here inviting him on a trip with Naruto? Does he wanna be a spymaster? Wasn't fixing Tobio's mistake the end of the story why is there more? Help!

Miscellaneous character notes on Otogiri:

-> is fairly meta and aware of transmigration novels and some of their rules. Is wrong about as often as he is right

-> has a fairly solid grasp on the character's motives but can't predict moments of wild humanity

-> has a hard time grasping his own mortality despite or rather because he has already died once. Will blank out at the idea of dying as bad as if not worse than Sakura when intent is aimed at him. Refuses to dwell on his first death or Tobio's

-> sarcastic and frequently argumentative. He likes to pick fights when he's feeling safe with someone.

-> was a bit of an edgelord in life and has a twisted sense of morality. His interference doesn't cost Shino his life but it could have and he ignores that for his own goals.

-> early on is mildly obssessed with finding the divervent point of import thinking if he can solve The Problem he'll fade into an epilogue or something. Is in Denial.

-> connecting events in his present with his past unlocks memories of both Tobio's life and his own. Facing his own death is the only way for him to Understand.

[sezja]

Febuwhump Day 17: Hostage Situation Fandom: Final Fantasy XIV Characters/Ship: Sanson Smyth/Guydelot Thildonnet, Nourval Lhorulgois, Raicheille Lhorulgois Triggers/Content warnings: Child abuse

Previously: Part One, Part Two, Part Three

Once Raicheille has scrubbed away the day's travails, dressed in one of Nourval's long nightshirts (fully a dress on her slight frame), and gotten some food in her, she promptly retreats to the bedroom for a well-earned rest.

It's just as well, Sanson muses; having dealt with the girl during Guydelot's abduction at her uncle's hands a year ago, he knows how much of a handful she can be - and how unconducive to conversation her boundless energy can be, at that. Last year, she'd successfully wrangled him into breaking Nourval out of gaol, and if he cannot deny it was a gamble that paid off, still, he'd just as soon avoid any more of Raicheille's wild schemes if he may.

Although he fears he may have already stumbled into one.

Is that better or worse, though, than the idea that she has no control over the situation?

"It was the Order's understanding," he says, breaking the tense silence that settles over the three of them once the girl leaves. "That your parents had no part in Astarnaix's plot, and that your sister could be safely returned to their custody."

Nourval nods, weary. "He wouldn't have told them, not after I..." He glances at Sanson, then drops his gaze, staring intently at the floor. "I'd known things must be terrible for her at home. I knew. But I'd assumed... I don't know. They'd never gone so far as to beat her, not while I lived under their roof. Raised voices, aye; locked in her room, aye - but starving her, beating her? She's too young yet for a serious betrothal." He shakes his head. "They've fallen out of favor with Astarnaix's cronies, plainly, and they're trying to win their way back with a good marriage. She's the only coin they've left to spend."

Guydelot looks deceptively calm, leaning casually against a wall. "Aye, and they're doing their level best to polish her up, never mind if it leaves a few dents." Sanson wagers only he can see the thunderclouds brewing behind his bard's eyes, and the fury hidden behind his relaxed posture. Guydelot may not like Nourval, but that doesn't mean he'll stomach what's being done to an innocent girl.

"I should have argued for custody of her," Nourval says, hands curling into fists. "After Astarnaix, knowing what she would be returning home to-"

"You were in no fit state to argue for anything," Sanson protests, remembering all too well how perilously close to death Nourval had been; if the man had even been conscious enough to protest his sister's return to their parents, Sanson would have been astonished.

Guydelot cuts in, "Even if you had been, I reckon they'd've been reluctant to let her stay with a man who'd broken out of gaol."

"He was released under the authority of myself and Commander Vorsaile Heuloix," Sanson replies primly, fighting a smile.

"Aye, so says the official report. Now."

There had been a great deal of back-and-forth, and for a time, Sanson had been certain he'd be stripped of rank, and Vorsaile too. In the end, discretion won out: the plot had been exposed and halted before any harm could be done to the delicate negotiations between Gridania and Ala Mhigo, and none could deny the role Nourval had played in it. House arrest seemed a fair compromise between allowing Nourval to walk free despite his past actions, and condemning him to prison once again despite his more recent heroics.

But house arrest is surely no place for a girl of fifteen... unless, of course, her home life is so dreadful as to make even this seem a paradise by comparison.

"Well," he says, quiet. "The question is... what do we do now?"

Silence.

It's Guydelot who breaks it first, pushing away from the wall. "Well, one thing's for sure - we can't just hide her here forever. I figure your parents know she's fond of you?" He looks at Nourval, who hesitates, then nods. "Right. So if this ain't the first place they'll think to search for her, it sure as hells won't be the last, either. And all they'll have to do is tell those nice lads out front that they're looking for their daughter, and wouldn't you know it? We brought a girl matching her description here a few bells ago."

"You'd aid her?" Nourval peers up at the bard, surprised. "After I..."

"What, held Sanson hostage? Tried to stir up a war?" Guydelot shrugs. "Your uncle did the same thing, twice as bad. I reckon bastard just runs in the family."

"Then-"

"But the way I see it, I owe the lass a favor or two." He smiles, flexing his hands; they may still ache from time to time, Sanson knows, but he's otherwise healed nicely from his ordeal. "Besides, look at it this way. This time, it's sort of like we've got the hostage, seeing as we've got what they want."

Nourval's face is mutinous. "I will not hand her back into their keeping."

"Never said you should. We're in a position to negotiate, is all."

Oh no. Sanson inhales sharply. "Guydelot. What are you planning?

[k--havok]

Last time at 9:00 AM night while I was struggling to fall asleep I was struck with a memory of a story idea/book idea I had back in like... 9th grade when I was, like, 14. In my head it started out as a YA book but even back then I was obsessed with gore and sex so it was not really a YA book idea, lol.

It has a lot of standard cliches but I am kinda surprised at how much I recall the idea.

Basically, it started with your standard Male Protagonist who goes to highschool and is a senior, 17-going-on-18. Lives with a single mom, never knew his dad, and a bit of a loner. While he is walking home from school he has a strange experience and starts seeing weird, flickering shadows and strange creatures from the corner of his eyes. He hurries home but does not tell his mother about this.

During the night, he wakes up to a creature crawling into his room and basically gets kidnapped? And knocked out. Wakes up in a strange place afterwards.

As it turns out, this Male Protagonist isn't really a normal human. Shocker, I know. He's actually half-human/half-demon and the heir to a clan of demons.

Even back then, I was obsessed with the idea of demons...

Anyways, the demon lore in this series was that demons live alongside humans but humans cannot see them. There are many different clans of demons who live together in a feudal-like system. And each clan has a head who works similar to a king of sorts.

In this story, "Lucifer" is a title given to a demon who is agreed upon to look over all the clans and is kinda a myth. An idea of someone who can rally every demon together and wrangle them together in one system. This has not happened in millennia. The clans are separate, look at one another and humans as enemies, and overall the entire demonic world is one of chaos.

Male Protagonist's father fell in love with a human and saw the way humans operate and thought only a half-human/half-demon hybrid could rally the clans together and bring peace and stop demons from attacking humans. Ultimately, he was killed while protecting Male Protagonist's mother from an assassin while she was pregnant. Terrified for her unborn child, she left that world and decided to raise her son as a Normal Guy.

But Male Protagonist isn't a Normal Guy lol. He is Special TM

This is so cliche haha I love it.

At 18, Male Protagonist will gain his demon form and demonic powers and it will change him. He will become a danger to other humans and needs to come back to the demon world so he can train and get his new form under control. Of course, Male Protagonist is in a little shock and rejects this. He ends up running off back home.

As his birthday crawls closer, a demon is always on him, nagging him to come back. And likewise, Male Protagonist finds himself changing. He's angrier and angsty-er than ever. And starts acting out.

Finally, a few days before his birthday, his mother sits him down and awkwardly tries to explain what he already knows. He blows up at her, furious that he was kept in the dark all these years. The demon that has been following him around intervenes to stop him from attacking his own mom and at this point Male Protagonist finally agrees he has a problem. But he does not want to leave his Human Life completely behind. But he agrees to go with the demon to learn how to train.

This is where things start kinda breaking up into other plot points. The ideas I had consisted of him learning how to wield his new powers and instincts while he tries to cling to his humanity. He has a difficult time in doing so, however. He continues to go to school but it is more difficult than ever.

He and his clan get attacked by other demons as well, putting more strain on him. He is supposed to be the Leader and he is Struggling. Like any good YA protagonist thrusted into a new situation lol

An important plot point is, of course, the romance. It's me so of course there is a romance. In this case, while he is still going to school he is partnered up with Female Protagonist in a science project. She is studious and serious, unlike him. And she is not happy she is paired with what she perceives as a slacker.

She tries to get him to meet her after school for this science project but he keeps running off, mainly due to demon attacks and his own issues now being surrounded by humans.

During this situation, Female Protagonist is attacked by a demon and he has to rescue her. She is pretty badly hurt so he ends up taking her to his clan as her wounds are not typical. When she wakes up, she can see demons and Male Protagonist learns the only way a human can see demons and his demon form is if they get a wound on their soul.

Female Protagonist, of course, freaks the fuck out. But she now knows why Male Protagonist is a slacker. She ends up doing most the project, but gives him credit too. The two end up growing closer, mainly because she keeps getting attacked and keeps seeing demons and other monsters around all the time.

She eventually decides to also help Male Protagonist as it is clear he needs someone to help him. She also wants to help him keep some of his humanity. Plus, she wants to find a way to heal the wound on her soul.

From there, I do not have much else. Or at least I cannot recall much else.

Kinda an interesting premise although I have no interest in writing YA at time time, and like I said, I do recall daydreaming about murder and kinky sex scenes and the like.

I have enough projects as-is but I may one day take the idea and rework it. Maybe

[guqin-and-flute]

And A-Fu Makes 4 --Chapter 2

[Ao3 Link]

Grown ups were so weird. They spent so much of their time talking and doing boring things--even at Cultivation Conferences when they all were together, which A-Fu thought was hardly fair. 

All his fathers were usually busy during the day with Important Clan Matters with the other grown ups and he got stuck with the kids that had been dragged along, too. It wasn’t all bad--there were some fun kids that came, sometimes, like Ouyang Kui, who was the son of Old Clan Leader Ouyang and thought that A-Fu was hilarious. (Blue-Father had told him before that Old Clan Leader Ouyang wasn’t actually old for a Clan Leader, he just thought so because both Gray-Father and Blue-Father were younger than him. A-Fu had told him that he thought that they were actually pretty old, too, and Blue-Father had almost managed to hold back the laughing from his voice as he said, “A-Fu, you cannot just call people old; there are those that would take offense and it’s not polite.” But he hadn’t made him write lines or scrub the floor so it probably wasn’t a lesson that was all that important, anyway.)

It wasn’t that Cultivation Conferences were horrible, they just tended to be boring, because all the babysitters got brought along and they would watch everyone very closely and there was hardly any chance to do anything interesting at all. Most of the time, he would just hang out with any kids that came, Jin Ling, and whatever baby Aunt Yanli and Uncle Zixuan had decided to have that year. This Conference, it was twins--and no A-Yuan or A-Kui or anyone else his age. Just A-Ling and all the babies.

Jin Ling complained all the time about having 3 younger siblings-- “Why did she have 2? That’s too many at once!” A-Fu had demanded when Jin Ling had told him about the twins. Jin Ling had just rolled his eyes like he was stupid--but if A-Fu ever complained about them crying, Jin Ling would get very offended.

“They can’t help it! They’re babies!”

A-Fu had kicked idly at a lilypad from where they were sitting, soaking their feet on one of the docks of Lotus Pier with their pants all rolled up. The sun was making him itchy and sweaty, but the lotus seeds they were tossing back and forth into each other's mouths were refreshing and crunchy, which made up for it. “Then babies are dumb. Why do they act like it’s the worst thing that’s ever happened to them?”

“Niang says it’s because it probably is the worst thing that’s ever happened to them, ever. They haven’t been alive very long,” Jin Ling added wisely, like he knew anything at all about babies. 

Well…he might. More than A-Fu, anyway. He did live with 3 of them. Except his little brother A-Qiang could walk now, though, so maybe he wasn’t a baby anymore. He still smelled enough to be one. When A-Fu said that he still thought they should get over it and stop crying, Jin Ling had rolled his eyes at him again, so A-Fu had raised one wet foot and shoved him off the dock into the shallows, getting his pretty gold and white outfit all muddy. A-Ling had shouted a bad word and they both had got in trouble with the Jin nanny. A-Fu split his ginger candy with him afterward, though, so Jin Ling forgave him pretty quick.

Babies weren’t all that interesting to A-Fu--they were squishy and loud and heavier than they looked and you couldn’t play anything fun with them. Aunt Yanli had let him hold new little baby A-Mei, while Jin Ling held her twin brother, A-Zan. He had felt a little guilty, because Aunt Yanli had looked so happy when she looked down at the baby in A-Fu’s arms, but A-Fu just kind of wanted to give her back. She smelled weird and she sort of looked like a bald, red little animal with tiny, tiny fingers he was afraid of touching in case something bad happened. He had looked over at Jin Ling, who had a lot of practice with such things, and how he sort of bounced around and looked fondly down at his baby brother like he actually liked being near him. A-Fu tried that bouncing thing a little, but A-Mei had squinched up her face and made honking noises, so he handed her back really quick. 

He had asked Blue-Father and Gray-Father later that day in the room they were staying in if he was going to get a baby brother or sister--really kind of hoping they would tell him ‘of course not’--but Blue-Father had gotten very quiet and Gray-Father had looked over at him. Blue-Father was watching his own hands. “It’s hard to say, little one,” Blue-Father had finally said in a weirdly even voice that was like when you were trying to step around a creaky floorboard all careful.

Gray-Father had made a loud huffing sound through his nose, scowling. “Again?” He demanded, but not at A-Fu. “You’ve already--” he seemed to remember A-Fu was there when he looked at him and pressed his lips together really tight and continued, “And you're not wanting for cousins. And there's still Wangji. I thought he had left it alone.”

“Da-ge, please. This isn’t the time.” His blue father just sounded tired, now.

“That he keeps hounding you on this--”

“You know that it’s not that simple.”

“It is!” Gray-Father’s voice was rising, but not like he was going to yell, just like he really really wanted Blue-Father to listen. “In this case, it is! Xichen, he’s just doing this because--”

“When you talk about the duty of a--”

“Bullshit.”

“Da-ge--” A-Fu saw Blue-Father’s eyes zip to him and away quickly but Gray-Father didn’t stop.

“You know that's not why he's doing this. Why shouldn’t this be enough for him? There’s A-Fu and there’s Wangji and there’s A-Yuan and at least 7 other near-cousins. It’s about image and control, A-Huan, he’s been like this since we were young; no matter what you do, it’s never going to--”

Blue-Father closed his eyes and that shut his gray father up faster than any of his words had. Gray-Father had growled in his chest all frustrated. Then, he had leaned over and kissed Blue-Father right on the lips. 

They didn’t do that a lot, never in public, and not a whole bunch around A-Fu--it probably wasn’t allowed for you to kiss on people in public, though it wasn’t a rule that was written anywhere that he had heard of. But they were in a private room of Lotus Pier while everyone else was going to sleep, so it was probably okay here. Gray-Father had looked into Blue-Father’s eyes really close and said, “You are enough as you are.”

A-Fu’s blue father’s mouth had gotten thin and shaky and he nodded and nodded without saying anything. 

“We are enough as we are,” Gray-Father had said with the same quiet, important voice and Blue-Father had swallowed really hard and he kept nodding and nodding, looking down at his lap. 

A-Fu’s stomach had squirmed with worry until Gray-Father turned and smiled at him and beckoned him over and A-Fu jumped to his feet, running over to crash into their laps. Blue-Father had wrapped his arms around him tightly, his hands petting over A-Fu’s hair as Gray-Father pulled them both into a hug that squished A-Fu between them in the best way, even if his head was just a little crushed. 

"So no babies, right?" He had smeared into Blue-Father's chest and Gray-Father had laughed.

"No, child, no babies here except you."

His blue father didn't say anything, just kept petting his head.

The whole conversation didn’t really make sense to A-Fu. He was still thinking about it the next day as he was swimming around in the lake with Jin Ling, his brain not letting go of the memory of his blue father trying not to cry the night before. It made him think of the last time he had seen him upset, just a few days ago at the Cloud Recesses. It didn’t happen a lot, so when it did, it really stuck in his head as a prickle.

A-Fu swooshed his hands around underwater, making his floating hair swirl like the clouds he had seen Blue-Father paint on wall hangings. “A-Ling, what’s a succession?”

Jin Ling, blinked water out of his eyes and spit out pond gunk. “Like when you win?”

A-Fu heaved a huge sigh because A-Ling so did not understand a single thing and paddled over to the dock where the nannies sat. He tilted his head back to squawk, “Jin-qianbei, what’s a succession?”

One of the Jin nannies leaned over to see him better, the sun glinting off her gold hair pin and her earrings like sparks. “Succession, xiao-gongzi? It’s the order of inheritance.” When he scrunched up his face, she tried again. “It’s who takes over when someone in charge passes away or is unable to fulfill their duties any longer. Sons and daughters and the order of birth.”

“Huh,” A-Fu said and thought about this hard, trying to make it fit like puzzle pieces. Taking in a deep breath, he floated on his back and closed his eyes against the sun that turned his eyelids bright red, listening to the ‘plink’ and ‘gloop’ of the water in his ears. He hadn’t wanted to ask Gray-Father or Blue-Father about what a succession was, because when he had heard the word, he had been breaking all kinds of rules. 

It had been the last time Blue-Father was so upset, a few days before coming to the conference, back when he had been putting away the wash bin he had used to clean the library floor as punishment for talking during meals. (Again. It was just so boring to sit there! Every other clan got to talk while they ate!) He was just going past Great-Uncle Qiren’s house when he had heard his blue father’s voice inside. 

 It wasn’t weird to hear him talking to Great-Uncle Qiren, and it probably wasn’t something very interesting, but then, he heard Uncle Wangji’s voice and that made him slow down. Everyone knew that Uncle Wangji didn’t talk much to begin with, and even less to Great-Uncle Qiren. As far as A-Fu knew, he wasn’t ever rude about it, but he sure didn’t say more than he needed to. His curiosity felt like a little minnow nibbling at his brain and, before he knew it, he was pouring out the gross water and shoving everything under a fancy bush by the path. Then, he snuck around the back of the house where there was a window that looked out at only trees, where no one on the paths could see him. 

He was pretty sure sneaking and eavesdropping weren’t ‘filial’ or ‘virtuous’ but he was curious--and Uncle Wangji had told A-Yuan and him that being curious was good. So A-Fu figured that believing that was pretty filial of him. 

When he peeked over the sill, he saw all 3 grown ups sitting sideways to him at the table that was over by the far window. Great-Uncle Qiren had his scowly face on where his beard twitched around like it was alive. Uncle Wangji looked...like Uncle Wangji, which meant he didn’t really look like he was feeling anything at all, just staring past Great-Uncle Qiren’s head. Blue-Father was pale. 

He might not have looked very upset to someone who didn’t live with him, but A-Fu could tell right away, because he wasn’t even bothering to try to smile.

Great-Uncle Qiren’s voice was sharp and angry. “--least he is a Lan, but that boy--”

“Has the headband. Has the name. In all respects,” Uncle Wangji interrupted Great-Uncle Qiren and turned his head just a little and stared at Great-Uncle Qiren, right in the eyes. “As you agreed.” 

A-Fu suddenly wondered if grown ups could get punished just like little kids did when Great-Uncle’s eyebrows came down and his beard and moustache twitched again and he snapped, “Wangji.” 

Uncle Wangji’s eyes flickered, just a little.

“Wangji,” Blue-Father said all quiet, in a very different voice. He didn’t look at Uncle Wangji, but instead at the edge of the shiny table.

Uncle Wangji said nothing, but his mouth got a little smaller and he went back to looking at the wall.

Great-Uncle Qiren was glaring at him. “Don’t think that I don’t know where he came from. You may refuse to say, but anyone with any unfortunate knowledge of your inclinations could guess that he is connected to...that man. That I let you keep him so near to you is a kindness. And you,” he turned back to A-Fu’s blue father. “This is supposed to be it, then? You would be pleased to leave our line of succession the way it is?” He shook his head, like he couldn’t believe it. 

A-Fu’s face was starting to heat up and he balled up his fists. He wanted to burst out and yell at him to shut up--but bursting got you chores and lines and then he wouldn’t be able to listen, anymore. Bursting was like Gray-Father, who wasn’t a very sneaky person. Right now, he had to be like Yellow-Father, who could sit very quiet and smile at people who got angry right in his face. 

For a second, he felt really guilty when he thought of Blue-Father, who wouldn’t have been sneaking at all. Who was being sneaked on right now.

But no, A-Fu reasoned, he was actually sneaking on Great-Uncle Qiren. Who was actually still talking; “I don’t understand how this keeps happening. Where have I gone so wrong that you both repeat and repeat your father’s mistakes? Have you not seen where that leads? Have you not both seen what that does to your Clan? Your family? Choosing--” 

He stopped all of a sudden, just as A-Fu was starting to notice that this sounded a lot like talking behind people’s backs, which was definitely against the rules. Standing up, his great-uncle stuck his hands behind his back and turned with a scowl toward A-Fu’s window. A-Fu managed to hold back his squeak as he ducked down, heart pounding hard in his throat. 

When he heard footsteps, he almost ran--which would have been really dumb, because there were loose rocks all over the ground that clattered and crunched--but the footsteps turned around, going back and forth as Great-Uncle Qiren paced, then stopped. “Your duty is to your Clan, not to your own feelings, Lan-zongzhu,” he said the title like a reminder. “I cannot force you to do what’s right, but I would hope that I wouldn’t have to. I would hope that you, of all people, would realize how quickly these things can change and people die. No one wants to consider it, but you must. It is your place. Even your father managed this--absent though he was from all other duties. This is not something I can do for you simply because you do not like it.”

It was almost like what his blue father had said to him a bunch of times before--except it didn’t sound kind and patient and wise coming from Great-Uncle Qiren. In fact, A-Fu thought that he sounded pretty mean--if Great-Uncle Qiren had scolded him like that, he would be wishing he was anywhere else in the world and he might have even cried, a bit. A-Fu wanted to poke his head up again to see Blue-Father’s expression, but he didn’t know which way Great-Uncle Qiren was looking and definitely didn’t want to risk getting caught listening to what sounded like a Serious Adult Conversation.

A-Fu doubted Blue-Father looked very happy at all. 

“...I understand, shufu,” came his voice, still quiet. 

“But you will do nothing? You would put this to someone else? Wangji? And how would that go, do you think?” Great-Uncle Qiren shot back. 

There was a silence, long enough that the birds in the trees nearby filled it up with tweets and tweedles. A-Fu’s stomach was tied up in complicated knots and suddenly, the sneaking wasn’t so much fun, anymore. It hadn’t actually been all that fun to begin with; all it was was Great-Uncle Qiren yelling at people he loved. As quietly as he could, he snuck back to his wash bin and hurried off.

When he got back to the Hanshi after cleaning up, Blue-Father was already there sitting on his bed, staring at the backs of his hands on his knees. 

All he had said was, “A-Fu, I need some quiet, please,” in a low voice. For a second, A-Fu thought about pretending he had lost his voice and going on a silly search for it, as a funny joke to cheer him up. But it was weird to see his father so serious and pale and he didn’t think that he would want any goofing. So, instead, he had just bit his cheek and said, “Okay, die," and went to go find A-Yuan. He maybe even cried a little bit, but A-Yuan was really good about not asking him what was wrong twice when he didn’t want to talk.

Sneaking was something that A-Fu got pretty good at--seeing how long he could wait in a tree without anyone noticing he was there, padding around in his socks to jump up on people's backs when they least expected it. He had almost made A-Ling pee himself when he jumped out of his toy chest after hiding there for a million hours. It was like a game he was playing with the world.

Sometimes, it got him in trouble when people found him sneaking where he shouldn’t--once, he had sneaked into Uncle Huaisang’s room and climbed up on top of a big cabinet but had accidentally pushed off a bunch of stuff that made a huge mess, spilling all over his bed and when he got found out, he had been made to stand in a corner for, like, a year. He felt bad that he ruined the sheets Uncle Huaisang had kept complaining about, but he just made sure not to do that, next time. It made A-Yuan nervous and he would never, never come with him because he didn’t want to get in trouble, but he would listen to the stories A-Fu told him about it like he was hearing legends and he would gasp at all the right parts. Sometimes A-Ling would come on sneaking missions, but he clomped like a horse and breathed too loud, so A-Fu usually just left him behind on the hard ones.

There were people that were super easy to sneak on--like A-Qiang and the Jin nannies and Uncle Huaisang--and there were some people who were tougher--like Gray-Father and Blue-Father and Great-Uncle Qiren. The hardest level he still couldn’t beat was Yellow-Father, who always seemed to know when someone was watching him or when something was moved out of place. So many times, A-Fu had escaped the nannies and hid under his desk to surprise him when he sat down, only to have his father pause just as soon as he came in the room and say, amused, “Fufu, you’re not supposed to be in here.” He couldn’t even see him! And he had been so quiet!

The only time he could ever surprise Yellow-Father was in the middle of the night when he was sleeping, and he wasn’t ever, ever allowed to do that. (It was a Very Important Rule all 3 of his fathers had told him for as long as he could remember; no sneaking in the rooms at night and if he needed them to get up, he had to call from the door to let them wake up, first. This made sense and A-Fu always followed this rule because, while his blue and gray father’s sometimes woke up confused for a couple seconds, Yellow-Father always woke up with a big gasp and sat up really quick and it always made A-Fu flinch. He usually just tried not to wake him up or he would just crawl in on Blue-Father’s side instead, if he was there.)

Sneaking wasn’t really about hearing what people were talking about, most of the time, since they usually talked about confusing and boring adult stuff. It was more that sneaking was fun and it made him feel super proud to have something he was good at, finally.

 Because he was last in his class at pretty much everything--reading and recitation, writing, music reading, numbers. 

Classes were long and boring and his legs hurt to sit on for that whole, whole time and he wasn’t allowed to slouch or get comfortable or take breaks or anything. He would sit next to A-Yuan and stare out the window at the zipping bugs over the stream in the woods, or the seniors passing by on the walkways and the teacher’s voice would just slosh over him. He tried. He really, really did. The teachers said he didn’t and even A-Yuan said that if he stopped drawing on his paper, he could maybe learn more. 

It was easy for him to say. A-Yuan was good at everything--sitting still, handwriting, listening, remembering, adding numbers. He was so smart, A-Fu thought that he should probably be the teacher when he grew up. It wasn’t that A-Fu was grumpy at A-Yuan for being better than him at everything. It was just hard when people thought A-Fu was just goofing off on purpose and A-Yuan just didn’t even have to try and was amazing. It wasn’t fair.

So many times he had thrown himself onto Blue-Father’s lap and just sobbed because he was so, so frustrated he wanted to just chuck every book into the river and never try to read again. The characters were just blobby patches of sticks that didn’t mean anything and he could never remember the sounds they were supposed to make. 

“Just talk to me forever! Never write me a note! Just send me Jin butterflies until I die!” he had yelled into Blue-Father’s knees one time. “Reading is stupid! I’m stupid!”

“No, no, no,” Blue-Father had said and picked him up and held him close underneath his chin. “Never say that. Your cleverness--”

“I don’t have any, A-Yuan took them all,” he choked, yanking at his father’s lapel to try to burrow into his outer robes, where it was dark and warm and pressy and quiet. “Everyone is better than me. I’m probably not even good enough to be a succession!”

“...What?” His arms had loosened around A-Fu long enough to escape halfway into the robe pocket he had made, so A-Fu kicked his way in and hung there with his legs sticking out, curled around his father’s side, listening to the quiet gurgle of his tummy through his back. “A-Fu, a what?”

“Nothing,” he mumbled. He didn’t want to talk about it, because he might accidentally let him know he had sneaked on that weird grownup conversation--Blue-Father was really good at figuring things like that out. “I’m just not good at anything good. I hate learning.”

“...Are you worried about being Clan Leader someday?”

No, not really because Blue-Father was never going to die like his birth parents, so he really wasn’t worried. Him and Gray-Father were going to be the Clan Leaders forever because they were strong and good at fighting and so he would never have to worry about himself being a succession or any of his fathers dying, ever, but he knew it was important to Great-Uncle Qiren. And he already thought A-Fu was a slacker and a troublemaker. And probably stupid. It made him feel like a small, lumpy toad that accidentally got into the library that everyone wanted to get out right away. 

“Little love, talk to me.”

A-Fu stayed stubbornly quiet. He didn’t have a plan, but he didn’t want to talk about this. Because what if Blue-Father decided that he was disappointed and that A-Fu really was stupid at school? What if he really just was going to be terrible at everything forever?

Gentle hands wrapped around his ankle and he squawked with a kick when something tickled against his foot like a sniffing bunny. Blue-Father held his feet still as he continued to lightly scratch the bottom, right in the middle where it tickled the most. “ACK! Stoppit!”

“Come out, then.”

“No!”

“I don’t talk to behinds.” He could hear the smile in Blue-Father’s voice. “I need a face.”

“No!!”

“Then I guess I’ll just--” the tickling went from one finger to a lot and it yanked a shriek-laugh that A-Fu didn’t mean and was mad about.

Kicking and worming around as hard as he could to show that he was still angry, he flipped over so he was on his back, head still hidden. Halfway what he asked. That tickle came back on his foot, so he yelped and reached up to yank the loosened robe down Blue-Father’s shoulder a bit, so he was still tucked inside, but he could look down and see A-Fu’s scowling face. “What,” A-Fu demanded in his absolute grumpiest voice because his father was forcing him.

“Rude,” Blue-Father chuckled and poked his nose. “Tell me what you’re good at.”

“Nothing.”

He tilted his head, and his smile got all soft and sorry. “Lie. Lies will get you chores.”

A-Fu made a huge scowly face and hid his face in his own sleeves, curling up his knees until he was an angry ball tucked into Blue-Father’s messed up outer robe and yelled, “I can’t think of anything!”

“Hmmm. What if I share what I know you’re good at?”

A-Fu was quiet, still hidden. But a grumpy quiet. Grown-ups always tried to get their way and make you feel better when you were so mad and it just made him madder. 

“You’re a very funny boy. You’re adventurous, you’re compassionate, you’re brave, you’re kind--”

He couldn’t take it any longer. “Those aren’t even things!” A-Fu burst out, pulling his arms away from his face to glare up at him. “Like, actual real things!”

“Oh? You don’t know when a person is being unkind?”

“It’s not a thing like writing or board games or fighting good! It’s not important!”

Blue-Father just looked down at him for a minute, face calm, eyes thinking. The air A-Fu was breathing inside the robe was warm and Blue-Father scented--incense and something dark-sweet, like fancy wood. Every once in a while, a chilly little wisp of air would come in from the outside and burn the inside of his nose with its fresh cold. He wanted to stay tucked in here forever and never go back to school or do anything hard ever again. His father was strong enough to carry him in his robes like a weird lady-boob all the time. They could just tell everyone A-Fu ran away and that Blue-Father decided to grow a gourd from his chest meridians or something. 

Then, Blue-Father said, “What are the things that your Gray-Father is good at?”

“Ughh, that’s so easy,” A-Fu complained and rolled his eyes, which got him an eyebrow raise and an ‘oh really?’ look, which meant that he was probably getting pretty close to being told to stop being rude for real. He let The Attitude go with another pout, poking out his chin, but he said, “Fine. He’s good at fighting. And cooking. And riding horses. And playing.” He thought a second, then added, grudgingly. “Bread.”

Blue-Father nodded encouragingly, smiling. “Alright. What do you like about Gray-Father? Do you like that he’s good at fighting?”

A-Fu squinted at him. “He just is.”

“Alright, then what do you like about Gray-Father?”

He thought about it a second--not because it was hard, but because he was trying to see if this was another trick to make him feel better. After he couldn’t figure it out, he just answered. “I like when he throws me and swims with me and plays Monster. I like when he gives me shoulder rides.”

Still smiling, Blue-Father held out his hand over him and spread his fingers and, automatically, A-Fu grabbed onto his thumb and ring finger and grumpily stretched them around. “Alright. What is Yellow-Father good at?”

“Talking to grownups and writing and knowing when I’m sneaking up on him and making A-Ling shut up.”

Blue-Father’s raised eyebrows gave his words back and A-Fu pouted but said, “Sorry,” and set about curling those long fingers one at a time into a fist. 

“And what do you like about spending time with him?” 

“I like when he braids my hair. And when he sings to me. And when he plays pretend.”

When his Blue-Father tried to stretch his hand out again to touch A-Fu’s cheek, A-Fu scowled and clamped down on it, making his father chuckle and curl it back up obediently. “So, do you see? There is more to a person than just what they can do. It’s how they make us feel and how they treat people. That is what’s important to me, little love. That you are fair. That you are kind. I will love you even--” he leaned in like he had a secret, glancing over at the door like someone might hear and, despite himself, A-Fu leaned up out of his pocket to hear his sneaky whisper, “--if you’re last in your class...forever.”

A-Fu’s eyes widened. “For really?”

His blue father nodded. “For really. It’s important that you try your best. But I will love you no matter what that is.”

“Hmmm.” A-Fu mulled this over and decided he felt a little better, but still didn’t want to leave his robe-cave. Blue-Father had taken his own hand back when A-Fu kept pretending to punch himself in the forehead with it (with sound effects) but had let him stay where he was while he wrote some letters. A-Fu had fallen asleep there, wrapped up in warmth and the smell of Blue-Father. Being mad always took a lot of energy.

The whole conversation got him thinking later about what sort of things everyone was best at. A-Yuan was good at class and making A-Fu calm down and folding little paper butterflies they could paint. A-Ling was good at being really annoying--but also racing and telling stories and lying. A-Qiang was pretty good at walking, now, and following A-Ling around and wanting to be a part of everything. The baby twins were good at...drooling and pooping, probably. Uncle Huaisang was good at painting and birds and telling jokes. Great-Uncle Qiren was good at remembering the rules and growing a beard and telling when you were lying.

Uncle Wangji was good at being quiet and playing the qin and, actually, pretty good at advice. After A-Fu’s Hard Time with reading, Blue-Father took him to talk to Uncle Wangji--though he really didn’t get why, at first. He just sat there all awkward and quiet, stabbing his rice with his chopsticks while Blue-Father explained it across the table from next to him. Uncle Wangji nodded slowly and looked over at him. “What is difficult about class?”

“All of it. The whole thing,” A-Fu mixed one chopstick around, peeking up at him from under one of his hair wispy’s. Uncle Wangji looked like he always did, face smooth like a wall. But his eyes looked kinda soft, like Blue-Father’s did when he was smiling inside, a little. 

“Sitting?”

“Yeah, shushu.”

“Listening?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Mn,” he nodded. “You try?”

That question crunched up in him and he blinked a lot against his eyes getting all hot and fuzzy when he nodded. “Really, really hard.”

There had been one time where he was trying--he was, he was!--and he had seen something move out the window and when he looked, it had been Blue-Father walking with Gray-Father and he had been so excited, he forgot he was in class and he had jumped up and hung out the window, waving and yelling, “Die! Hi, die!”

They had both looked around surprised before they grinned at him and waved back, but made the ‘shoo shoo’ motion and he got yanked back inside by the teacher and yelled at in front of every single person in the classroom for being bad and ‘disruptive’ and ‘unruly’. He got a whack on his butt with the classroom stick, had got made to recite all the rules he had broken, and had to stand at the front of the class for the rest of the time. He had felt so humiliated that he couldn’t even tell Blue-Father why he was crying when he got home, and he eventually had to go ask the teacher to find out. 

A-Fu had never got whacked on the butt again, after that day, but he still got in trouble so much that sometimes, it was easier to stand at the front of the class and listen because at least he got to shift on his feet (though, he also got yelled at for that). 

“Focus takes practice. Practice takes time.” When Uncle Wangji stood up, Blue-Father had smiled and looked down at A-Fu. 

“Go with him, A-Fu. I’ll wait for you here.”

It was a little weird walking next to Uncle Wangji because he was so quiet and usually when grownups were really quiet around you, it was because you were in trouble, but A-Fu couldn’t think of anything he had done today to be punished for. So he just followed him out the door, down the white path and into the forest a little ways, to a small stream coming down the mountain through all the bushes and trees. It sounded nice and friendly, burbling all over the smooth, dark rocks. “Pick one. Or a few,” Uncle Wangji said, one hand tucked behind his back.

“One what?”

“A stone. Small enough to fit in your hand. It can be smooth or not, it’s your choice. Not too sharp.”

A-Fu squinted at him, then at the rocks. “Why?”

“When you pick, I will tell you.”

Maybe he was going to make him throw them? That sounded fun, so probably not, because this sounded like a weird, grown up lesson they were teaching him. He wasn’t going to make him carry a bucket of heavy rocks, was he? That sounded--and he was stealing a word from Aunt Yanli--dreadful. Just in case, when he hunted around, he picked just one, a small rock that was a little lumpy, but smooth, black with a little sparkly pocket in it and held it in his hand, warily. His hand hurt from how cold the water had been, like his bones were aching. “Okay….”

“Do you feel it?”

Duh. A-Fu almost, almost got sassy, but remembered the look that Gray-Father gave him when he did and just said. “Uh...yeah.”

“When you run your fingers over it, do you like it?”

Puzzled, A-Fu rubbed his thumb on it like an experiment. It felt like a rock. “It’s...a rock.”

“Choose one that you like to touch.”

Uncle Wangji, A-Fu thought, all annoyed, who likes touching rocks? But he didn’t say so because he didn’t know exactly how patient he was, so he just threw the first rock down the slope, into the bushes and started touching them all. Some were slimy and super gross, some were just...uh...rocks, and some of them were actually just mudballs, but after a little bit, where his fingers really really hurt and started to go numb from the cold, he found 2 that were kinda nice to run his fingers over because they were so smooth. One even had a little dip where he could hold it in his palm and fit his thumb right in it like it was supposed to go there. He had a little whine and cry that he couldn’t help because his hands hurt so bad, but Uncle Wangji had knelt down and cupped his own long hands around them and had slowly rubbed and blown on them until the feeling came back without even looking annoyed once, which A-Fu had been worried about. 

Uncle Wangji took a cloth from his sleeve and rubbed the stones until they were dry and clean, saying, “If you are quiet and careful, you can hold these stones while you learn. You can rub them, scratch them, turn them in your hand. It may help.” Then, he had tucked them back into A-Fu’s hands.

Curiously, A-Fu rubbed the rocks together and heard the nice ‘shhk-shhk’ sound they made. Too loud for class time, probably, but nice for now. “That’s not against the rules?”

With the smallest smile A-Fu had ever seen, Uncle Wangji tilted his head. “Fidgeting is prohibited. Then do not fidget--hold them carefully and hidden. It hurts no one and helps you. Busy hands can help your mind stay sharp. Perhaps it will become easier for you once you begin sword and qin training.”

“Huh. Was it hard for you to listen, too?”

“In the beginning. Practice, meditation, and focus help as you grow older.”

Uncle Wangji was pretty smart to come up with something like this, if it had helped him as a kid. Then, A-Fu thought about how A-Yuan sat so perfect in class, just watching and listening with no problem at all. He frowned, staring at Uncle Wangji’s white boots poking out from underneath his white robes when he stood back up. “You taught A-Yuan the right way to do it,” he muttered under his breath, feeling jealous and small and grumpy. “Why won’t you teach me?”

“You’re not like A-Yuan.” A-Fu looked up at him, expecting him to look mad that he had talked back, but instead, he just looked like Uncle Wangji. Like nothing, really, face calm and cold as the stream. But his eyes were still soft. “You are like Lan Fu. And that is good. You will learn like Lan Fu, just as I learned like Lan Wangji. Just like xiongzhang learned like xiongzhang.”

A-Fu looked back down at the rocks in his hand. “Okay.”

“Mn.”

“Mn,” A-Fu echoed back, without really thinking about it. 

A hand reached down and gently patted his head, then turned him back down the path. “Let’s return. Xiongzhang is waiting.” 

[cedarandstories]

Why

James:

Today I stopped by that park downtown that I adore. The spring flowers have just begun to bloom, and I can see the leaves returning to the trees plotted all around the park. The water lilies dot the water right around the river’s edge, almost like it is from a Monet painting. 

While I was there, I noticed a young mother trying to wrangle her son. The boy appeared to be around eleven or twelve. The age of defiance, why’s, and no’s. The son was stubborn and stood his ground in the face of his mother hissing harsh punishments to him if he failed to comply. Without context, I am sure some will blame the child for this interaction, wondering why the boy is being so difficult. 

Frankly, I never understood why we’d blame a child when an adult clearly modeled and gave them these behaviors. It’s always sad to see how much we blame them for when we forget they had to have learned somewhere. 

Seeing things like that always brings me back to when I was younger and having to deal with my own mother and what she had done. It reminds me of how little we see behind that closed door. That place always seemed scarier when she was there. 

Once the door closed to the house, to that apartment, to the next apartment, you know you were at her mercy. You knew there was no escaping it. All you could do was grit your teeth and hope for a bit of mercy. You always welcomed when she went to bed early. You knew then for a fleeting few hours, you’d be at peace and safe. You cherished that little fleeting moment. It felt like seconds compared to the eons you spent enduring the pain, the fear, the worry, the anxiety. 

The tactics often felt like they ramped up over time. The worst was sleep deprivation. That one was particularly painful James. It’s often hard to put it into words or lay out, but let me try my best. 

9 PM - She arrives home and slams the door shut. Your breath shudders, and almost retreats back into you, almost like it's just as scared as you are. 

11 PM - Cue the fight. The gaslighting. Calling you selfish. Worthless. Good for nothing. Waste of a son. The works. You stand tall and strong, your meager frame at ten years old tries in vain to withstand it. You look her dead in the eyes, letting everything in one ear and out the other. When she isn’t satisfied with that, she cuts deep. Deeper than a blade right in between your rib cage. No, she goes right through the heart. 

1 AM - You’re not exhausted. Sorry, wait, you’re now exhausted. Maybe you got a small break in between screaming and crying that was forced onto you to break you down. Maybe not. Either way, this is usually when the exhaustion and pain and fear encircle you like a squad closing in on a target. When they strike, they hit hard. You finally break down. The first tears well up. You feel the strain and tension in your eyes and face. You struggle and thrash inside, trying to withstand it just a bit longer so you can go take a walk or go into your room to cry. Instead, it happens there. Your eyes well up, and flood right out. You curl up into the couch, sobbing. Unable to breathe, snot creeping down your chin. You’re embarrassed. Scared. Angry. Finally, you feel that cold backhand connect with your cheek.

Thwack!

2 AM - You look away, stunned, face red. You feel more tears come on, but that hard slap reconnects you to reality and reminds you of the current predicament and your pitiful existence. Instead, you harden up and finally face her. You’re still shaking, but manage to keep the gaze steady. Finally, she relents. You may sleep. Finally. 

4 AM - You have finally settled into a peaceful slumber. You dream of something calming. Maybe you’re finally away from her. Or at a friend’s house. Those peaceful moments flutter away, replaced by the loud crash of your door swinging open. It’s her again. You feel yourself clutch your pillow tight, holding on for dear life. Not a stuffed animal, because you were too old for them at ten. The argument continues. You knew it was coming. You hoped and prayed it wouldn’t. You finally fooled yourself into thinking it wouldn’t happen today. But it did. Like always. 

I used to wonder why people could do this. I’d wonder why people could stoop this low, especially for someone they are supposed to love. But love is a fickle word. Maybe they love you. Maybe they don’t. They sure do love the idea of you they have carved out for you. When you fail to meet it, then you aren’t loved. I am sure it’s simple in their minds. Maybe it isn’t. 

I hope that boy eventually gets away from that situation I saw at the park. He’ll be amazed at how the world opens up with people love you, not the idea of you. 

Yours, 

Daniel

[chocosvt]

⚬ pairing: seungcheol x fem!reader ⚬ word count: 4342 ⚬ warnings: brief drug mention ⚬ genres: mainly just fluff! college/uni!au

✧✎ synopsis: your longtime campus crush just received an interesting dare: to ask you out on a date. while the circumstances are questionable, you aren’t going to decline. maybe this is your ticket to romance. 

✧✎ a/n: if this title or plot sounds familiar, then that’s bc i finally accomplished a goal of mine: to rewrite i dare you. this was a fic i originally wrote in 2016!! i did change some aspects, so not everything is identical. PLS ENJOY ;w;

The bells to the café door jingled.

Normally, you wouldn’t be so attentive about the customers filtering in and out, but at that moment, your gaze shot over the lid of your laptop like a harpoon. It was roughly the right time, the right day. According to your judgement, this was when they usually came for their morning coffees. Jeonghan, Joshua, and Seungcheol: a very popular trio amongst the likings of your campus.  

Jeonghan was a nursing student. Clean-cut, charming to a degree of annoyance, and always ordered a boring black coffee. The second boy, Joshua, was cute enough to stop you in your tracks and force a double-take. However, he liked mathematics, numbers, weird formulas which looked more torture than learning. He preferred lattes with foam. And then there was Seungcheol. You wouldn’t call him your true love, because you didn’t know him all that well, and as far as he was concerned you were the lunatic who accidentally set pages of Joshua’s chemistry homework on fire. But that was a story for another day (you haven’t been near that Yankee candle since).

Nonetheless, you were crushing on him. Badly. To the point where you arrived at the café early, pretending to type a document on your laptop, just so you could flit your eyes every so often at his table while he slurped his chocolate mocha. You even had their scheduling memorized. It was a bit weird, and you would be the first to admit such a thing, but nothing was going to thwart you from daydreaming about those eyes of his. Or that dazzling smile. His short bursts of laughter which were usually tweezed out at Jeonghan pulling some stupid prank on Joshua. Everything about you adored him.

The trio gathered at their usual table, sat obliquely to your nook by the window. You had opened an older document that was already finished, pretended to tap against the keys while they ate a small breakfast before class. Something was different. They were giggling more than usual. And you couldn’t help but blatantly stare with concern when Joshua tore open a salt packet and poured it straight on his tongue. Jeonghan was grinning so widely that you were positive his face must be aching, and Seungcheol cackled into his fist while Joshua immediately grabbed for his latte.

A game. They were playing some sort of game.

Once Joshua had recovered, you noted that he began surveying the café, running his narrowed gaze to each table.

The second he found you huddled in the corner, attempting to shrink behind your laptop and pretend your presence was nothing but invisible, Joshua leaned into Seungcheol’s side to make a very smiley whisper. Pretend I’m working, pretend I’m working on something so damn important I can’t look up for even a second, you reiterated to yourself quietly, ignoring the panic ballooning inside you. A minute later, someone had just pulled out the chair across from you. They sat down with a slight groan, clasping their hands together.

Of course, it was Seungcheol.

“Hey.” He said, watching as you tentatively lowered the lid of your laptop, probably wondering why the hell you looked so stunned.

“What are you, um, doing?” You asked.

Seungcheol could not be sitting across from you just because he wanted to. It was impossible. And as much as that stung to admit, you knew the truth was simply that. He was definitely put up to this.

“We know each other pretty well, correct?” The boy completely ignored your question. “I know that you set Josh’s chem notes on fire. We take toxicology together. Need I say more?”

“Wow,” you replied, twiddling your fingers anxiously under the table, “that’s a whole two things. I can’t even count that high.”

“We can’t all be mathematicians,” Seungcheol moved the conversation along while he angled a white jar of sugar, “and I guess I should tell you, I’m in a predicament, which involves you.”

Your hands squeezed together so firmly that they nearly moulded into permanent fists. Seungcheol was staring at you now rather than flickering his gaze between the objects on the table, with those eyes as dark as sapphire. You were burning up, sweltering, felt like you needed to burst from your clothes and bathe in ice.

“A predicament?”

Seungcheol folded his muscular arms on the table and nodded. “Yeah, I got a dare from Josh. To ask you out. The thing is, I’m not supposed to tell you. But you seem like a nice girl.”

You swallowed very tautly and pushed down the lid of your laptop a little more. Over Seungcheol’s shoulder, you spotted both Joshua and Jeonghan observing, chuckling amongst themselves.

“Another thing,” Seungcheol added, raking a hand through his black locks, “I don’t want to lose to tweedle-dumb and tweedle-idiot over there – you can decide who’s who – so you should accept.”

Straightening your posture against the chair, you decided to spell out the situation, more for your sake than Seungcheol’s. “Let me get this straight. You got dared to ask me out. You have nothing better to do tomorrow night, so you accepted it. And I don’t have a choice.”

“Your wording is a bit disparaging. But essentially, yeah.” He leaned back with a gorgeous smile, turning up his palm. “So, down?”

At that moment, you could not believe the universe had just ladled this ridiculous possibility into your lap. A date with your biggest crush on campus. A date that so many people would be wrangling your neck to steal from you – even if it was based on an innocuous little game which Seungcheol refused to submit because he was too competitive at heart. It might not have been your most prideful choice in life, but you accepted. Any chance to spend the night with him would not be wasted as long as the offer stood.

However, you had one condition.

“I’ll do it,” you grinned, watching the boy’s expression perk like a child who just got handed a cookie, “on the account of another dare. Which you’ll find out on our fake date.”

“Fine.” Seungcheol shrugged, sliding his phone across the table so that you could enter your number. He stood up afterward, on the verge of returning to his friends when he suddenly paused.

“See you tomorrow night, sweetheart.”

There was such a rush of butterflies in your stomach, you were surprised one hadn’t flown out your mouth.

You didn’t know why you cared so much about a date that was most likely intended to humiliate you. Was Joshua still not over those chemistry sheets? Even after you spent a good two hours in the library attempting to rewrite them with your nicest, smoothest gel pel? Thoughts of what to wear, your style of makeup, and which perfume you should choose amongst the few on your dresser were awfully overwhelming. In fact, you were almost late to the park, the area Seungcheol had picked as a rendezvous point.

He rose from the bench in front of the duck pond once you arrived, checking the time on his wrist while making a tsking sound.

“Four and a half minutes late,” Seungcheol said, shaking his head, “you’re not making a good first impression, my lady.”

Obviously, you weren’t going to admit how you were stressing about a technically-fake date. In the end, you threw on a simple outfit and applied some lipstick on your way out the door, shoving the tube into a small purse hung over your shoulder. It’s not like he was treating you to a five-star restaurant by romantic candlelight. But if he ever did, you had the perfect outfit planned.

“Well, I’m here now. And with your dare.” You grinned.

Seungcheol stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Let’s hear it.”

“I dare you to buy me a week of coffee.”

At first, Seungcheol didn’t utter a thing. But then he erupted into a fit of laughter until his cheeks turned rosy like peaches.

“That’s not how this works,” he half-sighed, half-chuckled while removing a tear from his eye, “I’m rejecting it.”

“You can’t reject it! You definitely owe me. I didn’t let you lose to tweedle-dumb or tweedle-idiot. Plus, it’s low to ask someone out on a dare. I didn’t even have to show up.”  Ensuring your tone was confident, you folded your arms over your chest, raised your brow at the boy, and observed him as he tapped his foot in contemplation.

“Can I have time to consider?” Seungcheol asked.

While it was tough to capitulate so easily and let him have his way, you didn’t want to spend the entirety of your night standing next to a slimy pond, debating the regulations. So you bit the bullet. Besides, Seungcheol announced that there was a party he needed to stop by, that there was a particular someone to which he owned money. It was a short walk to this brick house that reverberated with music, cars stalled up and down the street while a flood of strobing colours illuminated in the windows. Seungcheol knocked on the door quite loudly, and then he reached for your hand, wrapping his fingers around yours. You shot him a puzzled glance just as the door swung open, the stench of marijuana mingling with the cool, night air.  

“Well, well, well,” a fox-eyed boy murmured after taking a long puff from his blunt, “Choi Seungcheol. It’s about damn time.”

“I was in the neighbourhood. Heard you and Soonyoung were lighting this place up. What a good turnout, huh?”

“Mmhm,” the other boy hummed unenthusiastically, leaning his wide shoulder against the doorframe, “you got the money or no?”

Seungcheol laughed. “C’mon, Wonwoo. We don’t even get to go inside? Hang out for a bit? Have a drink? You’re a shitty host.”

Wonwoo slid a finger under his chin, rubbing in contemplation. It was starting to get colder out, for you could hear the tree leaves rustling together as a wind whisked through the dark. You squished yourself a bit closer into Seungcheol’s side, and to your surprise, he let go of your hand and wrapped an arm around your shoulders. Finally, Wonwoo concurred, sticking the rolled paper back between his lips while stepping aside with an inviting gesture.

“Make yourselves comfortable,” the boy muttered, “but I’ll be coming to find you in about ten minutes. And I wanna see cash.”

“What’s his problem?” You whispered by Seungcheol’s ear as he guided you around an illy lit corner, into the kitchen.

His warm breath feathered your ear as he said, “I lost a couple bets to him and was slow getting the money back.” Seungcheol then grabbed two solo cups organized in a stack on the counter, filling each with a red, fruit-mixed alcohol which sat in two glass bowls.

“Don’t worry, he’s harmless.”

You accepted the cup and took a sip. “Oh, in case you needed to beat him up? I don’t know,” you lilted,  “he looks pretty sturdy.”

“Are you kidding?” Seungcheol gawked.

He slapped his drink down on the counter and threw his jacket over the back of a chair. With a perplexed, is this man crazy expression, you watched him roll up his sleeve and flex his bicep.

“Go ahead,” the boy grinned, “you’ll see.”

You made sure to roll your eyes and sigh incredibly loud in order to really establish your indifference. Meanwhile, your inner-self was fizzling like a carbonated soda. Grabbing onto Seungcheol’s muscle, you pressed down, forcing back a surprised chuckle at the fact his arm was hard as a rock. In that moment your meter of attraction toward the boy was ticking so absurdly you thought it could break.

“Okay, I’ll give it to you, Seungcheol. You’re strong.”

He tugged his sleeve back down and slid into the jacket again, a very brash smirk beaming on his face. You couldn’t decipher if he’d actually been attempting to impress you or if that was just a display of his cockiness. And yet, you didn’t really care which category it fell into, because you were still blissfully afloat thinking about Seungcheol’s arms. You lifted your drink and took another sip, swishing the sweet but tangy flavour between your cheeks. At that moment, a man you didn’t recognize attempted to scoot behind you – except there was definitely enough room for him to get by without planting his hands on your hips and squeezing them.

“Hey! What the hell?” You squeaked, quickly turning around on your heel to see the crookedly amused look he stared at you with.

“What?” He somehow had the audacity to respond.

But you weren’t going to accept his disgraceful maneuvers, and neither was Seungcheol. He abandoned his cup on the counter and pushed up his sleeves.

“Did you just put your hands on her?” Came his demand. It didn’t sound like the normal, relaxed Seungcheol who liked his jokes, but someone with an unnerving amount of authority and fearlessness.

“I-I was trying to get by.” The man stammered, clearly uncomfortable with the thought of confrontation. He was already stepping backward as Seungcheol approached him.

“Don’t touch other people like that,” Seungcheol admonished him in a deep, staid voice, then pointed toward the threshold of the kitchen, “just get out, man. Seriously. Don’t even go near her.” And like a saddened puppy who received a scolding from its owners to lay down in the pen, the man slinked away without another word.

You were unsure of what to say to Seungcheol for diminishing the situation. Folding your arms tightly, you nodded at him.

“Thanks.”

Wonwoo came wandering into the kitchen. His eyes brightened the moment he saw Seungcheol, and he rubbed his fingers together to wordlessly convey that he wanted his money now.

“It’s alright,” Seungcheol gave you a soft smile while he revealed a large wad of cash from his pocket, “he was a weirdo.”

“Yeah.” You laughed as Seungcheol handed the sum to his friend, who fleshed out the paper notes to count the correct amount.

It took you a moment to realize that Seungcheol’s arm had wrapped back around your shoulders, this time a bit more securely.  When you leaned into him, it wasn’t because you felt a draft or a chill, but because he was comfortable. He felt and smelled like safety.

Later that night, you returned to the park, throwing stones into the duck pond while the moon was hidden behind a thin curtain of clouds. Seungcheol claimed that he could throw his stones farther than yours, which prompted your short-lived competition. It had ended so abruptly because you ran out of stones to throw. At one point you tried tossing sticks, but they didn’t travel as far, and they definitely didn’t break the surface of the water with a satisfying plop.

“Hey,” Seungcheol said, nudging your elbow excitedly, “I dare you to get in the pond.”

“No way!” You cackled. “It’s freezing. And that pond is nasty.”

“Just dip your toe in or something.”

“You dip your toe in!”

“I don’t wanna take off my socks.”

You huffed, a plume of your breath escaping into the crisp air.

“Well, we’re at a crossroads then, aren’t we?”

Rather than continue bickering about the dare, you were starting to feel these annoying hunger pangs. You didn’t eat dinner because of how nervous you were toward this fake date (which was rapidly morphing into a very real date) with Seungcheol. The most you ate today had been some toast and pieces of apple your roommate cut the night before. Directly on cue, your stomach gurgled, and your face swelled hot with embarrassment. Seungcheol grinned.

“Hungry?”

“Starving, more like.” You corrected him.

He pulled out the white fabric liners of his pockets, revealing they were completely empty. “All my cash went to Wonwoo.”

You flashed a playful smile while repeating his statement from earlier. “Oh, wow. Not being able to cover the meal on a first date? You’re not making a good impression, sweetheart.”

In an instant, Seungcheol had snatched your hand, interlocking your fingers together warmly. He began tugging you out of the park and onto a familiar street, where there was a twenty-four-hour diner that the students absolutely loved. Admittedly, you had been there a few times. Once as a giggly drunk who just wanted a waffle plate at three in the morning, and also as a struggling student who was desperate for a cup of coffee in order to power through a procrastinated essay. Now, it seemed you were returning for a date.

“I’ll pay you back, promise.” Seungcheol said as the server placed a nacho platter onto the table. “It’s my new priority.”

The diner was quiet and mostly empty apart from a group of three seated at another table. You didn’t realize just how hungry you were until that first taste of melted cheese, salsa, and seared chicken hit your mouth. Seungcheol didn’t like black olives, so he kept picking them off. You were eating too ravenously to inspect your food.

“You’re taking the olives off?” You smirked. “Baby.”

Seungcheol scoffed. “I am not a baby.” He looked up at you as he shoved another delicious chip in his mouth. “And I know it gives you some sick, twisted pleasure to say that. You should be ashamed.”

Nearly choking on the water you just sipped, you dropped the  cup back on the table to cough a few times.

“You know what’s sick? The fact I’m paying.”

The boy reached for his glass of coca cola. “Yeah, but technically this isn’t a real date. So, doesn’t count.”

“Really?” Raising a questioned eyebrow, you watched Seungcheol take a long gulp from his drink. “Are you willing to say that with your entire chest? That this isn’t a real date?”

And in that moment, Seungcheol genuinely seemed to have met a stupor. In fact, there was a red tint dusting the crest of each his cheeks. He leaned back in the booth, folded his arms over his chest, and pursed his lips. You waited patiently for his response, lifting a nacho to your mouth while threads of cheese dangled in the air.

A smile broke through his stiff, musing expression.

“Okay,” he nodded his head, “maybe this is a real date,” (your heart impossibly fluttered), “you could be right about that.”

“I’m glad we’re on the same page.” You answered.

In truth, you couldn’t have been more delighted to hear Seungcheol agree, because if he hadn’t, you would have dined and dashed, fled straight out the restaurant in a haze of shame and embarrassment. In the span of just a few hours, your attraction toward this boy had impressively expanded like a sponge soaking up water. Before, you weren’t positive that he could be your true love. It was mostly a running joke between you and… well, yourself. However, this one night was proving that perhaps your joke could have some actual weight to it. And as Seungcheol continued to make you laugh, choke on your food, stare at him in complete adoration like he was a crowned jewel, you completely lost track of time.

It wasn’t until you burst into another frenzy of laughter at his story and spilt water all down your shirt that you finally checked your phone. Almost one in the morning. The server whisked your cutlery and plates away with a tired expression. You tipped generously, feeling rather guilty for creating such a racket at this hour.

“Do you want my jacket?” Seungcheol asked as you prepared to leave. There was a huge water stain soaking through your shirt.

“A-Are you sure?” You asked him, pulling a few strands of hair from your face. He nodded, already wrestling the jacket off.

“Go change, sweetheart,” Seungcheol told you so casually that you couldn’t hide this blatant look of surprise, “I’ll wait outside.”

Entering a washroom stall, you peeled the damp shirt over your head and folded it to pack nicely within your purse. You then slipped into Seungcheol’s jacket, which had this wonderful, warm fleece patched to the inside. It was soft against your bare skin, and it smelled like a fragrant hint of his cologne. After spending an extra moment freshening up at the sink, you wandered back into the cool night, where Seungcheol was leaning against a street pole. You weren’t sure if your eyes were playing tricks at the late hour, or if he’d actually given you a very smug, very relishing once-over.

Considering you had class early the next day, you asked Seungcheol if he’d be willing to walk you home. He obliged, and you paced together in comfortable silence until reaching the bridge. It arched over a swirling, gushing river which ran through the city, the current black as kohl and reflecting the lights of the nearby architecture. In the daytime this bridge wasn’t anything spectacular, but it was a beautiful vantage point during the night; a place to watch the city sparkle and flash like the cosmos.

“Hey,” Seungcheol whispered, grabbing your hand, “I have another dare for you, since you chickened out on the pond.”

You looked at the mischief compiling in his gaze. “What?”

“Climb up there.”

Seungcheol pointed toward a thick, metal beam that slanted upward, like a ramp. It flattened out at the top, and sometimes when you walked by during the day, there would be a few students sitting down after class, eating sandwiches or cracking open sodas. A placement of bars was set behind, only wide enough to stick your leg through. You glanced back at Seungcheol and nodded.

“Okay, fine.”

And so you began to climb up the slanted beam, feeling the breeze nip at your cheeks, your hair, like the smallest of kisses. At the flattened section, you turned around and looked down at Seungcheol, feeling like the empress of a powerful kingdom. His face ignited in the moonlight. He was smiling very wide as you stuck out your tongue.

“Easy. I dare you to climb up here.”

Seungcheol shook his head. “I, uh, can’t.”

“Why not?” You laughed, folding your arms. “Scared?”

“No, I just—I twisted my ankle, so I can’t.”

“When was that?”

“You weren’t looking.”

Rolling your eyes, you decided to tease him. Taking the zipper dangling from his jacket, you began to pull it down slowly, revealing a hidden amount of skin which turned the boy’s face an adorable pink.

“If you come up here, I’ll take the jacket all the way off.” You sang in a promiscuous tone, lifting up the strap of your bra and snapping it. Seungcheol grinned, cupping a hand over his gaze.

“No way. I’m not falling into a trap like that.”

“Fine,” you huffed, lowering to your butt and carefully scooting your way down the metallic beam, “you missed out.”

Seungcheol merely held his tongue; however, he did take the zipper on his jacket and pull it back up, right to your chin, hiding the expanse of flesh from the bright moonlight. You weren’t sure what courageous energy had just taken over your body. In fact, you’d probably regret such a thing by the time your alarm clock erupted tomorrow morning, pulling you from the pit of your sleep.

“I don’t want you getting cold.” He said. “And I can’t believe you nearly gave me a strip tease from the support beam of a bridge. That’s a first.”

“I’m just making sure you don’t forget this date.” You chuckled, half in nonsense, half in truth.

As he promised, Seungcheol walked you back to the house and made sure the door unlocked using the spare key under the letter box. Thankfully, your roommate left the lights of the front porch on, the bulbs now swathed in grey moths. It was a strange night. A night that wouldn’t have happened if not for the antics of Seungcheol and his two equally competitive friends. Maybe there was a positive side to burning Joshua’s chemistry notes, though you weren’t sure he’d be thrilled to hear you admit that. A game of I Dare You, turned into a fake date, turned into a real date, turned into a sweet affection.

You yawned, feeling the faint glisten of tears stretch in your eyes. “I had fun. And I guess I’ll see you tomorrow in toxicology.”

“With my jacket.” He reminded you.

“Yes, of course. With your jacket.”

And while you expected Seungcheol to simply bid his goodnight and perhaps take a late bus home, firing question after question of why he decided to accept such a stupid dare as he stared out the window, you were surprised when he reached for your hand.

“By the way,” he said, “I accept.”

You crinkled your nose. “Accept what?”

“The dare. I’ll buy you coffee every morning this week.”

“Oh!” There was a small flare crackling to life in your eyes as you recalled the original dare of the night. “That’s right. I forgot.”

“Yeah, I’ll do it.” Seungcheol agreed. He then squeezed your hand. “On the account of one very simple condition.”

“I don’t think you can do that. Doesn’t seem rule-abiding.”

The boy discarded your comment. Instead, his grasp became tighter around your hand. He pulled you swiftly into his chest and stared straight into your helpless, panicking eyes as though he were going to confess something profound and utterly dire.

He smirked. “I want you to kiss me each time.”

Seungcheol lifted his brow in anticipation of your response, which was an undoubted agreement. Probably the fastest, easiest agreement you had ever made in your life. He moved in close to your ear, whispering something about how you should meet at the café tomorrow morning and walk to the lecture hall together, though you were ultimately buzzing and experiencing such a bold heartbeat that you missed most of the details. When he pulled away, you smiled.

“That sounds good. I’ll see you tomorrow. Goodnight.”

Stepping off the porch, he turned back with a wave.

“Goodnight, sweetheart.”

✧✎ a/n: the reason i wanted to rewrite this fic was bc i still rly enjoy the concept. however, i cannot STAND my old style of writing, thus i decided to just rewrite the fic and appease the nagging in my head lol. this is how i would have written this fic today if i hadn’t already done so four years ago. i’m also questioning the possibility of rewriting love café for jeonghan (pls don’t go reading it if u haven’t already)  but that would take much longer ,,,, JUST AN IDEA THOUGH. i hope you enjoyed!!

[lalainajanes]

For klarosummerbingo, my “mango lassi” square! Did I order Indian food for dinner? Yes, yes I did.

Masks Off

When she notices the goon tailing her – shaved head, seasonally inappropriate leather jacket, neck tattoos – Caroline’s pissed off.

And exhausted.

She’d spent all day cooped up in the boardroom at Forbes Industries, listening to men twice her age complain about dividends and try to suggest that workers didn’t really need a raise subtly.

It had been a tedious and pointless exercise, one she suffers quarterly. Caroline holds 51% of the company’s shares and can easily wrangle another block of shareholders into voting with her. Her parent’s wills, read out fourteen years ago, had bequeathed a stake in FI to several loyal employees. People they’d loved, who’d stepped in to help raise Caroline after they’d passed.

The board knows she has the final say, and it kills them. They think she’s an idiot, that she’d bought her degrees and can’t comprehend the financial statements. They try to ply her with compliments and flattery, attempt unsubtle fibs – Caroline plays dumb and tolerates the bullshit because she knows she can control them. Another board might not be so easy to manipulate.

She’d had a headache by the time the meeting had wrapped, had been so grateful to see Enzo waiting at the curb. She’d practically dived into the backseat of the town car, had rolled the partition down, and enjoyed a satisfying debrief and bitch session on the drive back to her apartment. Enzo had offered to grab her dinner before he went off the clock, but Caroline knew he had a date night planned. She’d shoed him away, told him she’d order in.

Once safely tucked away in her place Caroline had gotten restless.

She’d changed out of her boring suit, pulled out the pins in her hair, and loosely braided it back. After changing into a pale blue cotton dress and pair of oversized sunglasses, then selecting a few Forbes Industries prototypes, Caroline had headed out for sustenance.

She hadn’t bothered to let her security detail know. She’s adept at sneaking away under their noses. The detail is mostly for show, to make sure no one connects Caroline Forbes, wild child heiress, to the vigilante who’s working on tidying up the city streets.

She’ll slip into the leather ensemble she’d commissioned once night falls and load up with weapons. Then she’ll head to the garage where she keeps her armored vehicles and larger toys.

There’s a new villain who’s been popping up more and more frequently on her patrols. She hasn’t caught him doing anything untoward just yet, and he’s yet to make the papers and have a ridiculous name bestowed upon him. She’s scoured papers from England, then the rest of Europe, checking to see if there was a reputation that preceded him. So far, she’s found nothing, but  Caroline knows he must be working on something big.

Why else would he be so determined to attract her attention? He must have some kind of plan cooking up, wants her looking in another direction when he enacts it.

The walk to the restaurant had been uneventful. Caroline had to wait a few minutes for her order to be ready, but passing the time on a bench outside, unnoticed, her people-watching undisturbed, had been a nice change from how she’d spent the rest of the day.

It promised to be a hot evening, even though the sun would be setting shortly. Sweat had begun gathering near her hairline, forcing curls out of her braid. Caroline had added a mango lassi to her order and collected her dinner, inhaled appreciatively at the warm, spicy scent emanating from the paper bag.

She’d begun her walk home, sipping her drink contentedly, weaving through the growing number of pedestrians who were venturing out for the evening.

She’d noted the guy shadowing her about three blocks from her building, had heaved a dramatic sigh that had the guy waiting for the walk light with her edging away.

She’d just wanted to stuff herself with naan, biryani, and saag paneer and become one with her couch for a few hours before she went out to take out her frustrations on some bad guys. Was that too much to ask?

Caroline takes a turn, heading east to where there should be fewer people, reaching into her bag to slide her fingers into the modified brass knuckles (not actually brass but a proprietary FI compound) and grasping the extendable baton.

She takes another turn to check that she’s not paranoid, but the goon mirrors it.

As does another person.

Caroline pretends to adjust the strap of her dress, twisting her head to get a better look at her second pursuer. It’s an impressively muscular woman, her considerable height only enhanced by her spiked hair, dressed in skin-tight shorts and a mesh crop top.

She doesn’t seem to mind that Caroline’s spotted her, wiggling her fingers and offering a challenging smile.

There are two possibilities. Either the people following her are cocky and stupid – really the ideal scenario – or they’re cocky because they’ve got a solid plan and some big guns.

When a hand grabs her upper arm and yanks her into an alley, spilling the mango lassi and staining her dress, Caroline suspects it might be the latter. She’s thrown against a wall, just managing to get her hands up to save her face from being smashed into the brick.

She hears footsteps pounding against concrete, and the two pursuers she’s noticed join the man who’d yanked her into the alley. Regretfully, Caroline drops her takeout and her bag and backs away, hiding her weapons in the folds out of the skirt. She forces a quaver into her voice, “What do you want?”

It’s unlikely that three people who seem to have stepped right out of the goon for hire catalog have just decided to rob her. Caroline doesn’t want to assume there’s a larger plot. She’s hoping this won’t turn into a big thing, and she’s out of luck if people are planning to kidnap Caroline Forbes for ransom.

But it’ll be even messier if a bad guy’s clocked her extracurricular activities.

The spiky-haired woman takes the lead, stalking towards Caroline. She’s got a knife in her hand now, “What do I want? Twenty million dollars, to start with.”

Oh good. It’s just a kidnapping.

Honestly, kind of an insulting one. She won’t even have to liquate any assets to come up with the twenty million. Caroline stops moving, straightens her spine. “Done!” she chirps brightly. “Wire transfer, or cheque? I can do cash too, but that’s like ten briefcases. What are you going to do with them after?”

She’s been hoping to catch her attempted kidnapper off guard, but the woman doesn’t falter. She snorts, “You’re funny. I didn’t expect that.”

“Thanks, I get that a lot. I’m chock full of surprises.”

Spike lunges forward, and Caroline dodges, stepping past her and whipping her arm out, until her weapon lengthens fully. She crouches, extending her leg and spinning while slashing with her baton. Caroline lands a brutal strike on Spike’s kidneys. Spikes grunts, stumbles forward, arm banding over her stomach protectively. Caroline completes her spin and rises, catching Spike with a punch before she pauses, poised on the balls of her feet, back to a wall.

Her would-be kidnappers no longer look as confident. Spikes spits blood, expression enraged. The other two watch Caroline with calculative gazes.

“Girls gotta keep in shape, right? The tabloids are brutal. It turns out the elliptical is super boring, so I had to find something a little more fun.” Caroline leaps forward, tucking into a roll, snagging a brick from the ground and using her momentum to throw it into Leather Jacket’s face.

The brick makes contact with a gross crunch of blood, bone, tissue, and teeth. Leather Jacket howls, his hand coming up to cover his head. She jumps again, thighs locking around his neck, spinning to bring him to the ground. She digs her knee into his spine, gripping his head and slamming it into the ground for good measure until he goes limp underneath her.

Caroline stands, wiping her hand on her already ruined dress. “One down,” she says.

Only to instantly regret the proclamation. Bonnie says she needs to lay off on the monologuing, and maybe she’s got a point.

She senses movement behind her, near the mouth of the alley. Caroline turns warily, head swiveling between her two attackers and the men who are now freaking rappelling from the rooftops. Six of them. In black tactical gear, strapped with weapons and wearing black ski masks.

Well, crap.

If she’d been on patrol, with her protective suit and gadgets, she might have been able to take them. Now, in flats and a sundress, with two flimsy weapons and no backup, she doesn’t like her odds.

Caroline tosses the baton aside, pastes on the smile she uses when she has to ignore paparazzi shouting rude questions about her sex life at her. She lifts her hands slowly, palms open. “So, I’m guessing you don’t only want cash, huh?”

“Funny and smart,” Spikes says spitefully, coming up behind Caroline and yanking her hair. “What a rosy life you must lead.”

She feels a sharp sting in the side of her neck, then a flood of wooziness. Brief pain when she collapses.

She’s vaguely aware of being heaved up and over someone’s shoulder, of being alarmed by how her limbs won’t cooperate when she tries to fight back. She’s tossed in a trunk, encased in blackness.

Caroline fights it, the tiredness, her thoughts growing meandering and disorganized. When the engine rumbles to life underneath her, Caroline loses consciousness.

* * * * *

Caroline realizes she’s tied to a chair as soon as awareness returns.

She can hear voices murmuring, too soft for her to make out any words even when she strains. Caroline’s slumped over, pulling against the ropes. She’s definitely going to have some fun bruises tomorrow. Her head’s resting limply against her chest, and she stays as still as she can, barely opening her eyes while trying to get a good look at her surroundings.

Unfortunately, she seems to be in a pretty generic warehouse—grimy, smelly, cavernous, decorated with random overlapping graffiti.

She spots a tray of shiny, sharp medical instruments to her right.

Which is not ideal.

Caroline tests her bonds slowly, checking for any give or weakness. Any kind of opportunity. One of her captors has eagle eyes and notices her movements. She flinches when his voice booms out, “Sleeping beauty awakes!”

Damn it.

Caroline lifts her head, rolling her neck to work out the cramp that’s developed. “I prefer the modern Disney princesses, thank you.” She’s not the type to wait around for a handsome prince to come to her rescue.

She studies the guy who’d spoken. He’s got steel-grey hair and tanned skin, thick biceps. His face doesn’t show even a hint of emotion, and he doesn’t acknowledge she’d spoken. She’d guess he’s a pro, probably some variety of ex-military, likely expensive. Caroline hears the clomp of heavy boots and twists her head to see some familiar faces joining the party.

Moderately damaged familiar faces, but she’s not sorry about that.

“So about that ransom,” Caroline begins hopefully. “Twenty-five million, was it?”

The guy who’d taken a brick to the face grunts, “Thirty now. For our trouble.”

Caroline can admit that’s fair.

“I get it. Plastic surgery’s not cheap. Not that I’ve had any work done, despite what the tabloids might claim. I’m only twenty-seven. Of course my boobs look fantastic in a bikini.”

No one even cracks a smile.

“Okay, so you’re not interested in jokes. We could discuss the fact that it’s super gross that people follow me around the world and stalk me with long-lens cameras. Am I not entitled to take a vacation?”

No response.

Caroline sighs, shifting in her chair in an attempt to get more comfortable. “Tough crowd.”

Spike drags a second chair over, sitting down and resting a booted foot on her opposite knee. “Thirty million dollars. I have a list of six prisoners that I need to be released from the Super Max. And I want something from the Forbes Industries Vault. The subterranean one that most of your employees don’t know about.”

Caroline tips her head back, considering. Thirty million dollars, no big deal. The prisoners might be hard to arrange, but she’s got connections. She knows exactly who she’d need to bribe. She can always scoop them up later, wrap ‘em in a pretty little bow and leave them on the steps of city hall.

The Vault though? That’s not happening. She’s going to have to figure out how they even know about it, who else might have bought the info, but that’s a problem for later.

“How about fifty million dollars and a couple of extra prisoners? Maybe someone from the asylum?”

Spike leans over, her hand drifting over the tray of instruments. She plucks up one with a serrated edge, twirling it through her fingers. “I know you’re used to snapping your fingers and getting everything your little heart desires, but this isn’t a negotiation.”

She leans forward, resting the blade against the dip between Caroline’s collarbones. She taps it against Caroline’s skin with each carefully enunciated word, “Money. Prisoners. Vault.” She pulls back, gives the instrument another spin. “That’s my only offer. You can say yes, and we’ll give you a phone, so you’re servants can start arranging things. Or, we can do this the hard way.”

She doesn’t insult Caroline’s intelligence by spelling out what the hard way would entail.

Caroline swallows, straightens her spine. “No one gets in my vault.”

Spike sighs in faux disappointment, her eyes gleaming with anticipation. “The hard way it is, then.”

Caroline closes her eyes, holds her breath, waits for the first cut to come.

It doesn’t come from where she’d expected.

Glass shatters from high above, showering down, leaving dozens of tiny nicks across her bare shoulders. She feels a rush of air before a body landing in front of her, knees bent.

A familiar man, one who’s been taking up way too much of Caroline’s free time, smirks at her, “Hello, love.”

Caroline gapes at him, and he pivots, backing up until her bent knees brush the back of his calves. She sees few bright flashes, but his back obscures her view of what’s happening. Whatever he’s doing, it’s painfully loud. Popping sounds interrupt shouts and screams of pain, and heavy thuds ring out. Caroline cringes, tucking her ear against her shoulder in an attempt to muffle the cacophony.

Silence, when it comes, scant moments after the chaos began, is jarring. Caroline leans as far to the side as she can, eyes widening when she spots the pile of bodies. She watches as the man, who she doesn’t know if she can call her rescuer since at this point he might also be planning on ransoming her, yanks a handful of zip cuffs from his pocket.

He moves swiftly and with grace, seemingly very at home his body and aware of its capabilities. Caroline’s eyes narrow, mind whirling as he secures her attackers, and she tries to assimilate this new information. He pulls off his leather gloves when he’s done, returning to her side. His expression grows regretful, and his fingertips brush her shoulders, skimming over the cuts and scrapes there. “Sorry about these. The skylight was the best entry point. Make sure you clean them up, hmm?”

He steps passed her, and Caroline feels him make quick work of her handcuffs. She hears the snick of a knife unsheathing and stiffens, but he only uses it on the ropes that bind her legs and torso. Caroline shakes them off, stands hesitantly.

“Okay,” she says, crossing her arms and turning until they’re once more face to face, separated by the metal chair. “What exactly is happening here? Who are you?”

“I’m afraid I’m not yet ready for you to know my identity. In due time, I promise.”

Caroline sucks in a sharp breath, her teeth grinding together. “Um, how about no?”

He blinks, and Caroline steps a little closer. They’ve always met in the dark, and he’d purposely stuck to the shadows as he’d teased and tossed questions at her. She’s never been this close to him. His eyes are blue, his lashes annoyingly long in a way men never appropriately appreciate. He wears a black mask, covering from the top of his forehead to his upper lip. His hair is slicked back, but she thinks it might be on the lighter side, given the shade of his stubble.

He clears his throat and shifts his weight, but he doesn’t step back or shy away. “I… I beg your pardon?”

“I have had a garbage day. It was long, it was boring, I had to argue over things I know I’m right about, with people who think I’m a bimbo and spend way too much time trying to look down my tops. My dinner got tossed aside when goons r us scooped me up. I love this dress, and it’s ruined. I’m bleeding. I don’t know where my shoes are. I’m hungry, I’m tired, and I want to go home!” she’s shouting when she’s done ranting, out of breath.

“Right.” Her rescuer, she’s decided on the term now, shoves the chair aside. He steps forward until his feet bracket hers, wraps his arm around her waist. Caroline grips his biceps, too shocked to admonish this rude invasion of her space. “Hold on. Step up onto my feet.”

She throws her hands up in frustration, “Hello? Did anything I just said sink in?”

His lips, which she’s now noticing are very nice, full and soft looking, compress. She’s pretty sure he’s trying to swallow a laugh. “I heard every word. I’m trying to assist in getting you home. In service of that, if you could please step up onto my feet and hold on.”

His right arm rises, and Caroline recognizes the device in his hand. She’s about to ask him if he’s seriously rescuing her with a device he’d stolen from her but thinks better of it.

He’d stolen the grappling hook from a vigilante who rocks a rose pink leather catsuit, not from Caroline Forbes. It would have been a monster slip, a true testament to how rattled she is from the day’s events that she’d almost blurted out her secret identity to a guy with questionable motives and an unknown name.

Instead, she smiles tightly, loops her arms around his neck, and gingerly steps onto his heavy boots. “For future reference,” she says sweetly, “I generally only like following orders in the bedroom.”

The strangled choking noise he makes as they hurtle upward is immensely satisfying.

* * * * *

Two days later, Caroline’s on her couch watching news footage of a gala she’d been supposed to attend. She’d had a great dress, red and scandalous, all ready to go, but trying to cover her scabby shoulders with makeup had made her look like she’d contracted some kind of infectious skin issue.

She’d sent her regrets and a fat check, resigned herself to a solo evening in her comfy sweats. On her TV, a society reporter’s chattering away about the guest she’d just finished talking to, a lech who’s at least smart enough to hire a publicist good enough to hide his dealings with loan sharks. She trails off in the middle of a sentence, fingertips coming up to press at her earpiece.

The reporter looks right at the camera, excitement on her face. “I’ve just been given some breaking news! A surprise guest has arrived, all the way from the UK. Klaus Mikaelson has shied away from public life since his messy exit from his father’s corporation five years ago. He’s built his own tech firm from the ground up. Buzz had been building since they announced their intention to go public. Let’s see if we can get a few words.”

Bored with the fawning, Caroline’s just about to switch channels. She knows all about Klaus’ Mikaelson’s company. Blurbs about it have been showing up in the intelligence reports she has complied since he’d lured a pair of promising engineers from FI’s Paris offices.

She’s planning on investing in his IPO because he might have scummy HR policies, but his business is sound.

There haven’t been many pictures of him available; apparently, he’d hardly been a social butterfly even when he’d been welcome in the family fold. He couldn’t have been more than sixteen or so in the ones Caroline’s seen, in which he’d been gangly and angular and sporting a terrible haircut.

The image changes, swinging to the red carpet before Caroline can grab the remote. She pauses, impressed because Klaus Mikaelson has grown up nicely. She might be distracted by the flawless fit of his tux, which Caroline knows can cover a world of sins, so she leans closer as the camera pans up to his face.

And promptly drops her wine class.

The blue eyes. That smile, the dimple it carves into his stubbled cheek. She’d brushed her lips over that cheek barely more than forty-eight hours ago when she’d thanked him for what he’d done for her.

Klaus Mikaelson had accompanied her home the other night, had neatly deflected her probing questions, his amusement never turning to exasperation at Caroline’s dogged persistence.

She’d seriously considered inviting him into her home. She’d told herself it was only in search of more information, but a tiny part of her, the one that was unfailingly honest and sometimes gets her in trouble, had admitted her rescuer intrigued her, even without a name.

Well. Now she has one. A plan forms rapidly, and Caroline scrambles for her phone, digging it out of her couch cushions. She taps the screen, connecting a call to Bonnie. “Bon? Sorry to bug you when you’re off the clock. But I need you to find someone for me.”

She stands, walking into her bedroom as she explains what she needs.

Bonnie’s a genius, well worth the exorbitant salary Caroline pays her. She gets the address within an hour.

* * * * *

Caroline drops a rope onto the terrace of Klaus’ apartment, slips down with barely a whisper of sound, landing lightly. She hugs the side of the building, inching over to the open French doors. She’s fully suited up, hair tightly controlled, and mask on. She eases her foot over the threshold, eyes darting around.

Ugh, of course, he has excellent taste.

Caroline likes light and airy, fun patterns and textures. But she can appreciate the sumptuousness of Klaus’ living room. It’s done up in burgundies and neutrals, hints of gold. There’s a buttery leather sofa facing a fireplace, thick carpets that muffle the sounds of her boots as she walks further in. She can imagine a pleasant night in front of a crackling fire, curled up on the couch when the weather turns cold.

But she’s getting ahead of herself.

Her nose twitches, picking up the smell of curry, cardamom, and turmeric.

She hears a door click shut, whirls to find Klaus, barefoot and still dressed up from The Gala, though he’s ditched the jacket and tie. He leans against the now-closed doors to the terrace. He smiles at her warmly, “Hello, Caroline.”

Which answers one of her most pressing questions.

Caroline yanks her mask off, tossing it aside. “I realize this is going to give you déjà vu, but what exactly is happening here?”

Klaus pushes off from the door, ambles towards her, studying her reaction carefully. Caroline doesn’t flinch away or retreat. “I have a proposition for you. And I have dinner. Takeaway from that place you visited the other day when your evening plans were… interrupted. I even got the mango lassi.”

Caroline narrows her eyes, “I have weapons, you know. Way more than you’d think, given how tight this outfit is.”

He laughs, a low husky sound that Caroline knows would be easy to get addicted to. “I’m sure you do. I’m not worried about you using them on me. I only want you to hear out my proposal. You can leave anytime you wish.”

She wonders if it’s stupid to believe him, but she does. He’d had the upper hand two days ago, had no trouble dispatching the group that had taken her. If he had nefarious intentions, he could have picked up right where they left off with the torture.

Caroline’s learned to trust her instincts. They’re telling her she’s safe.

She tugs her hair out of its elastic, loosens her collar slightly, pulling the zipper down a few inches. “Mind lending me something to wear? This totally isn’t designed for sitting for long periods.”

Klaus directs her to a guestroom, gathers a few things of his for her to wear. When she gets to the dining room, she finds he’s arranged the food on gleaming platters and lit candles. Her mango lassi, in its plastic cup, looks wildly out of place.

Caroline refuses to find it endearing.

At least until she’s confirmed that her instincts are correct.

[waywardimpalawriter]

Book Boyfriend a Frankie Morales x Plus Size Reader fic Part two the final

Book Boyfriend

Pairing: Frankie “Catfish” Morales x Plus Size F! Reader

Characters: Frankie Morales, Reader, Santiago “Pope” Garcia, William “Ironhead” Miller, Ben “Benny” Miller, Isabella Morales (OC)

Setting: Two years after the events in Colombia (Triple Frontier)

Rating: R, NSFW

Warnings: Smut, Soft Frankie (yes that has to be a warning), cursing, teasing, unprotected sex, oral (male and female receiving), tooth rotting fluff, mixed with a little hurt/comfort, mention of abuse,

Word count: Part 1: 10,284, Part 2: 16,388 (sorry not sorry, I blame Frankie for the wordiness) 

Summary: You’ve been so engrossed in your currant book series its lead to Frankie feeling a little left out.  

Notes: This is my first Frankie Morales/Pedro Pascal Fic, so I’m hoping everyone loves it as much as I did writing it. Something a little fluffy I thought of while thinking of my own favorite book boyfriends. Using the translator Systran for my very bad Spanish translations. A grateful thank you to @icanbeyourjedi for helping me out with Frankie’s Dog tags.

Tag list: @manalg14​   @songbirdcannabe

From Part 1 

Finally, home from running errands and wrangling a very fussy Isabella though you couldn’t blame her really. Exhaustion setting into your very bones from running around town, stopping around noon at a play/girlfriend's date. Talking with the girls as the kids played, laughing over the latest things their men have done and the newest book in the series everyones reading. Heat flared to life at the memory of Frankie from this morning during your talk when things turned towards the more intimate. Though you’d refused to share the details just saying he’s better than any book boyfriend you’ve read. Getting teased by your friends up until the moment you left for the grocery store with a very sleepy little girl in your arms. 

Chuckling softly you put Isabella down for another longer nap so you could get the rest of the groceries in from the car. Pulling your cell out to dial Santi’s number putting the slim piece of tech between your shoulder and ear having forgot the buds in your purse. Not wanting to waste time on getting the steaks marinated for tonight, you decided a neck pain would be a better choice for now.  

Breathing a sigh when he picks up on the second ring, “What do I owe for this unexpected call?” smooth baritone filtering over the line making you smile. 

“I need a favor Pope.” 

Chuckling, “Finally came to your senses and dropped Fish for me huh, hermosa?” teasing quality to his voice, you picking up the sounds of water running in the background. 

Knowing he’s just playing with you though at one time you’d entertained the idea of asking Santiago out. You never got the nerve up instead one cold beer accidentally poured down your shirt later and here you were with the man of your dreams and his beautiful little girl who you’ve fell in love with. You still chuckle at how sweetly apologetic Frankie had been, cheeks stained red with embarrassment at having spilled his drink over you. Though in reality it almost hadn’t been an accident, as all three guys noticed the way he looked at you. Watching the sway of your generous hips to the music, glancing away when you scanned the bar. Never seeing your own eyes rest on him for longer than normal. Only to dart away and back to your friend on your left. 

They plotted, Will trying to talk Pope and Ben out of the stupid idea, but neither would listen, while Frankie took off to the bathroom. Coming back, he’d made a beeline for the bar to grab another mug of beer, taking up the spot right next to you. That’s when Benny tried to strike, sneaking up to Frankie’s left side looking to ask you out himself. Only to be beaten when you turn towards Frankie and he to you, a guy from behind barreling his way through the crowd and into your back. Pushing you forward and into the glass he held. Cold beer pouring down your front as a warm hand pressed against your thick waist to keep you from falling. Your eyes locked and from that moment on you’d been a goner. 

“Hello earth to Y/N you still with me woman? Or fantasizing about me,” knowing there’s a grin on his lips by the tone of his voice. 

Eyes rolling, as your hands work to finish seasoning the steaks, “Keep dream Pope maybe one day it’ll come true. Through I wouldn’t hold my breath,” snarky comment leaving your lips with a grin tugging the corners. “You busy tonight and tomorrow?” 

“Free as a bird, why you have something planned? Party? Or are you finally gonna ask Frankie to marry you?” the last question only a half joke knowing that the man in question wanted to ask that one himself. 

Gapping for a moment but finding the idea appealing, “Think he’d be okay with that if I did?” Of course, you’d thought about marrying Frankie. Hell for the last year you wanted to ask or at least hint at it. But not wanting to overstep any boundaries he set up for himself. Never brought up, though you’ve thought about it a few times. Finding yourself for the most part content having them both in your life.

“He’d die, but say yes so I think it’s a go,” smiling at the thought. You fit right in with the boys, giving hell just as much as you got. But most of all helping Frankie through his demons, not shying away when things got tough. Rather suiting up for battle with a determination he hadn’t seen in seasoned soldiers. Not to mention the way you took care of Isabella as if she’s your own daughter. “Remember I’m best man, Will and Benny bridesmaids I’m sure they’ll look good in whatever color you choose.” 

Giggling at that idea, “I’ll put them in hot pink dresses, halter tops to show off those muscles,” fully belly laugh roars from your lips at the very through of those two grown men in dresses. Santi’s gruff laughter only serves to spur yours on, making you grip the counter to keep from slipping to the floor in mirth. Sobering, grabbing the towel to dry your laughter tears away, “I’m gonna have to tell them you know that right Pope?” 

Snorting, “Of fucking course you would,” wiping his own mirthful tears away. “Anything else you needed to ask me hermosa and please I don’t do flower arrangements. Cake tasting I’m all for.”

Finished with the streaks, setting those aside to grab the potatoes to get them ready next while answering, “So noted but you might have to fight Benny on that one babe.” Pulling the aluminum foil out to wrap up the fork stuck potatoes, “That’s not why I called actually. I’m wondering if you could baby sit Isabella till tomorrow afternoon?” 

“That’s a no brainer of course I will, Uncle Santi to the rescue,” looking for the car seat and his keys. “I’ve got her bed set up and extra clothes.” 

“No junk food Pope or I’ll skin you alive when I see you tomorrow,” voice taking on a hard mama edge. Already having packed a small bag of items, knowing full well that Santi wouldn’t have them on hand. Nor did you expect the poor inexperience man to know what to feed a two almost three-year-old. “I’ve got her a goodie bag packed with what you’ll need and if anything happens…” 

“I’ll call Will and Ben, we’ll figure it out unless it’s an emergency,” placing his buds in to continue the conversation and setting to work on getting the new car seat in place. Double checking the instructions, he would never let anyone know he used, wanting to keep his goddaughter safe. The very idea of her getting hurt knocked the wind from his lungs. Shaking that thought aside, knowing you wouldn’t ask for this favor if you and Frankie didn’t trust him. “Better yet, we can three men and a baby it tonight.” 

“Oh, good Lord if my child comes back with a tattoo or piecing and drinking a Budweiser, I will have all three of your cocks mounted on my wall.” Trying to make your voice hard but wanting to bust out laughing again. Almost straining yourself from holding back the giggles.  

Fake gasp leaving his lips, “Have some taste woman it’ll be a tequila, if it's Bud blame Frick and Frack for that.” Catching the ‘your child’ comment makes him grin knowing his best friend and Goddaughter are in good hands. “Careful cariño your mama bear is showing.” 

“I’ll show you three mama bear when I’ve strung you up by your balls if there is one hair on my precious child’s head missing,” grinning, knowing that you love that little girl with all your heart. 

“Damn Y/N I didn’t know you were this blood thirsty or is it a cock and ball fascination? Bigger question does Fish know?” biting back the laughter bubbling up, triumphant look on his handsome face when he’s finished putting the car seat. 

Shaking your head small giggle leaving your lips, “Watch yourself Santiago Garcia or you’ll find out just what I keep in my purse.”  

“Now you have me intrigued. Thank packing heat in that monster bag of yours?” sliding into the driver seat phone call switching to the onboard Bluetooth. Plucking the earbuds out to stow them while driving. “When did Frankie teach you how to shoot?” 

Heat tingling your neck, as you sputter out an answer, “He actually didn’t teach me.” 

“What’d mean?” confused frown marring his handsome features as he stops at a red light. Hearing his phone ding for a text message from Frankie, deepening his confusion. “Does Fish know Isabella is staying with me tonight?” 

Thanking God for the last question, “No, I didn’t tell him just yet. It’s a surprise. Why?” 

“He’s texting me now, asking if I can watch Isabella I bet,” pulling into the nearest gas station to answer. “Shall I tell him?” smirking when he hears the low growl from the other end of the phone. “Take that as a no Bella.” 

“I swear on all that’s holy Santiago if you tell Frankie…” 

“Yes, yes you’ll have my dick nailed to the wall as a trophy,” rolling his eyes though you can’t. Light chuckle barely sounds when he reads what Frankie texted, “So, violent today Y/N.” 

Catfish: Necesita un hermano favorito? 

(Need a favorite brother?)

Pope: Nombrarlo 

(Name it.)

Not hearing anything for a moment, bottom lip trapped between your teeth standing in the kitchen worried your plan could fall apart. But trusted Santiago, “What’s he asking about Santi?” 

“Hasn’t yet, just chill Bella like I said he’s probably asking the same question.” Sure, enough the next text that comes in, has another chuckle leaving his lips. 

Catfish: Puedes cuidar hasta mañana? 

(Can you babysit till tomorrow?)

Pope: Lo que está en él para mí 

(What’s in it for me?)

Knowing Frankie’s groaning at his answer, Santi can’t help but tease his best friend. “I was right he’s asking the same thing you owe me five bucks.” 

“Fuck you Pope we didn’t make a bet,” rolling your eyes this time and breathing a sigh of relief. You set to work making the key lime pie for dessert, aiming to get everything ready before Frankie came home from work. Along with a shower and dressed in the new lingerie you bought a week ago. 

“Shame I could use the dollar bills,” shaking his head at the stupid code he and Frankie came up with for strip club. 

Chuckling, “Next time Pope I know the girls miss you raining them with those bills and sticking them in their G-string.” 

“How did…” eyes wide when the phone dinged with another text message. 

Catfish: Tiempo con tu ahijada y debía uno. Además, voy a preguntarle esta noche.

(Time with your goddaughter and owed one. Plus, I’m going to ask her tonight.) 

Forgetting all about how you knew what that code meant, Santiago let out the loudest yell of excitement. Gaining the attention of a few people pumping gas with ‘you crazy’ looks and also making you worry. 

“Pope what’s wrong? You, okay?” genuine fear lacing your tone, holding the phone tighter hand starting to shake. “You didn’t have an accident, did you? Don’t you dare ruin my plans for tonight Santiago Garcia.” 

Knowing the last threat means nothing, Santi tries to calm down not wanting to give away that he knows something about Frankie’s plan. “Yeah,” clearing his throat to hide the fact he’s lying. “Yeah, I’m good cariño just found out my team won,” hoping you don’t see through his lie. Something you’re almost scary good at.

Releasing the breath held trapped in your lungs relieved sigh pushed out along with the air. Heart broken if anything happened to him. In a relative short period of time all four men have situated themselves into your heart in different ways. The very idea of loosing them would shattered the strongest muscle in your body. The wise words of your favorite whiskey drinking Hunter comes to mind that family doesn’t end in blood.

“Don’t ever do that again Santiago or might just have to punish you in ways that won’t you won’t like,” leaning against the counter trying to calm your racing heart. 

“You wouldn’t cariño you love me too much,” grinning, leaning over to scoop up his cell phone from where it landed in his excitement to answer Frankie. 

Pope: Acerca de maldito tiempo hombre, sí, voy a cuidar a mi godhija esta noche para que usted y el pronto para ser esposa puede carajo ​toda la noche.

(About fucking time man, yes, I'm gonna take care of my goddaughter tonight so you and soon to be a wife can fuck all night.)

Chuckling, Pope places his cell phone on the cup holder and restarts the truck heading first towards Will and Benny’s place. Hearing the groan leave your throat followed by a quick ouch. “Now what’d you do?” hissing coming over the speakers in his truck making him worry this time. 

“Just nicked my finger is all Santi I’m not gusting blood or anything. Though I don’t recommend getting lime juice in the cut, hurts like a mother fucker.” Moving to the sink to clean the cut, just one more thing to put you behind in getting things ready. 

“Do you kiss Frankie with that mouth woman?” pulling into the drive giving a couple of blasts on the horn. 

“On the mouth and other places to Pope,” smirking at the disgusted sound leaving his lips. Bandaging your finger up to get back to work. Hearing a horn sound over the cell line, “You hear alright Pope? I heard you honk over the phone.” 

“Picking Will and Ben up then heading over to yours,” seeing the two brothers come out he puts the call on mute to speak with them. Rolling the window down to talk, “Suite up we got ourselves a mission.” 

Glancing between each other than back at Pope, “The hell you say man, the game’s on tonight, Ben and I were heading to the Roadhouse to watch and see how many times Benny get’s shot down.” 

“Fuck you Ironhead,” punching his brother’s arm, leaning on the mirror hearing your voice muttering something over the truck’s speakers. “Why you talking to Y/N?” 

“No thanks man you ain’t my type too many dangly bits for my taste,” snarking back landing his own punch to Ben’s shoulder.

Rolling his eyes, “Y/N called we got babysitting duty tonight, Frankie’s gonna pop the question but neither know of the other’s plans.” 

Loud cheers erupt from both men to the point Santi must bang on the side of the truck to get their attention to shut up. Having heard you ask something he goes to unmute, “What did you say Y/N I couldn’t make it out over Frick and Frack’s noises assholes selves.” 

Huffing, “I asked if one of you could start a fire for me, Frankie gets weird if he knows I did it myself.” 

“That’s cause last time you tried you almost burned the house down woman,” Pope snarked pushing Benny away 

Coming back, hitting Pope in the chest, “Of course, gorgeous we’ll take care of that for you,” Benny chimes in leaning into the window so you can hear him.  

“Down boy, or you won’t get a slice of the pie I’m making,” chuckling you put the phone down long enough to put said pie in the oven and slam the door making you jump a little. 

Playfully putting his hand to his chest, “Marry me Y/N, Frankie doesn’t deserve you.” 

Both Pope and Will snort at that, but it’s your sweet voice that answers with, “Sorry sweetheart I’m spoken for by a sweet little girl who you’ll babysit tonight and one handsome flyboy that does some very wicked things with his hands.”

Groaning, “Don’t give us any visions please I’ll need bleach to get Fish’s naked ass outta my head,” shaking to get the images out. Laying his forehead on his arms while leaning against the truck trying to rub that idea out of his mind, having come to love you like a sister. Will didn’t want to know anything about your sex life. 

“Aww what’s the matter William you didn’t see enough of it while bunking together on tour?” teasing tone to your voice plopping down in a chair to wait on the pie. “What time will you three Stooges get here?” 

Shrugging, “Twenty or thirty minutes give or take, depends on how long it takes the blond wonder twins to pack a go bag.” Santi answers getting murders looks from both men. 

“Make sure you ask them their measurements Santi,” biting your bottom lip to keep from laughing harder. “Let them know pink won’t clash with their skin tone.” 

The looks only intensify combined with a confusion at your words, “Thanks Annie Oakley.” Groaning head dropping to the steering wheel. “Which reminds me you’ll have to tell us the story of how you learned to use a gun. See ya in a few,” hanging up before you can say anything else and dig his hole deeper. 

“What exactly did she mean by measurements?” crossing his arms over muscular chest, glaring at Pope. 

Resting an arm on his brother’s shoulder, “And pink? Really, I’m more of a coral,” trying to keep from chuckling while giving Pope his own glare. Benny realizing what he’d said at the end and tries to cover with adding, “When did Y/N learn to shoot, better yet where’d she get the gun?”  

Shrugging, “Just found out today, gonna ask when we get there.” Knowing you can handle yourself more concerned that you’ve learned the correct way to handle a gun. Never wanting you to actually have a need to shoot but incase Santiago wants to make sure you wouldn’t hurt yourself. Especially if Frankie didn’t show you or know. His mind rewinding to the fact, “Coral? What the fuck dude? How the hell do you even know what that is?” 

Dying of laughter, Benny turns giving both of them the middle finger salute heading back into the house to grab both his and Will’s go bags. As promised Pope pulled into the driveway thirty minutes later, all three exist, not even bothering to knock just walking right in. Fresh baked goodies and coffee brewing meeting their noses, along with a squeal of excitement from a little blur of yellow and blue. 

“Ukcl Po,” flinging herself into his arms, as he’s crouched down to scoop her up unconcerned with his knees popping, spinning around to her delighted peels of laugher. 

Hugging her close, seeing you come around the corner with an arm load of firewood bright smile on your lips. “Good y’all finally showed up thought I’d have to start the fire myself,” joking tone. Using your elbow to wave them in. 

Will passes Pope and Isabella pausing to ruffle her hair, leaning down to give her a kiss on the forehead then going over to take the arm load from you. Making you roll your eyes reluctantly giving it over when he gives you that stern look. 

“I’m not helpless you know I can move a couple of pieces,” tossing your hands up, smacking Will’s shoulder as he passes. 

Shaking his head, “And have Frankie put us on freeze for letting his woman get hurt. Nope, no thank you ma’am I happen to like having certain body parts stay in respective places.” 

“It’s not Fish you have to worry about rearranging parts Ironhead its Y/N,” bouncing Isabella in his arms smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Ain’t that right Annie Oakley?” grin widening when you turn to scowl at Pope. 

“Careful Santi or you’ll wearing the pink dress,” crossing your arms to glare at both men, as Benny chuckles beside Pope. In between making faces at Isabella, her giggles making beautiful music. 

Rejoining the group after dusting his hands on his jean clad thighs, “Anything else you need done Y/N?” scenting the air a small growl leaving Will’s stomach. 

“You got a bear in there William?” taking Isabella from Pope to put her on your hip while walking back to the kitchen and check on the potatoes. 

Low whistle leaving all three men making heat race up your neck a small squirm moves over your body when they see everything you’ve got planned out for tonight. Steaks siting out ready for the grill along with the corn on the cob, salad finished and chilling in the fridge, and the pie cooling. Out of the corner of your eye you spy Benny going towards the pie. Quickly spinning making Isabella giggle to land a hard smack to his hand. He pulls back quickly puppy eyes in place and howls of laughter from the other two men. 

“Ben Miller how dare you try to stick a finger in my pie,” scowl firmly in place, Isabella matching the look or at least trying to its more adorable than anything. 

Unlike yours which is truly scary and has Ben raising his hands in surrender. “You sure you weren’t in the military gorgeous that look alone would’ve made plenty green recruits wet themselves,” backing up when you go to smack his shoulder.    

“Shame none of you will get a slice now,” placing Isabella in the highchair feeling a rush of air pass you by. Looking up to see all three sitting at the table with pleading looks on their faces. Shaking your head smile sliding over your lips, “You three are the worse right Bella baby?” 

“Ight mama,” nodding her head quickly, clapping her hands in excitement. 

To which Ben leans over to tickle her sides making her squeal even louder. Will and Pope both making silly faces none of them noticing when you pull your cell phone out to take a short video. Sending it to Frankie with the simple words “Our family”. Soft smile gracing your features watching them interact. Your heart expanding in love but also hurting. Wishing, not for the first time, that your own mom and siblings where here. 

“Hey,” calling from his spot. Having looked away so Santi wouldn’t see your eyes, turning to pull plates from the cabinet missing the frown turning down his lips.  Raising to go over, “You, okay?” 

Wanting Frankie there to chase away these thoughts you’ve tried to keep buried. You nod not trusting your voice right then to answer with words. Hating how your mood so quickly shifted spoiling the moment. 

Placing a hand on your shoulder to turn and have you face him, “You know you can tell us, me anything Y/N, we’re your family and family takes care of one another.” 

Taking a deep breath wringing your hands in front of you, knowing he’s right. Seeing for yourself the genuine concern in those deep brown pools. “My thoughts went to having my blood family here, my mom,” turning to look at Isabella, “she would’ve loved her so much.” Glancing up to see both Will and Benny giving you reassuring smiles that accompany nods of affirmation having heard Santiago’s words about family.

“Blood doesn’t always make family sweetheart standing by someone through thick and thin, never giving up, letting them into your heart that’s what makes a family.” Taking Isabella’s little hand in his, Ben looks at you his words making you tear up but this time in a good way. Eyes lingering on the youngest Miller for a bit longer. 

Seeing your tears, “I’d cry to if I looked at Benny’s ugly mug, got a face only a mother could love,” trying to lighten the mood. Hearty laughter filling the kitchen when you toss a balled-up towel at Will’s head. Landing perfectly over his face getting high pitched giggles from Isabella.     

“Thank you,” sincerity laced through you tone giving both Miller boys a smile once the towel is off Will’s face. Turning back to Pope to pat his chest, giving him the same smile. “Grab the coffee for me Santi please, looks like I’ve got a pie to cut into.” 

With a two-finger sloppy salute and a kiss to your cheek, Santi grabs the glass coffee pot from the maker, sugar and cream sitting nearby. “Anytime cariño, anytime.” 

Each with their hands full come to the table setting various items down, coffee poured, and pie sliced out with a heavy dollop of Reddi-whip atop. Moans of pleasure leave all three men, along with compliments and praise for your baking skills. Benny proposing once again which you turn down of course. Everyone tucking in after that first bite including Isabella who has more cream on her cheeks, chin, nose and shirt than her mouth. Her babbling on about different things while enjoying her pie. Brought a warmth to your heart, a rightness you hadn’t felt in your life till now. 

Reaching over to wipe off her face, the smile gracing your lips made all three men grin. Santi pulls his phone out to take a couple of pictures to send to Frankie later, knowing he’d want to see them. Hearing the tale tell sound of a camera going off makes your head whip around. 

Hating to have your picture taken when it’s needed, “Really I look like shit Santi and you’re taking pictures?” though you try to be mad at him, you fail knowing he’s doing it for Frankie. 

“Shit…” little voice states making all four grownups turn to look at her, eyes wide before busting out laughing. 

“You’re fault mama bear, I can’t wait till I tell Fish,” gripping the table to keep from falling from his chair laughing, fist banging the hard wood making the plates and forks jump around. 

Face going into your hands to hide your embarrassment from the boys, all of whom can’t stop the gruff laughter from bubbling up in their chests. Worried, Isabella reaches out with a pie covered hand to touch your arm. “Oh, ta mama?” sticky fingers patting quickly. 

Looking over at her you reach to taking her face in your hands, smile breaking through the embarrassment, to kiss her forehead. “I’m okay baby girl, your uncles are just evil is all,” giving her a wink that makes another peel of laughter leave her lips. Turing to Pope, “I may have to make good on that threat to hurt you by shooting you.” 

Still laughing, Santi shakes his head never feeling more at home or free than when he’s surround by his family. Eyes crinkling, he sends a wink to Isabella before fixing his eyes on you. “Speaking of which you never told me who taught you.” 

“Must you know all my secrets Pope?” teasing light entering your eyes that fixed on the man. With a heavy fake sigh, seeing the concern under the mirth, you answer. “My brother actually taught me years ago. Frankie took me to the range for practice a couple of times but we ah,” looking at Isabella she covers the little girl’s ears. “We got banned from the place,” giving them a shrug noticing the way all three were giving you a weird look. “Who knew Frankie like’s a woman who could handle a gun. He got handsy and one thing led to another…” smirk sliding over your lips. 

“Stop, stop, stop I beg you,” from Will.

Waving his hands before covering his ears, humming “It’s the end of the world as we know it” trying to get what he just heard from his head. “That’s so wrong,” from Benny. 

Santiago didn’t look to fazed just a grin on his lips, “That’s Frankie for ya. Should ah known he’s kinky as fu…” 

Whipping around to smack Pope before he can finish that word, “Language Garcia.” 

“Hey, you said a bad word,” winking at Isabella who clapped her pie covered hands at her uncle Pope. “How good a shot are you?” 

Snorting, “Not nearly what Frankie can do but I managed to land a few head and chest shots before it got a little too hot and bothered.” Laughing when all three groan while you rise to pick Isabella up, “Fire please boys and light the grill too while I get baby girl here cleaned up and ready.” 

“As long as you stop talking about yours and Fish’s sex life, I’ll do anything you ask,” Benny begs standing, grabbing the empty plates and mugs. Trying to push the thoughts running through his mind on film reel. 

 Pausing by the kitchen door leading towards the bedrooms, “Careful Ben I might have to take you up on that one. There’s gutters needing cleaned and a garage plus the house needs repainting,” giving him a mischievous smirk at his groan. Pausing to place a chase kiss to his stubbled cheek in thanks for cleaning up. 

“If anyone is evil it’s you woman, go,” waving his free hand at you. “Get our little princess cleaned up we’ll handle this,” heading to the sink to wash dishes. Will heading to the living room to start the fire and Pope out the back door to get the grill going for you. 

Standing there a moment tears pricking the back of your eyes, “Our family little one.” Heading then to her bedroom to change and clean the sticky pie from her hands and face. Coming back out ten minutes later a sugar high little girl running ahead of you and into Will. Who scoops her up holding her against his chest.  

“Y’all might be in for it tonight with sugar baby there,” giving them an apologetic look, handing off Isabella’s backpack filled with cloths and the reusable grocery bag with food to Ben. Giving him a tight hug first, moving to Pope before ending with Will and Isabella giving your little girl a kiss on the forehead. “No, tattoo’s or piercings,” jokingly said a hitch in your voice at seeing her go. 

It's the first time she’ll sleep somewhere that’s not her room it makes your chest tighten in worry. Though you know good well that all three men would protect her with their lives. 

Slinging an arm around your shoulder as you all walk outside, “Don’t worry Y/N we got this have a good time tonight and know that Isa is taken care of.” 

“Three men and a baby huh?” recalling Pope’s earlier comment. “My only question? Which one of you is Tom Selleck?” trying to shake the nerves, using jokes to set everyone including yourself at ease. 

“Who and what are you talking about?” Benny chimed in opening the back door of the truck to place Isabella in her car seat. 

“Guttenberg,” saying the same thing together, you and Pope laugh wrapping an arm around your shoulders for a half hug placing a kiss to your temple. “You’re too young to remember plus it’s chick flick,” quickly moving away from your pinching fingers. 

“They’ve finally cracked, I don’t know what did it but they’ve cracked I tell ya,” Ben playfully mourned only to have Will slam the door almost in his face. 

 “Guess that leaves you as Selleck and me Danson,” Will snarks with a roll of his eyes. “Let’s get this jalopy rollin the Roadhouse waits.” 

“Don’t you even,” giving him a dirty look to which Will just grins, closing the door before you can throw anything at him. “Keep those two in line please Santi.” 

Chuckling, “Don’t worry cariño, princesa is in good hands,” stepping away Pope turns to give you one last wave. “See you tomorrow sometime, just ah let us know when you’re done fuckin don’t want to bring Isa back too soon.” Ducking the mound of dirt you toss at him with a smile on his devilishly handsome face. 

With a wave, you watch them go sigh leaving your lips feeling a little lost without Isabella around. Pocket vibrating breaks you from those thoughts, the guitar solo at the beginning of Angel by Aerosmith starts to play making you smile. Frankie asked you when you made it his ringtone why you picked a song that’s more suited for your ringtone. Shaking your head arms wrapped around his neck explaining that he’s your angel who saved you from yourself. Showing you that despite your size, the past you had you’re worth loving worth cherishing. It took a while for you to actually believe him but once you did, having Frankie Morales as your angel did wonders for your confidence and self-love.

“Hello, my angel,” answering while heading back too inside to get the steaks on the grill and check on the fireplace.   

Leaning against the metal outside wall, one leg bend to press into the builds side, “I think you have that backwards hermosa.” Deep chuckle sounding from his lips, making you shiver despite the warmth of the house. “Pope come get our little one?” 

A shiver of pleasure runs down your body at the sound of his voice, smile blooming widely. “Nope flyboy, my angel happens to actually have metal wings,” giggling leaning against the counter for a moment. “He did, enlisted the help of Benny and Will for the night too,” checking the clock to see you have just enough time to get the steaks and corn grilled along with a quick shower. “Can I expect you at the normal time?” hoping that his asshole boss wouldn’t keep Frankie any longer than a few minutes. 

Bent knee shaking to a beat that’s none existent. His nerves shouldn’t eat at him but the small velvet box rattling around in his pocket gets heavier by the moment. Pulling it out to flip the top still a little unsure if you’ll truly like it. Sunlight caught the round cut chocolate diamond, simply done in rose gold with two trellis of white diamonds cascade down either side. Having bought the ring months back, paying it off a little at a time. Getting lucky by sneaking one of your much-loved rings out to get it sized and back before you noticed it missing. Even hint asking to find out what kind of gems you preferred. Surprised when you tell him about the chocolate diamond. Finding the beautiful stone on a birthday present run with your best friend to the local jewelry store. One that almost matched his eyes and reminded you of him. Soft blush dusted his cheeks at your words that night when you explained tucking away that tidbit of information for later. 

As later came, he went to that very jeweler finding the perfect ring he hoped you’ll love. Above that he prays you’ll say yes to being his wife and mother to his daughter. The very thought of you saying no constricts his heart in a vise grip. One he’s sure will squeeze the organ till there’s nothing left but a hole where you once resided. 

“Frankie?” frowning when no answer comes from the other side of the line. “Everything all right flyboy?” 

Clearing his throat and closing the ring box to stow it back in his pants pocket, “Yes, mi amor everything’s perfect. Sam time as usual, since all the work’s completed there’s just clean up and inventory left.” 

“Don’t be too long baby I’ll have dinner waiting for us, I’ve got a date after all,” teasing tone that’s touched by humor. Knowing you could take this one of two ways and deciding on the provoking one. “My book boyfriend is lonely without me.” 

Groaning, shaking his head and readjusting the cap covering his hair, “Woman you’re teasing again remember what happened this morning when you tormented me. The promise I made you?” Licking his lips at the very thought, “I’m getting my dessert tonight and making you scream my name for everyone to hear.” 

“Promises, promises flyboy I think you’re all talk and no action,” knowing you shouldn’t be teasing him but couldn’t help yourself. Especially when that sexy growl vibrates over the phone making you weak kneed. 

Smiling, Frankie pushes away from the wall needing to get back to work so he could get home to you. “No promise sweetheart just facts,” hating to hang up. “I’ve gotta go mi amor, see you tonight, I love you.” 

“I love you to Frankie, I’ll see you tonight. Now go finish work there’s a present waiting for you when you get home.” Biting your bottom lip, insecurities rising like bile in that back of your throat. Hope and fear warring in your mind after hanging up with Frankie.   

Trying not to dwell on those thoughts while getting the steaks and corn cooked. Once finished you add them to the oven along side the potatoes on warm. Stopping in the living room to check the fireplace and arrange the blankets laying them out for maximum comfort. Heading to the shower to clean up quickly. 

Thirty minutes later, body lotions, hair dry and lingerie in place, putting his camo robe over. You check for what felt like the hundredth time the clock on the wall. Seconds ticking by till Frankie comes home and you’re desperately trying to choose a spot for him to find you in. Laying first by the fire but figuring that didn’t look right. Choosing next to lean against the entrance wall just shy of the door, shaking that idea off as it could expose you to anyone walking down the side walk. The kitchen popped up just causally draped over a chair or the counter. Sighing in frustration when none of the places look right. Till that proverbial lightbulb goes off and your grabbing the book you’ve read for the last couple of nights. Laying on the couch, one leg bent at the knee to show off your bare legs, robe open just enough to display a touch of cleavage and the book open but you’re not really reading. 

Listening for the moment you hear the key slide home into lock, door opening, “Y/N, hermosa where you hiding?” Voice deep and soothing to your nerves a smile tugging your lips upward at the frustrated growl that reverberates from his chest. 

Itching to raise up, show yourself to him but the imp side has you staying in place on display for him. Catching the sound of boots toed off, keys dropped in the little ceramic bowel. Tracking his sock covered footsteps guessing he’s peeked into the kitchen when a soft groan meets your ears. Letting you know his nose took in the smell of dinner. Bottom lip caught between your teeth again patience wearing thin as excitement courses through your veins. Bare foot dancing to the tune of nerves as you peek over to see Frankie’s shadow in the kitchen. Hearing the oven open then close smirk sliding over your lips as another rumble of a groan sounds. 

Soft giggles touch his ears, strong legs eat the distance from the kitchen into the living room. Seeing the fireplace alight, “Please tell me you didn’t…” train of thought crashing when his eyes drop to see you laid out so beautifully for him. Pink tongue coming out to wet his lips, chocolate pools darkening, the twitching in his jeans making itself known. 

Growing even more pronounced with the slow trek your eyes take. Starting at his waist, couch hiding anything lower from your view, licking your lips to trap the bottom one between your teeth. Seemingly a permanent home for the abused lip. Trailing over his shirt covered chest, thick tanned neck that your wanting to nibble. Over his strong jaw and patchy beard, smirk in place when you see his lips parted in shock. Though a part of you worried it’s more because of how little you’re wearing, baring your thick, curvy body to his eyes. However, those thoughts died a very painful death as heat slips into its place with how he’s truly looking at you. 

Unable to keep the gasp from leaving your lips with how desire darken his eyes have become, the crinkling of leather meeting your ears. Making your eyes drop to the callused hands gripping the back of the couch so tightly, knuckles white with the tension and you wonder for a moment if it’ll be ripping soon. Returning your eyes to his, making sure he’s still watching when you return to reading that same paragraph you’ve tried to finish for the last twenty minutes. Loud growl is the only warning you get before the paper bound volume in your hands is ripped away and tossed over his shoulder. 

“Frankie,” trying to infuse a little bit of anger into your cadence. But to your own ears it just sounds breathless and needy. Swallowing hard you rise knowing the robe is opened more baring your black lace covered breasts to his gaze. Going to stand but a hand on your shoulder stops you, sliding down to your arm and tugging you to turn. Kneeling into the couch, the only thing between you both except clothing of course. “Dinner’s ready.” 

Still staring at you, drinking in the sight of your body half exposed to his eyes. Chest raising quickly with every breath you take, the soft smile on your lips that you lick and make him groan. “I don’t want dinner mi amor,” placing hands on either shoulder to push the robe from your body. 

Pooling at your waist the knot still holds fast, “Oh than what do you want mi Rey?” 

“You,” simple word never held so much need and want packed into one syllabi, eyes held to yours. Palms sliding over your skin, talented fingers brush under the lace strap perched on your shoulder. Drawing it down to rest on your bicep, breath hitching when he leans in to place a kiss to where it previously resided. 

Hands going to cup the back of his neck, toying with the short curls under the baseball cap. Head lulling to the side, giving him access to the sensitive skin of your neck. Taking advantage and rubbing his lips over the soft skin. Bearded cheek tickling, making your squirm wanting to pull away but also enjoying the slight burn. One arm stay’s at his neck while the other moves between your bodies giving a little push to his chest. Making another growl vibrate through his body and into yours. Arms coming around your waist to pull you even closer. Teeth ghosting that little spot just under your ear he knows will make you weak. Placing his lips right there to suck a mark while his hands drop to palm your ass and squeeze. A touch of frustration sings through his veins at not having you pressed against his body fully. 

Trying to gather your scattered wits, body thumping with a desperate need, “Frankie,” short whine leaving a dry throat, you try to push him back once more. Not really wanting him to move but the position your both in is only making things difficult. 

“Want me to stop?” Breathing the words into your ear, warm air making a shiver race down your spine. 

Whimpering, “No, but I’d much rather want you closer and not this couch between us.” Loosening his grip on your body, you reluctantly pull back grabbing his ball cap along the way. Soft giggle leaving your lips as you dart out of the reach of his hands. Almost slipping from the couch backwards, managing to catch yourself and get up while placing the cap on your head. Eyeing Frankie as he stands where you left him though leaning forward, as if to jump over the couch to get to you. 

Swallowing hard, heat rising over your skin in the best of ways with how he’s staring at you. An idea pops into your head, fingers going to the knot at your waist. His eyes following the path pausing for a moment to take in your heaving chest, nipples pebbled tight beneath the lace. Licking his lips at the sight before trailing lower to watch with held breath. While nimble fingers untie the knot, letting the Terry cloth fall to pool at your bare feel. Hands itching to wrap around your nearly naked form. To hide from those slowly tracing eyes. 

That make there way back up to your face, hunger, desire, love all warring deeply in those swirling dark chocolate eyes. “Hermosa esposa,” (Beautiful wife.) words spoken almost reverently. Drinking in the sight of your body, wrapped in sheer black lace that hides nothing from his eyes, wearing his much loved ball cap.  Only served to have a streak of possessiveness dance across his mind. Bottom lip caught between his teeth eyes watching caught in the trance that is your beauty with every step you take. 

Swallowing, your feet having a mind of there own as they make the short trek around the couch to stop just shy of reaching him. “Like what you see Frankie?” Worrying your bottom lip, nerves have you fidgeting under the intense stare. Keeping your hands at your sides first then clasping them behind your back. The action pushing your chest out which draws his attention, trying to keep himself from drooling. 

Knowing you’ve said something, asked him a question but his brain doesn’t fire off any response. Instead he steps forward, brushing his fingers over your collarbone, touch light as those deliciously callused digits ghost the skin of your shoulders and down your arms. Wrapping strong limbs around your thick waist to haul you against his strong frame. Gasp leaves your lips that he takes advantage of and swoops in for a kiss that’s anything but delicate. 

Fierce and demanding, pressing his mouth to yours leading with his tongue that goes in to taste and mate with yours. Toying with the muscle before sucking harshly, tasting coffee, something sweet and a flavor that’s all your own. Pulling a moan from deep within your chest that bubbles up at the same time your arms wrap around Frankie’s neck. Pulling him closer wanting to merge the two of you together. His strong body pressing you into the couch, wondering for a moment when you turned, but not caring. As his kiss stole all thought and reason from your mind, turning you to mush in his arms. 

Air becoming a needed commodity making the two of you break apart gasping and resting your foreheads together. “Cariño you can’t wear things like this when I come home.” Pulling back just a little only too groan at the innocently sexy expression in your eyes. 

“Surprise,” tugging at the curls getting a low grunt from the man wrapped around you. “So next time you rather I’m naked spread out on the kitchen table?” Teasingly running your hands up and down his back. Stopping to slide both hands in the back pockets of his jeans, cupping his ass to bring him against your pelvis. 

“Mierda,” head dropping to your shoulder, the bite of the zipper against his cock making him hiss. Needing inside you wanting to make you sing his name for everyone to hear. Panting for breath, “The guys find out about that and they will never eat at the table again.” 

Soft giggles brush his ear, turning your head to press your lips to the shell, “You did say I was your dessert.” 

“I did, didn’t I,” wicked smirk sliding over his lush lips, wrapping one of your legs around his waist to rock against your soaked panty covered folds. Letting you feel how hard you’ve made him, the throb of his shaft beating a rhythm only you can dance too. 

Head tossing back at the feeling, you use that leg to pull him impossibly closer rocking your hips slowly. Lips pressed against his neck, flicking your tongue out to taste the sweat tinged musky skin. Hands moving to his shoulders under the fabric of the red and black plaid to push it from his body down his arms and adding it to the growing pile. Tracing little patterns over his chest soft smirk in place when your fingers brush over his nipples making him hiss at the contact. Lower to the hem of his beige t-shirt clinging to his skin, sliding your fingers under the fabric to tease the warm flesh. 

“I’m your surprise baby, you’re in charge of where this goes,” low growl leaves his lips at your words, making your head spin in desire. That floods your panties with slick and a need to have the man standing in front of you. 

Hands start to dance up his chest, when he bends cupping your ass with both hands and hauling you against his body tighter. Looking over your shoulder to see blankets spread out over the floor in front of the roaring fireplace. “That for us sweetheart?” You nod as he trails one hand around to slide between your thighs and over the soaked gusset of your panties sliding two fingers under the edge and over your puffy swollen lips. “This all because of me?” 

 “You’re to smug Morales,” bitting your bottom lip to keep from moaning. Hips however have a mind of their own as they rock over his questing fingers. “You know that book boyfriend is kinda talented…” rest of the sentence swallowed by the moan exited from your throat. Dropping your forehead to his shoulder a shutter racking your frame with the teasing slide of those thick work calluses fingers through your soaked folds. 

Circling your clit with the tips to give a jolting pinch at the mention of your ‘other’ boyfriend. “Seems I have some competition,” dark chuckle leaving his throat at the same time a whimper leaves yours when he pulls his fingers free to suck clean. Helping you place the leg from his waist to the floor before taking you over to the fireplace. 

Shivers skate across your body at the deep cadence of his tone, the dark promise of what he’s got planned making slick flood your core and drip down your quivering thighs. Fascinated by how deep his chocolate browns have become while staring into those beloved eyes.  

Soft gasp pulled from the back of your throat with his hand upping your cheek, brushing his fingers over the soft skin, free arm wrapping around your waist to pull you flush against him. “When did you get this little number? Better yet why didn’t you take me with you while picking it out?” Dropping his head to the crook of your neck nose brushing over your skin, drawing in the jasmine scent that’s burned into his memory as yours alone. Making his cock throb dangerously. 

Swallowing harshly, “A few weeks ago,” head lulling to the side to give him access. Your own hands returning to that patch of skin just under his shirt. Short nails leaving little tracks over his flesh, marking him as yours. “I ordered it online, first time I’ve worn it other than trying on.” 

“Next time I’m gonna be there to watch you try things on,” nibbling kisses dot your neck and shoulder. His path haphazardly moving to the hollow of your throat, biting down on the sensitive skin and leaving his own purpling mark behind. Sweet moans leave you lips a shiver of arousal pours through your veins at the thought of everyone knowing who you belong to. 

“I’d never get anything tried on if your there flyboy,” nickname rolling off your tongue, brushing your hands higher dragging the shirt with wanting it off. Tracing little patterns with your fingers to brush over both nipples. Making another sharp hiss leave his lips that rest against your collarbone. Breath fanning out hot and moist over your body trying to focus on giving you pleasure. Yet  with each brush of those skillful hands he finds himself getting weaker to your advances. Desperately needing inside you, all those lovely noises you make music to his ears. Taking advantage of the moment you pull back to tug his shirt off tossing it somewhere behind you. Pausing to admire the man who’s captured your heart. Drinking in the sight of his tanned skin, soft yet muscular body gleaming in the firelight. 

You’re truly in awe of this man and so caught up tracing each piece of him you don’t realize he’s stepped closer till warm hands grip your waist. Inching the sheer lace up your body till he gets a peek at the lacy black matching cheeky panties your wearing. Hands gliding around to cup your ass, giving you a hard squeeze, drawing another moan from your lips. Eyes sliding closed as your body sways to lean against him. “Your right cariño you wouldn’t because you don’t need these lacy clothes to tease me. Your mire present does that. You make me rock hard and all you have to do is whisper my name.” Voice taking on an octave lower, filled with a longing and love for you alone. 

“Frankie,” voice low, filled with a deep arousal you try to contain, his words making your heart flutter with love. Knees weakening to the point your sagging against him. Wanting to state the fact he’s got the same power over you. Voice like silk over your skin, making butterflies flutter in your tummy, tingles dance through your body and heat pools low, dampening your panties. “That damn voice.” 

Dark chuckle leaves his lips, hands coming back to bunch the lace in his fists to pull it from your body, joining his shirt. He takes one step back to return the admiration of your body. Fire light dancing off the dips and valleys, highlighting the stiff peaks of your nipples begging for his mouth to worship the soft swells of your breasts and tummy.  How your shyly try to turn away but stay still at the same time. The down turn of your chin however makes a frown appear and a dangerous growl leave his chest. 

Reaching out two fingers to grip your chin raising it and making you look into his eyes. “Beautiful mi amor, you’re stunning, never think you have to hide your body from me,” letting go of your chin to trace a path down your cheek, between the valley of your breasts and around your waist. Pulling you flush against him, feeling his rough body hairs brushing against your softer skin. The satisfaction of having him pressed so intimately soothes all the nerves and dark thoughts making them run squealing back to where they came from. The affirmation of his words through his touch sets your blood on fire with a need to please him. To show him how thankful to have him in your life rises like a tidal wave. 

Cresting the moment you lean in starting to place kisses along his jawline, searching for every spot that draws a moan from his lips. However, Frankie doesn’t let you get very far instead he pulls you back, helping you to sit on the pallet of blankets before the fire. On his knees, he takes the cap from your head placing it on the coffee table behind him. Cupping your cheeks between his large hands, watching you watch him. To lean in for a kiss that’s so achingly tender it has a shiver running over your body that’s got nothing to do with being cold. Arms going around his neck to pull him against you. Teasing the tip of his tongue against the seam of your lips that you open on a sigh. 

Taking that moment to slip his tongue into the warm cavern of your mouth. Tangling your tongues together as your noses brush and angle trying to find the right place to draw in air without having to break apart. When he does your bottom lip becomes caught between his teeth, nibbling the delicate skin, gathering air to dive back in. This time it’s deeper, demanding those little moans from you. He’s rewarded with one that’s dragged from the depths of your soul making a smile tug at the edges against his lips. 

Both gasping for breath, clinging to each other, he noses your chin, running his lips over the delicate skin searching out your mouth again. Drunk on your kisses, the feeling of your hands fisting in his hair, clutching him closer. “Lay back for me hermosa,” opening his eyes to stare at you. Seeing the indecision war with the need to give instead of receive. “You said I’m in charge tonight right?” Nodding not trusting your voice to anything other than totally wrecked right now. “Use your words mi alma.” 

“Yes,” swallowing thickly seeing the desire darkened chocolate eyes bore into your own. A shiver skating across your body at the promise those beloved eyes held. “Yes, I did my love, but you don’t…” he doesn’t let you finish that thought. 

Instead pressing his lips back against yours unhurried. Taking slow sips from your mouth, nibbling your lips, dipping into the warm cavern for little tastes. Making whimpers of need push from your chest as you rub your thighs together for some kind of friction. Warm work roughen hands cup your breasts, giving the soft globes a gentle squeeze. His thumbs circle the peeking nipples before trapping it between it and the index finger. Giving a hard pinch that’s just this side of pleasurable pain. The little tug  going straight to your core, knowing you love how he’s playing you body. Making your back arch against his hand a mewl of need leaving your lips. 

Abandoning your mouth to trail nibbling kisses across your jawline, “I want to mi amor, you’re a goddess and I’m here to worship at your temple.” Breath falling over your neck as those words have a shiver running down your body. Heating the skin, heart thumping behind your rib cage he traces with those wicked fingertips. 

Moving between your legs, rough blue jean fabric abrading the inside of your thighs as he hovers over you. Watching with passion filled eyes, tongue coming out to wet those kiss swollen lips you know you’ll never get enough of. Arms go to wrap around his neck to pull him down to you, but he shakes his head taking both wrists in one of his large hands to place them above your head. 

“Leave them right there sweetheart because if you touch me now I won’t get to taste you,” desperation laces his voice making the cadence drop an octave and drawing a shuttering breath from your lungs. 

Never have you seen this look in those beloved eyes as the one right now, pinning you to the blanket covered floor. Body squirming under that dark gaze, thighs rubbing as fresh slick coats your already drenched panties. “Please,” back arching to press your chest into his hands, desperate to have him in some kind of way. Not above begging to get what you want either, “Frankie I need you,” words coming out on a needy whimper. 

“Patience mi amor I’m a starving man who’s just discovered his favorite dessert,” lips tipped up in a smirk. Resuming his path over your skin. Leaving goosebumps in his wake of teeth nibbling your flesh, sucking kisses placed in spots he knows only serve to make you moan and sigh. His name a whimpered plea from your bitten lips. 

Till reaching the mounds of your breasts, taking one taut nipple between his lips. Sucking sharply and receiving a keening moan that surges straight to his cock. The throbbing pulse robbing a grunt from his chest though he tries to stay unaffected. Your breathy gasps and mewling whimpers start to drive him crazy with passion. Switching to the neglected breast while tugging with his fingers on the abandoned one. Tip of his tongue flicking over the peeked nipple before biting down at the same time his fingers tug the twin. Remembering how sensitive your breasts are and playing them like a skilled master. 

His teasing pulls another shuttering breath from your lungs, sweat glistening over your body. Warmth filling your belly with those familiar tingles, your eyes fluttering shut for a moment drinking in the pleasure Frankie brings to your body. Short gasps and moans leave your parted lips as you try to brag air in your starving lungs. Feeling the first strings of an orgasm start to sing through your veins, knowing he’s trying to kill you sweetly with his mouth. Only to have your eyes fly open and look down when he bites the gentle swell of your tummy. Nuzzling the soft flesh with his nose, his eyes lock with yours. Fingers grasping the band of your panties to peel them down. 

Placing kisses over each inch that’s bared to his hungry gaze. Tongue swirling around your belly button to dip in and nip before placing a kiss just before your soaked, puffy cunt. Impatience rides him hard, wanting to rip the flimsy material from your body. But also wanting you to wear them again. Biting back a groan of frustration he moves to the side pulling the fabric from your body, flinging it behind him. Pausing to taking in your beauty even as you squirm under the intense look in those gorgeous eyes. 

So enrapt by your beauty he doesn’t notice your hands coming down to shield yourself feeling a little self-conscious, till they partially cover your breasts. “Don’t,” the word coming out on a sharp growl that has your eyes snapping back to his. “Don’t ever feel like you have to hide from me Y/N. You’re gorgeous mi amor,” voice rough with unspoken emotions that show in the tight clinch of his jaw. Eyes that drink in every inch of your plush body. 

One hand intertwine’s with yours to bring down against the prominent bulge in his jeans. Hissing when you cup his shaft and squeeze. “You feel what you do to me cariño, what your body does to me?” Seeing you nod, swallowing hard as your fingers tip toe up to above the waist band of his jeans. Drawing your nails lightly over his tummy, watching as he sucks in then exhales making you smile. 

Nimble fingers making quick work with the button and zipper, hand slipping inside the material feeling the throb of his cloth covered cock against the tips of your fingers. Before he pushes them away making you pout at the loss. “Put that lip away sweetheart you’ll get your chance later,” smirk making its way back over his handsome features. Hands placed over your collarbone to draw them down over your curves pausing to dip his head down. Drawing his teeth over the soft flesh of your hips, hands sliding under you to cup your ass. Giving the generous globes a squeeze while sliding down to his belly. 

Groaning when the blanket covered floor makes contact with his erection, moist breath panting over the skin of your hip. Forehead resting on your lower belly to gather himself for a moment. Savoring the softness of your body under him, filling his work roughened hands. Lips worshiping the parts of you that at times make you want to cover and hide. Dipping his tongue along your folds grinning when another keening moan leaves your mouth on a gasp. Back arching to meet his mouth, one arm presses you back down wrapping around your thigh to hold you in place. 

Using those skilled fingers to tease the pearl of your clit. Bullying the little nub with light circling pressure that has stars bursting behind your tightly closed libs. Teeth baring to sink into the flesh of your thigh, leaving marks behind for you to feel tomorrow when your walking a little funny because of him. Repeating the same treatment to the twin thigh while semi ignoring the place you want him most. Only those talented fingers keep with light touches. That serve to drive you crazy with need and want. Trying to buck against him silently demanding more but held in place by his strong arms around your thick thighs. Baring your pussy to his gaze, licking his lips he leans forward to draw just the tip of his tongue from entrance to clit through your folds. Making a soft scream leave your body, smirk sliding back into place. 

That’s still there when you raise your head to look down at him, “Pay back baby…” gasping unable to form the last few words as his fingers have spread your folds. His lips attaching to your clit and sucking harshly, tongue flicking like the beating wings of a hummingbird. Another scream bouncing off the walls as your first orgasm rushes through your system catching you by surprise. Gasping for breath, fingers fisting the blankets below you, tight coil having sprung so quickly your eyes rolled back into your head. 

“Hmm that’s one hermosa I think you can give me another before you take my cock,” chuckling the vibrations shooting through your body making you shake. You try to answer, the words disappear on another whimper, body sensitive to his touches. 

Frankie unwraps his right hand from your thigh, fingers teasing along the seam of your body where thigh meets pelvis. Watching with hooded eyes as you gasp once more trying to collect yourself. Though he doesn’t give you a moment to think, sliding one finger inside your fluttering walls, thrusting slowly. Left hand spreading your folds as his tongue attacks your clit, slowly this time. Giving light little kitten licks, circling with the pointed tip before flicking the throbbing pearl. Crooking the finger inside you to press that little spot with each pass. Adding a second to stretch you open, groaning against your folds, “So tight for me mi amor, every fucking time, God.” Eyes dropping down to watch his fingers disappear inside your tight quivering walls. Curses leaving his lips in broken Spanish his hips rutting against the floor needing relief from the throbbing of his cock. 

He stays transfixed by the sigh of your cunt taking his fingers, the wet sounds with each thrust, the way your thighs shake around him. He adds a third finger, your voice meeting his ears. Though all he can make out if his name and please. Sparing a glance upward his breath catching at what he’s witnessing. Your hands cupping and massaging both your breasts, fingers tugging and pinching the nipples in time with his fingers. The sight burned into his memory one he’ll gladly keep and try to repeat many times over. Seeing you so wanton and free like this bolsters his ego knowing he’s the reason your on display in such a manner. Even as a spark of possessiveness cuts through never wanting anyone else to experience you in this way. 

Sensing eyes watching you, you raise your head to insnare his gaze, licking your lips slowly as your breath catches. Tingles dancing over your body at the way he’s mastered your pleasure. Giving you just what you need and when. Feeling almost as full with his fingers as with his cock though you crave having him deep inside you. But also knowing he won’t give you those desires till you’ve cum once more. Head dropping your back bows when his talented lips seal over your clit. Tongue lapping at the little nub and drawing different patterns to make you see stars explode behind those closed lids. His name chanted to the ceiling while those wicked fingers draw out your pleasure with each stroke and crook. Brushing that hidden spot no man other than Frankie has ever found. A moaning, withering mess under the man’s skilled mouth and hands. That coil tightening in your belly threatening to snap any second. 

Caught between wanting the delicious torture to end but also to continue being the pleasurable pain masochist you’ve become. All at once it becomes too much and not enough, hands shoot down to clutch at Frankie’s head. Tugging his hair and pressing him closer as your orgasm washes over you, his name a scream ripped from your mouth. Breath gasping from your lungs, body shattering around his tongue and fingers. You try to push him away, cunt oversensitive  from the two orgasms he’s brought you. 

Yet he continues tormenting you, with slow thrusts of his fingers, little laps of his tongue. Drawing out your orgasm, working you through each shuttering after shock. Till your spent, hands dropping to your side, eyes closed as you trying to control your breathing. Pulling his drenched fingers from your quivering walls to suck them clean. Humming in satisfaction at your tangy essence, placing one more kiss to your quivering clit making you jump at the contact and moan at the feel, proud chuckle leaving Frankie’s glistening lips. 

Placing kisses as he moved up your body, hovering over you once more. A shutter racing over his frame when your legs wrap around his trim waist, feet crossing at the small of his back to press his swollen jeans covered cock against your tender folds. 

“You’re pretty proud of yourself huh Morales?” Lashes fluttering just peeking up at him to see the smirk forming on his lips. Wanting to be cross with him for all the teasing but couldn’t summing the energy. Fingers carding through his hair tugging at the mahogany strands to bring his mouth down against yours. Tasting the remains of your essence when your tongue dips into his mouth. Mating with his in a dance that pulls a groan from the man above you. 

Hands tracing patterns over his back feeling the muscles shift, short nails lightly digging into his skin as your hips rut in slow circles against his groin. Your own smirk forming when you feel the shutter roll down his body. Detaching his mouth from yours to rest your foreheads together, breath fanning over your face as he tries to hold back just a bit longer. “Now who’s proud of themselves hermosa?”       

Giving a small shrug, one hand coming around to glide up his chest. Brushing over his nipple before wrapping around his neck. “I’d say it’s pretty equal now. Though you’re a little over dressed my love,” free hand sliding down to his ass and giving a squeeze. 

Wrapping his arms around you, Frankie rolls the both of you over, hands going to behind his head. Dark eyes watching you sit up, straddling his waist, wet folds pressing against his throbbing cock. “Undress me princesa.” 

 “Do I get to take my time with you flyboy?” Leaning down to place a chaste kiss to his lips, making sure you rub your body against his. Knowing he’s having a hard time containing himself, catching the way his hands are fisting under his head. “I could really draw this out, pay you back,” with each word you place a kiss. Starting just under his chin, to the pulse point on his neck. Nibbling that little spot for a moment to suck a mark. Moving on to flick each nipple, giving little bites to his sternum. Feeling rather than hearing the growl vibrate through his chest. 

Glancing up to ensnare his eyes, lips pressing into his tummy more times than there are words. Nuzzling the thin line of wiry hair leading down and under his jeans. “Oh look a map it’s a little thin but it seems to lead me to what I want.” Grinning at the groan echoing from his throat, rubbing your cheek into his skin. 

Fingers making quick work of the button, slowly lowering the zipper, hands slipping under the fabric to push from his hips. Leaving his boxer briefs on for now while working those sinfully sexy jeans from his body, depositing the behind you. Sitting on your knees between his legs, drinking in the sight  of your love. Running the palms of your hands up his calves to strong trembling thighs, fingers edging the stretchy material that hides little from your imagination. Bracing one hand on his hip you lean down to kiss the very visible patch of wetness. Knowing the crown of his cock rests beneath, lips much like this morning teasing the sensitive head. As your fingers tip toe up to pull down the band of his underwear. Baring his shaft to your hungry glaze, yanking the undergarment down his legs and straddling his right thigh. Rubbing yourself over the quivering muscle that flex’s with the touch of your wet cunt against his skin. 

“Shit ba… baby please,” whimper leaving his lips at the feel of your soft lips brushing over the crown. Warm breath making him twitch in need, hands having come from under his head to fist the blankets below. Knowing he won’t last long with how your teasing and tormenting him. Eyes rolling to the back of his head when the warmth of your mouth engulfs the crown. Free hand stroking his shaft, pulling the foreskin back to reveal the sensitive cock head to your lips. Tongue finding that one little spot just under the crown which never fails to make him lose his shit.

Hips thrusting upwards filling your gapping jaw having prepared yourself for that very moment and relaxed to take him down. Saliva dripping from the corners of your mouth, coating your fingers helping to lubricate your movements. A whine leaves the back of your throat when Frankie pulls you off his cock, catching sigh of the wrecked look on his face. The trembling of his body, the curses slipping from his lips in a mix of Spanish and English. 

“Can’t wait hermosa, need to be inside you, need you to ride me,” voice desperate and cracking. Not pausing in his movements to line you up, knees on either side of his waist. Like a rag doll you let him position you where he wants, not coming back to yourself till you feel the bunt tip of his cock run through your folds.

“Frankie…” calling out to try and gain his attention through the desire fogged brain. Unsure of the position, one that you’ve never tried together. Though you couldn’t say it not one you hadn’t thought about. You just didn’t want to hurt him by being on top. 

Shaking his head, positioning your body over his throbbing length. One hand wrapping around the base, long light strokes as he lines himself up. Even with his passion hazed mind, he knows your wanting to disagree with him. Making him sit up, cupping the back of your neck, “My choice mi amor I want to feel you around me, watch you bounce on my cock. See these beautiful eyes,” tracing his fingers to your cheek, brushing over your closed lids. “I want to watch you take your pleasure from me. Please mi ángel,” voice deep and tinged with want.

Lifting your lashes to stare at Frankie, using his shoulders to raise up as he teases your folds with his cock. Brushing over your clit, making you tremble in his arms before lining yourself up and sinking down slowly. Till your thick thighs are pressed against his hips, head tossed back at feeling so full. The slight burn of being stretched by his cock never fails to make you shutter in his arms. 

“So fucking wet, tight,” muttering the two words over while burying his face in your neck. Arms wrapping around your waist as yours move to wrap around his shoulders pressing your bodies together. Letting the fullness feeling wash over you, consuming your body. The steady throb of that vein reverberating through your system making you whimper, rolling your hips against his groin. 

“Baby please I need to move,” little whines leaving you lips a gasp wrenched from the depths of your soul when he lays back pressing his cock even deeper inside you. Large hands on your hips grounding him, watching with hooded eyes. Feet planted to thrust slowly up into your quivering walls,  filling you so completely you don’t know where you end and he begins. Not that you care at the moment, as your worry melts away with the tender heated look he’s giving you. 

“Ride me sweetheart,” bottom lip trembling before caught between his teeth. Watching you place a hand on the center of his chest. Rising up till just the cock head rests in the circle of your fluttering walls. Slowly sinking back down teasing the both of you with long deep strokes, moaning when he brushes over your g-spot each time. 

Eyes rolling back a gasp leaves your lips when warm hands come up to cup and massage your breasts. Tugging the peaked nipples making your walls squeeze his shaft tighter. A groan forced from his parted lips at the feeling. Watching the way your features morph in pleasure, biting your bottom lip with eyes tightly closed. 

“Look at me hermosa,” the command is hard to ignore combined with the tugs of his fingers at your nipples making you gasp. You slowly do as he asked entranced by the way he’s watching. Tongue coming out to wet his parched lips, breath catching in his throat at the sigh you present him. Sweat coating his forehead, dripping down the side of his face, chest glistening as you take him in. Hungry eyes devouring the look of pleasure, the needy little grunts expelled from his mouth. “Lean back on my knees I wanna watch my cock disappear into that pretty cunt of yours.” 

Whimpering, pausing your movements to do as he asks. Bracing yourself with hands on either side of you on the floor. Pressing your back against his bent knees that have lowered just a fraction so your spread out backwards on display for his eyes. Hips rolling against his groin, body undulating against him the movements slow and delicate. Filled with a passionate abandonment that never fails to make Frankie smile. Head tossed back gasping breath leaving your parted lips, forgetting about everything that’s not centered on Frankie and the movement of your hips. 

“So beautiful amor,” licking his lips, hand moving down to circle the little pulsing pearl with light pressure. Watching you quiver around him, feeling your walls squeeze his shaft, almost to the point of sucking him in deeper. Eyes glued to the apex of your thighs, observing how his cock disappears while his fingers draw different patterns over your clit. The sight nearly making him cum right then combined with the noises your making he knows it’s not long before he’s falling into the arms of pleasure. 

Siting up unable to keep his hands and mouth from you any longer, Frankie wraps his arm around your shoulders bringing you down with him. Mouth’s attached in a deep tangling of a kiss that’s pulling small little mewling whines and whimpers from you. Keeping his fingers on your clit tapping and circling making you gasp into his mouth. All the more with the vise like grip of his free arm around your waist holding you in place as his hips thrust upwards. In quick and deep punishing thrusts, chasing that high only you can give him but first he wants you to see the stars. Knowing your getting closer with each thrust, the tight clinch of your walls around his shaft, making him grit his teeth. 

With that thought and a need for air you break apart, lips going to your ear, “So fucking good to me mi amor,” groaning breathless. “Taking my cock like a good girl, letting me fuck you like this. Christ the things you make me feel mi vida. I’ll never get enough of you.” 

“Frankie,” another whimper of his name leaves your lips that your bury into his shoulder. Eyes dropping closed the closer you get to your release. Trying to grasp on to your sanity with each deep, hard stroke he delivers to your body. His words only serving to make you shiver even harder and when he hits that spot you blank. Mouth gapping in a silent scream of his name, release washing over you and coating his cock that keeps hammering into your quivering cunt. 

Teeth sinking into the flesh of your shoulder sucking a mark into the soft skin. Working you through your orgasm as his own begs for release. Balls tightening against his shaft as his hips start to falter in his pace. Hot moist breath leaving his nose that nuzzles the side of your throat over the mark he’s left. Eyes clinch tightly, cock throbbing to his heart beat as he spills his seed deep inside your body. 

Both of you are out of breath Frankie moving his hips in short shallow thrusts feeling your combined juices seeping out around his shaft. Groaning when he remembers the one thing he forgot. Hearing the sound you place a kiss to his neck, loopy smile gracing your features. Raising your head to look down at him, hips finally stopped even as the pleasurable after shocks still make your body tremble. 

Kissing his chin, nosing that little spot where no beard grows, nipping the skin gently, “Shall I move baby? Am I squishing you?” 

“Fuck no you ain’t hermosa and if you don’t stop saying shit like that I’m gonna smack your ass. You feel too damn good laying there and I don’t want to move from inside you.” Realizing what he just said heat floods his cheeks staining them a soft red. “I’m sorry mi ángel, I just don’t like you talking that way about yourself.” 

Biting the inside of your cheek to keep the moan from escaping at his words, the force of his tone making you clinch around him tightly. Praying he hasn’t felt the change in your demeanor or the way your heart flutters at his words. Though you should’ve known better when thumb and forefinger pinch your chin to rise it from looking at his chest. 

“Amor?” Having felt that squeeze around his shaft, making his heart hammer against his ribs. “Does that thought excite you sweetheart?” 

Soft whimper leaving your lips with a shake of your head though you focus back on what you’d intended to ask him after hearing the groan. Trying to divert his train of thought away from a newly found kink. “Why’d you groan if not because…” biting your bottom lip when you feel the stinging bite of his hand coming down on your right butt cheek. Chocking on the moan that tries to leave your lips as his fingers rub the offended area. Burying your heated face in his chest that rumbles under your head. “S’not funny Fransisco,” pinching his side getting a yelp that brings a smirk to your lips. 

“Woman you should be wore out,” hearing your playful huff. “Hmm seems I have more work to do mi amor, your still able to think and pinch.” Running his hands over your back, rolling the two of you over so he can stare down into your beautiful eyes softening cock slipping from your warm depths. Making you both groan at the loss. “And as to why I groaned a moment ago,” looking sheepish he leans up to kiss your forehead. Leaving his lips pressed there before speaking, “In my haste to have you cariño I forgot to use a condom.” 

Thinking for a moment, small chuckle leaving your lips that turns into full giggles you can’t keep inside anymore. Holding onto Frankie tightly, burying your face back into his neck, breathless laughter ghosting over his skin. Frown marring his features when he feels the shaking that turns into confusion as those giggles reach his ears. 

“It’s not funny sweetheart we haven’t talked about…” fingers covering his lips to stop the flow of words. 

Eyes locking with the worried chocolate orbits, “Frankie my love if we happen to make a baby tonight I would be over the moon with joy. That’s why I’m giggling,” smiling, little chuckles still escaping. “I want to have your child mi rey,” cupping his cheek to bring his lips down to yours. Placing nibbling kisses before a full press slipping your tongue into his mouth, coaxing a moan from deep within. Pleased smile tugging your lips up as you draw back, “Even if it’s not tonight I wouldn’t say no to trying every night.” 

“Mi amor,” endearment spoken on the tail end of a moan. Smile so blinding its as if the sun has been captured and brought inside to shine just for you. Holding you close he crashes his lips against yours, taking your moans and swallowing them. Sloppy and fierce, a clash of teeth and tongues, each trying to dominate the other. Till air becomes needed and you break apart gasping for breath. “You sure?” Worry creasing his brow, chocolate eyes filling with uncertainty as he looks at you.

Brushing your thumb over the apple of his cheek, leaning up to place your lips over his, “I’m positive Frankie I want to give Isabella a brother or sister to play with.” 

Moving off you, hearing the whimper you make, “Don’t move baby I’m not going far.” Reaching for his jeans a nervous smile sliding over his face as he pulls the little black velvet box from the denim. Pausing to flip the lid staring at the chocolate diamond for a moment, till he feels you move soft hand coming to rest on his back. 

“Frankie?” Undertone of worry in your voice as you raise up on your knees waiting for him to turn and face you. Bottom lip caught between worrying teeth, fearful that you’ve said the wrong thing. Pushed him too far with the baby comments, Santi’s words coming back to you about marriage and asking Frankie first. Before thinking things through fully the words fall from your lips, “Marry me Morales?” 

“What?” Shock coloring his gasp, turning quickly to stare down at you. Swallowing hard, “What did you just ask me?” Trying to keep the box fisted in his hand so you can’t see it yet. 

Knowing there’s no reason for these feelings and thoughts to flow through your mind but his quick movements and no real answer causes the doubt to creep in. Eyes downcast not wanting to see the rejection in those chocolate pools you love so much. “I… I… I mean you don’t have to answer it’s just a silly question. I just thought,” biting you lip to keep the tears from slipping out of there ducts. 

“What silly question amor?” Fighting the urge to tip your chin up to see your beautiful face. Frankie waits and when you don’t answer he opens his fist in front of you. Flipping the box open, “You mean this question mi vida?” 

Gasping, eyes landing on the beautiful ring nestled into the plush black velvet, “Frankie?” Hands coming up to cover your mouth as tears slip free though they’ve changed to happiness as you stare up at him. 

“I wanted to ask you differently baby really I wanted to try something a little more romantic. Maybe candles and dinner, down the on one knee” rubbing the back of his neck scrambling for the right words.

“You mean,” hiccuping as a bright smile tugs your lip. “You didn’t plan on proposing to me naked right after we made love?” 

Rolling his eyes at your snark, free hand coming over to brush your tears away and cupping your cheek, breath catching when you place your own hand on top. Nuzzling the palm and placing a kiss to the center, “You deserve better, something special, flowers and chocolates and music playing. Not us naked…” 

Watery happy smile, placing your other hand over his mouth a moment, “Crap I don’t need Frankie I only want you and Isabella, you’re my life.” Taking a deep breath, scooting closer on your knees till your just a hairs breath away from him, “Yes.” 

“I haven’t asked you yet woman you can’t… wait what?” Chocolate eyes shocked wide by that simple little word. He’d hoped you’d say yes, dreamed of it from the moment he fell in love with you. But to hear you say yes still stole his breath and any other words he’d planned to say. 

Soft giggles leave your lips, dropping your eyes down to the ring box in his hand and back up to his. Wrapping your arm around his neck to pull his forehead down to yours, carding through the short curls at the back of his head. “Then you better ask me flyboy so you can make an honest woman out of me in case you’ve knocked me up.” 

“God sweetheart,” eyes slipping closed for a moment just breathing in your scent and warmth, savoring you, for a few heart beats, until he finally gather’s his wits. “Marry me amor, become my wife mother to Isabella and as many more child’s as you want. I don’t want to live this life without you beside me, please marry me,” whispering he last three words. Heart thumping wildly, fearful it’s all a dream and he’ll wake up back in that rehab with no proper out look for his life. 

“Yes Fransisco, yes I’ll marry you, I love you baby. Though,” watching his eyes open to stare back, so many emotions filtering through those beautiful eyes. “I’m not giving birth to five children I’ll leave at least two for you to push out of your dick.” 

Gruff laughter leaves his lips, arms wrapping around your waist to pull you against him, crashing your lips together in a hard, desperate kiss. Ring forgotten till it slips from his fingers in a bid to cup your ass and press you closer. 

“We can have as many children as you want amor,” unwrapping his arms to bring the box back to show you. Plucking the band from its snuggled confines. He grasps your left hand bringing it to his lips and kissing the ring finger. Keeping his eyes locked with yours while slipping it on your fourth digit, before dropping to look. “Prefect fit.” 

“Just like us,” leaning in to brush your lips over Frankie’s. Smirk gracing your features, “Remember we already have four kids and Isabella’s the mature one.” 

Deep happy laughter leaves Frankie’s chest, arms going back around your waist to haul you against his body. Properly sitting with his back against the couch, cradling you in his arms, playful smile on his lips, “Shame that three of them still need house broken.”

“Frankie,” your laughter joining his as you straddle his thighs settling in his lap. Letting your mirth simmer while looking at your ring, still unable to believe you’re gonna be married. “Pinch me,” soft yelp leaves you, trying to summon a glare to direct his way but failing miserably. 

“What you asked me to pinch you cariño,” soothing the pain he gave to your ass with the palm of his hand, cupping both generous globes to pull your pelvis flush with his. “Don’t worry I’ll kiss and make it all better baby unless you want something different.” Remembering the way you curved into his hand when he spanked you earlier. The memory of how tightly your quivering cunt gripped his cock, makes a moan leave his lips. Cock throbbing against your slick folds, demanding attention from the moment you straddled his thighs. 

Experimentally smacking your ass feeling you quake against him, breath hitching in your throat chocking off a moan. “Frankie,” rocking your hips against his growing shaft. Feeling his fingers dip between your folds finding you soaked and throbbing. 

“Like that don’t you baby, like when I smack this beautiful ass of yours,” low growl leaving his lips that attack your neck. Drawing another whimper of need from deep with in your body. “I know you do, can feel it you’ve soaked my fingers and I’ve barely touched you.” 

Rubbing your nose against his neck breathing in his scent mixed with the heady scent of sex and sweat. Amazed how he’s flipped from the sweet Frankie to sexual beast mode in seconds. “Don’t tease handsome please,” whimpering, all thought leaving your mind except for the way Frankie’s talented fingers feel. Strumming your body like a master to drag out moans and whines of pleasure. 

“As you wish amor,” slipping inside of you slowly, gritting his teeth at the tight squeeze of your walls. “I’m warning you now we’re not getting any sleep tonight baby. I’m gonna have you on every surface of this house I can.” 

Smirking, “Promises, promises Morales,” pulling back to stare into his molten chocolate eyes. “Actions,” gasping when he pulls half way out and thrusts back home. Hitting your g-spot, his pelvis moving to rub against your clit deliciously making stars shoot across your vision. Trying to form the rest of the words to tease him, “Speak louder than,” soft scream leaving when he dips to the side rolling the two of you so he’s hovering over you. 

Grasping your thighs to push them against your chest, pushing his cock ever deeper inside your depths. Eyes rolling back missing the smirk on his plush lips, “You’re saying amor?” Wedging his upper body between your thighs, legs draped over his shoulders, his knees braced apart for stability. Hovering over you with hands gripping your ass to lift a fraction off the ground and start a punishing pace. 

Making good on that truth, neither of you getting much rest that night. Finally eating dinner around mid-night, thankful that Frankie had turned the oven off earlier in the evening. Rewarding him for his thoughtfulness with a blowjob at the dinner table, making good use of the Reddi-whip. In turn Frankie snatched up what was left of the pie having a second helping of his dessert, with you spread out over the kitchen table. 

Reliving that moment in your mind you don’t hear the question Santi asks. Only breaking out of the smirk causing memory when Frankie places his hand on your thigh giving a squeeze. Looking from him back to Santi, “Hmm,” clearing your throat with a sip of coffee. “I’m sorry Pope what did you ask?” 

Chuckling, “Off daydreaming again cariño, hope it’s as good as the smirk on your face.” Lifting a dark brow, Pope watches you for a moment catching the subtle shift of your body, Frankie’s cheeks dusting red. Guessing the two of you spent much of the night and early morning celebrating. If the marks littering the both of you indication anything accompanied by the way your both leaning against each other. 

Thankful he called before driving over with Isabella and eager to hear weather you said yes. Though he knew better than anyone the answer which becomes confirmed while you hugging Will, chocolate diamond glinting in the sunlight filtering through the front door. After a round of hugs, claps on the back and congratulations along with very happy giggles from Isabella everyone settled in the kitchen for coffee. 

Drawing your thoughts back from this morning smirk only growing on your face, Frankie leans over, seeing the intent in your side profile, “Don’t do it hermosa.” Warning growl in his tone, hand still on your thigh giving a harder squeeze. Isabella’s little giggles the only answer he receives to the warning, wrapped in her mother’s arms and oblivious to everything except playing with your hair. 

“Well Santiago if you must know it’s even better,” chuckling evilly when Frankie groans head landing on your shoulder. Blindly reaching over to cover Isabella’s ears. “Just reliving late last night when Frankie got to have his second dessert.” 

Confused for a second, eyes widening comically as he looks from you to the table place he’s currently sitting at and back. “Your telling me,” words sputtering out as he pushes violently backward, chair scratching across the tiled floor. “You could’ve warned a guy Y/N,” shaking his head in part disgust and part amusement. “Tell me you at least disinfected it before we sat down?”

Shrugging, “Where’s the fun in that Pope, besides it’s only fair after all Frankie got to see the stars right there in that chair first.” Licking your lips glancing at both Will and Benny who haven’t caught on yet. The harsh crash of his chair makes you bust out laughing, holding onto the table for support and cleaving into Frankie who’s red as a tomato. 

“That’s just… fucking hell,” wiping at this ass and thighs like there’s something there. 

Confused till he looked between the two of you, the table and Santiago. Deep groan leaving his lips as he head comes down to rest in his hands, “We eat on this table now it has to be burned.” 

“What? Why?” Thinking for a second, comprehension clicking into place Benny jumps up scrubbing his hands along his pant legs. “That’s just wrong so fucking wrong now I have that in may head to. I take back the marriage proposal Y/N, Frankie can have you.” Though the grin on his lips speaks differently. It however doesn’t reach his normally expressive eyes. Hiding a secret he’s kept buried for far to long knowing now there’s no chance of it coming to the light of day. 

“How generous of you Benjamin,” playfully rolling your eyes, giggling when you look at Frankie seeing his eyes have narrowed on his friend. You lean over, “No worries flyboy you know you’re the only one.” 

Chuckling he places a kiss to your cheek giving you a wink, “I know.” Standing to round the table, “So you proposed to my girl huh?” Trying to infuse a touch of anger to his tone that fails miserably with the grin on his lips. “Dude what happened to the code of friendship huh?”

Stepping back, hands up in mock surrender, playful grin o his chapped lips. “You know I didn’t mean it like that Fish, Y/N’s a sister to me.” Words tasting and sounding bitter to his own ears. Looking too Will and Santi for help, finding none except fake disapproving frowns, arms crossed. Glancing at you and Isabella with a pleading look getting no help. 

“Shit,” little voice speaking into the silence every set of adult eyes land on her, giggling follows with little claps of her hands before burying her face in your chest shyly. 

Peels of laughter ring out around the kitchen Will beating the table with his fist, head hanging with broad shoulders twitching. Benny and Frankie leaning on each other as tears of mirth slip down their cheeks, Pope leaning against the island to stay standing up right his own body shaking in laughter. While you hold her close laughing, shaking your head at the sight of your family. “Your daddy and uncles are silly little one,” kissing her forehead locking eyes with Frankie when he turns to you. Seeing the love saturating those chocolate eyes, soft grin pulling at his lips. 

“I love you mi alma’s,” playfully pushing Benny from his shoulder to come around and kiss both your foreheads. 

Reaching up to cup his cheek, bringing him down to touch your lips together in a tender kiss, “I love you to my real soon to be husband.”  

Sure you still read get carried away into another world of your books. However, not so deeply that you neglect your husband’s needs and wants along with your own. Besides you know he’s so much better than any old book boyfriend.

THE END 

[mediaevalmusereads]

Matrix. By Lauren Groff. New York: Riverhead Books, 2021.

Rating: 3/5 stars

Genre: historical fiction

Part of a Series? No

Summary: Cast out of the royal court by Eleanor of Aquitaine, deemed too coarse and rough-hewn for marriage or courtly life, seventeen-year-old Marie de France is sent to England to be the new prioress of an impoverished abbey, its nuns on the brink of starvation and beset by disease. At first taken aback by the severity of her new life, Marie finds focus and love in collective life with her singular and mercurial sisters. In this crucible, Marie steadily supplants her desire for family, for her homeland, for the passions of her youth with something new to her: devotion to her sisters, and a conviction in her own divine visions. Marie, born the last in a long line of women warriors and crusaders, is determined to chart a bold new course for the women she now leads and protects. But in a world that is shifting and corroding in frightening ways, one that can never reconcile itself with her existence, will the sheer force of Marie's vision be bulwark enough? Equally alive to the sacred and the profane, Matrix gathers currents of violence, sensuality, and religious ecstasy in a mesmerizing portrait of consuming passion, aberrant faith, and a woman that history moves both through and around. Lauren Groff's new novel, her first since Fates and Furies, is a defiant and timely exploration of the raw power of female creativity in a corrupted world.

***Full review under the cut.***

Content Warnings: blood, violence, gore, childbirth, threats of rape

Overview: As a medievalist, I’m admittedly a little picky when it comes to my historical fiction set in the Middle Ages, but because this book was about Marie de France, I decided to give it a go. While I do think that Groff is a talented writer, I ultimately felt let down by Matrix; when I think about Marie de France, I think of her lais and the magic she weaves into them (not literal magic, mind you, but things like the power of women, courtly love, lush atmosphere, etc). This book, by contrast, contained very few of the themes that make Marie’s work so memorable, to the point where the less you know about the real Marie de France, the better. Instead of exploring the mind of the woman who wrote such wonderful, magical tales, we get the story of a nun who brings an impoverished abbey to prosperity. It’s a fine story, don’t get me wrong - it’s just not one I’d associate with Marie de France. Honestly, I think Groff would have had more success writing about her own original character, taking inspiration from mystics like Julian of Norwich or Margery Kempe. Thus, this book only gets 3 stars from me.

Writing: Groff’s prose is beautifully crafted with evocative imagery that is also easy to read. Everything flows well and moves at a quick pace, so readers won’t feel bogged down by details such as the day-to-day work at the abbey or some such. This book also uses present tense to narrate the story, and while I’m not usually a fan of the present tense, I think Groff made it work. The narrative feels energetic and grounded, and I think it combined well with the technique of using run-on sentences from time to time to convey the feeling of being caught up in the moment or lost in thought.

Plot: The plot of this book mainly follows Marie de France as she is yanked from her life at the French court and placed in charged of a poor English abbey. We follow Marie as she rises through the ranks and brings the abbey to prosperity, all while wrangling unruly nuns and doing her best to convince Eleanor of Aquitaine to come for a visit.

I think I would have enjoyed this plot more if the protagonist were someone other than Marie de France. As I said in my intro, the story isn’t an exploration of the inner workings of the mind of a (female) medieval poet; rather, it’s a story about a woman obsessed with her own power and reputation within the Church. The lais themselves get only about 3 pages of mention, and it felt like none of the themes that we associate with Marie’s real-life lais made it into this novel. While I did appreciate the little nods to history here and there (for example, the description of one of the nuns sticking a paintbrush in her mouth and getting lapis lazuli in her teeth), there wasn’t enough in this book to made the story feel fresh or new. Perhaps Groff was working with the theory that Marie de France was Marie, Abbess of Shaftesbury, but even so, the lack of attention to the lais and how they’d complicate our expectations or assumptions about the life of a medieval nun was baffling to me. Personally, I think Groff would have had more success if the book was “about” Marie, Abbess of Shaftesbury, or about an original character, inspired by female mystics such as Julian of Norwich or Margery Kempe.

I also wasn’t enthusiastic about the way Groff chooses to present her “feminist utopia” of an abbey staffed with only women. Despite the desire for Marie to protect her nuns from male violence and power, not much work is put into describing the abbey as a haven. Instead, Marie imposes her own will onto others and replicates the power hierarchies that she is (supposedly) so desperate to escape. I think I would have liked this book better if the author could have looked for the ways in which abbey life could have been a solace to the women. For example, maybe the daily routine provides comfort for those struggling with the chaos of the outside world. Maybe the queer nuns finally find a place that feels safe for them to express their affection for other women. Anything that complicated our modern assumptions about medieval Christianity would have been welcome; instead, I felt like I got a lot of “barbaric Middle Ages.”

I guess I’m being harsh in that Marie explicitly says that she thinks women are only safeguarded by their reputations. Thus, all of her actions are in service to cultivating a particular image of herself and the abbey (imposing, impregnable, protected by magic, etc). I think this could have been more satisfying for me if A.) again, we weren’t reading a story about “Marie de France,” or B.) the novel was very self-conscious about the fact that Marie was manipulating the perspectives of others.

Characters: Marie, our main protagonist, is confusing and difficult to like. Originally, she’s too cool for school; she arrives at the abbey more than a little skeptical of Christianity, and she judges the other nuns around her rather harshly (even though some deserve it, but still - there was this “not like other girls” vibe that I didn’t like). The novel tells us that she was a child crusader, which seems odd for one not invested in Christianity, and then never really does anything with that except use it to instill fear in people who are uncomfortable with her “imposing” demeanor. After a few years, Marie becomes devout to the point where she’s having divine visions, like e medieval mystic. The switch felt fairly abrupt, and Marie’s ruthless pursuit of power and prosperity was admittedly a little tired at times. The only things I liked about her were her queerness and obsession with Eleanor of Aquitaine. Queerness is fairly commonplace, which is refreshing; even though Marie struggles with the idea of whether it is a sin or not to have carnal desires for other women, I did appreciate that wlw relationships were everywhere within the abbey, not just between Marie and a single other nun. Marie’s obsession with Eleanor was also interesting in that it bordered on erotic obsession and made manifest the pains unreciprocated love, mirroring courtly love in real medieval literature. I liked how Marie strove to please Eleanor in everything that she did, and loving the Queen from a distance put an interesting spin on courtly love between two women.

Eleanor, for her part, was intriguing because she was something of a mystery. We mainly saw her though Marie’s eyes, which meant that she was held up as a paragon - of beauty, of intelligence, of courage, etc. When we do finally see Eleanor in the flesh (so to speak), she doesn’t quite live up to Marie’s hype, and I liked the conflict between reality and the lover’s image of the beloved.

Most other characters blurred together for me. There are many nuns at the abbey, and most of them have quirks or jobs that make them unique. In that respect, I liked how Groff made each nun feel like an individual, and that they all came together to form a community. What I didn’t really like, however, was how they always seemed to be in conflict. Aside from a couple characters, it didn’t seem like any of the women had any close relationships; rather, I felt like the women were frequently in conflict or at least consistently incompatible in some way or another. If Groff really wanted to paint the abbey as some kind of haven or utopia, I think having more of the nuns find emotional intimacy with one another would have gone a long way. Even if some of the women didn’t get along, I would have liked to see more positive relationships rather than negative or impersonal ones.

TL;DR: Matrix is ultimately a compelling novel about running an abbey, but a poor imagining of real-life poet Marie de France. While there is much to admire about Groff’s prose and the book would have been a fine work of historical fiction if written about, say, the Abbess of Shaftesbury, the narrative is unfulfilling for those who are familiar with the lais of Marie de France, primarily because none of the core themes from the medieval poems play major roles in Groff’s novel.

[imnotcameraready]

more than beliefs (5: mother knows best)

A/N: still trying at this ! i still don't own any tables so honestly, writing has been kinda hard :') but i'm still up to a polished chapter 7 and know VERY well what is happening in chapter 8, so we're looking pretty good. i wrote all of chivalry chapter by chapter so.....hoping this goes well :'D

WARNINGS: manipulation, plotting a murder, paranoia description, blunt force trauma, assault, amnesia, blood, graphic description of violence — this chapter’s the first doozy! if i missed anything, please let me know!

Words: 4378

AO3 link!

enjoy!! <3

“Now, this might be a controversial opinion, but the second Little Mermaid movie is a top-tier Disney sequel,” the Director said, idly mixing a teaspoon around in his hot chocolate.

Roman scoffed. He was sitting on the Director’s couch, wrapped in a blanket while they watched 2005’s Just Like Heaven starring Mark Ruffalo and Reese Witherspoon. The Director had suggested they watch something from Disney, but while Roman loved the whole library of Disney movies lining his shelf, he couldn’t choose which one he wanted. To his surprise, the Director didn’t have a favorite, either. He’d said he was fond of the cookie-cutter damsel in distress narrative of older Disney stories, which Roman tried (and failed) to take offense to, but did agree that many modern movies like Big Hero 6 had interestingly complex and developed stories.

“I just prefer the expansion on oceanic lore. And I’m a sucker for a good parental storyline, when the former protag takes on the motherly role.” The Director took a sip of his coffee.

“And here I thought you weren’t one of my creative advisors,” Roman said with a smirk, crossing his arms upon his pillowy throne.

The Director scoffed, and as he rolled his eyes Roman could have sworn that he was blushing. Maybe he was embarrassed. “Just because I’m not David doesn’t mean I can’t have opinions on works of art,” he sounded dejected—Roman guessed that was fair. The Dragon and Damsel and Child, most obviously, had strong opinions on art yet no artistic inclinations.

It was still up in the air if the Thief did. It didn’t seem like he had many opinions on things that weren’t consequential to Roman’s direct safety, but he was very quiet. Roman didn’t rule out the possibility of the Thief just not wanting to share that information with him, which was….well. Unfortunate.

Roman wished he got to know his advisors better. Ever since they were separated from him, Roman feels like he’s been at the grinding stone with them all. The Thief had spent the whole wedding either swearing or screaming suggestions angrily, and when he wasn’t, he was comforting an incredibly distraught Bard. The Damsel and Playwright tried to help the most but... He had barely even seen the Artist outside of their creative sessions. He had barely seen the Dragon or Child, period.

The Director was an interesting one. Roman had everyone’s phone numbers, because, well, he wasn’t about to use carrier pigeons. Though that might be super cool to try one day. But the Director was just about the only advisor to casually reach out to him. He would send Roman memes. How did he even get memes? Roman and Remus had created an Imagination-version of the internet, so it was likely from their co-sponsored Imagination Tumblr or something. The Director putting in the effort and time to think of Roman during such small instances was what made Roman feel more comfortable here, though. That’s what made him trust the Director with these sorts of situations. Almost made them closer...

Was that selfish? To favor one part of oneself over others? Surely not. It was similar to recognizing flaws, or pimples and blemishes. Not to say any of the others were blemishes. Drats, even Roman’s internal monologue was demeaning to himself.

“Do you want any more coffee? I’m going to go refill,” the Director’s voice jolted Roman out of his stupor, and he looked up with wide eyes.

“No, I’m okay,” and after a small beat, he added, “Thank you again for housing me. I can’t imagine what Phillip would want to say after yesterday’s debacle.”

The Director scoffed. Roman snuggled into his blanket more, listening to the Director pour himself another mug and reply. “Anytime, Roman,” he chuckled, then put on one of the most outlandishly fake accents Roman’s ever heard. “I live to serve~”

“Sto-op,” Roman groaned, throwing his head back and shooting the Director a glare—well, glaring at the kitchen door. There were walls around all of the rooms here, unlike the Mind Palace.

The Director laughed even more when he returned, sitting on the couch with his legs crossed on the cushion. He held his mug in his hands for a few seconds before talking, tone much more sober.

“I do have to say. I’m surprised I was the one you came to.” The Director’s voice is a little more quiet. “I thought for sure you would have sought comfort with Cadence or Gavin before me.”

Roman blinks. “I guess….I didn’t want to be judged again.” He looked back down at his lap, at the blankets piled up there and his own coziness. “Every time I come back after an argument, or after making a fool of myself, it seems everyone has an opinion on how poorly I handled a situation. None of them really acknowledge….It must have been….”

He’d been a little confused about it, too. The trust issue.

“Janus has strung my emotions along enough for it to be fair that I don’t trust him,” Roman said, voice soft as he tried to put how he’d been feeling into words. “Right?”

That was as close an explanation as he could get to. Because it all boiled down to the trust issue, in his understanding of the situation. As much as Patton wanted him to let go of the situation, Patton was focusing on the mustache quip rather than the whole trust thing. Janus knew Roman had wanted to go to the callback. But Roman also wanted to be a good person, if that’s what Thomas wanted. Thomas wanted to be a good person so Roman also wanted to be a good person.

But when being a good person directly went against Thomas’ dreams, Janus stepped in. And sure, he argued that they weren’t supposed to be self-sacrificial, but wasn’t that a hero’s job? When did a hero ever get to keep anything before sacrificing everything? Isn’t that what made sense?

Janus didn’t even do a good job at explaining it, not until all the damage had already been done. This was different from just giving Roman the perfect set up for a theater display, this was Janus pretending that he wanted what Roman wanted. This was Janus pretending to be his friend but wanting Thomas to...be a bad person?

He didn’t understand. Maybe Patton was right. Maybe Roman just didn’t understand. And that’s what made his disgruntlement so confusing, because in his heart, Roman knew Janus was trying to help, he knew that, he understood. But then why did it hurt so much?

“Oh, honey, he’s gone way past that. Don’t gaslight yourself into thinking he’s been helpful,” Macbeth’s icy voice cut through the thoughts wrangling Roman’s mind.

The Director was so self-assured. It was comforting. He was sitting on the couch, arms crossed as he explained.

“And Patton, Logan, turning around just to say you should let it go and listen to him after he’s lied nine times out of ten?” the Director threw his head back and let out a sharp “Hah! No, your anger is rational. And defensible.”

“Why won’t any of the others agree with that?”

The Director starred at Roman for a minute. Just a little too long. His eyes seemed to press Roman into a corner, under a box. Scrutinized.

They both knew that “others” wasn’t a reference to the other Sides. The Director kept his distance from Roman’s other advisors, he knew that, but Roman didn’t know how far. The Director wasn’t the kind to just watch them, was he?

“They all have their opinions. About Disney and otherwise.” He took another drink of his coffee then shook his head, standing up, motioning for Roman to follow, “May I show you….something. Without you thinking I’m crazy?”

Now, that’s always a fairly worrying question to hear. “No, no, I trust you,” Roman said with a slight grin.

The Director must have been able to see how it waned, because he chuckled, smiled back. “I think we’re all a little zany. But that’s the charm. Phillip is undoubtedly the scariest, as much as Draco tries. The Prince, Damsel, whichever you want, has a noticeable villain complex.”

Wait, what?

The Director raised his hands in mock defeat. Showing his hands, like he were trying to assure Roman that he wasn’t being suspicious. But the hairs on Roman’s neck rose. He led Roman to the door just besides Roman’s room. When he first started visiting the Director, he explained that this was his study. Roman had never gone in. Because, you know, when you respect someone you also respect their privacy.

“I’ve only ever spoken to Marlowe, but, you know. I’m the Director of players I can never meet. I had to take notes,” he added the final part quietly.

He glanced over the combination button pad on the door. Roman hadn’t noticed that. What room would require a combination lock? And who would be….Was it to keep him out? Or someone else? Maybe the Playwright, the Director mentioned he’d been over before. Keep anyone out, it seemed.

“I….notes?” he was flabbergasted. What the fuck was happening?

“Yeah.” The Director opened the door slowly and motioned for Roman to follow.

Inside were papers. One wall was a large tackboard, photos and sticky notes and papers pinned up, connected with lines of colored yarn. Roman felt his mouth fall open as he inspected it. There were notes on all of his advisors, all seven of the others, even some of people Roman didn’t know. There was someone with four eyes. Someone with antlers. Who were they? How did this all fit together?

Why in Athena’s name did the Director have corkboard notes on the other advisors? That was a lot more than a little weird.

“I...You’re wonderful, Roman. So productive and pristine and princely, as you deserve to be. But there are some areas where you can stand to improve.” Roman was probably only processing some of the Director’s words as he rolled up his sleeves and pulled out a metal stick, one that looked oddly like a wand.

He held it in one hand, and suddenly it extended, until it was a pointer. The Director held both ends of it and watched Roman for a reaction, a response, something.

“I would have to agree,” Roman stumbled over his words a little, eyes still glued to the notes—there were some by the Child that read ‘Naive/Trusting/Problem?’—before he slowly turned back to the Director with a weak grin once again. “I mean, I might be pristinely princely, but those P alliterations don’t include perfect. No one’s perfect.”

“It may be an unattainable dream, but we’re well familiar with those. We can only strive for improvement! And when improving you and yourself, that means making changes to them,” the Director gestured up at the wall of photos, of the parts of Roman’s self, and smacked the Child’s photo with his pointer. “I actually only thought I would be reading these notes, so forgive me for any, er. Sharp language.”

Roman knew that self-improvement meant adopting new mindsets, but he had no idea that putting parts of himself into characters involved changing them as well, though it did make sense. Self-insert characters had to change if you were changing the self that was being inserted. Right?

If he wanted to improve….it made sense. He had to change himself, including the facets of himself.

“That’s fair,” Roman murmured, “Okay. These….You could take these notes to the other advisors. Surely they’d accept it?”

“At this point, I don’t know who would kill me faster,” the Director scoffed, then gestured at the Damsel’s notes, a cluster of sticky notes and drawings and photos of the Damsel at a well enough distance that it was closer to stalker-ish. “Phillip wouldn’t want competition. Marlowe agrees that he can be quite standoffish when threatened, and a newcomer claiming to be one of Roman’s advisors? Someone who doesn’t have his respect in a royal manner?”

The Director pointed to the Thief now, a even more grave expression adorning his face. “And Eric. Tell me you think he would accept a newcomer of any kind. Just tell me. Especially near Gavin. And the Child himself probably wouldn’t like me.”

Well, that sounded off. Roman leaned on the wall besides the door, back against his hands as he continued to inspect the wall. There were notes on the other advisors’ behaviors, their antics.

For some reason, Roman could almost imagine Janus or Logan doing this. It was something close to weird and something else close to endearing. Was that weird?

“Why not? Gavin’s pretty trusting.” Roman didn’t look away from the wall as he replied.

“In fairness, he might like me, but I don’t know if I could ever come around to liking him. He’s the root source of all our issues, especially our present issue with Janus, Patton, Logan. Even past issues with Remus, if I’m remembering them properly. What Gavin represents allows us to be easily swayed.”

That got Roman to look away, look down at the Director. He was glaring up at the Child’s photo with something fierce, which startled Roman enough. I mean, that was a whole child there. What would inspire this much hatred?

“Really now?” Roman wanted to know.

“He gets us to let our guard down. It’s at Gavin’s behest we take chances, but it’s that same honesty that leads us to broken promises, taking in lies like they’re candy. I don’t know what I would do with him,” the Director sounded disappointed.

That was a fair analysis. All of the advisors—the Playwright, the Thief, the Child, Bard, Artist, Dragon, Damsel, Director—they all represented different parts of Roman, similar to how the Sides represented parts of Thomas. In theory, they worked together. In practice, that was far from the truth, but Roman knew for his sake that they were trying their best.

They all oversaw different parts of Roman’s psyche, too. The Playwright, for example, was most similar to Logan in that he represented Roman’s research and organization, on a creative and egotistical level. The Playwright—Marlowe—could be trusted with knowing how many liters of blood were in the human body as well as every one of the Sides’ favorite karaoke songs, even the exact time and date they met Nico.

The Child was Roman’s belief, his ability to dream. It was fair to assume that that made him the most naïve part. Perhaps it was even a fair conclusion that the debacles with Janus were caused by what the Child represented.

Roman hadn’t thought of it like that. The last time he’d talked to the Child, Gavin, about the situation, he had seem incredibly disappointed.

He’d never stopped to ask what the Child was disappointed in, though. Was he disappointed in Roman? Or in himself? Did the Child know he was the one who had pushed Roman to trust Janus? Did….There was no way that this was….the Child’s fault. Was it?

“Huh.” Roman’s voice echoed emptily to himself. A pit opened in his stomach, something difficult to grasp. The root cause of his burdens couldn’t be his ability to dream. His dreams themselves, his hopes, his beliefs. He….he was the daydreamer, the creator. That couldn’t be a flaw, could it?

The Director watched him, but Roman hardly noticed. It was only for a few seconds, too, of stoic silence before the Director interrupted his thoughts with a huff, looked across the board. “This is quite a bit of insight at once. Maybe we should finish the movie.”

“Director?”

Roman and the Director both turned to the open doorway, the later slapping a hand over his own mouth immediately. With a flick of his wrist, the door closed quietly, clicking just loud enough for the both of them to hear. They also heard the Playwright in the living room, footsteps echoing faintly on the stone floor.

“Director?” the Playwright called out again.

“Fuck,” the Director whispered. This must have been an unplanned visit.

“What? We can just go out and say hello,” Roman said back, though his demeanor and body language spoke of worry, almost fear.

The Playwright was well known to be a pacifist. And the Playwright knew about the Director, knew about Roman knowing the Director. He was a little surprised to find that the Playwright didn’t know the Director’s name was Macbeth, but Roman knew the Director to be a man of secrets.

“He doesn’t know I….He doesn’t know you’re here. He barely knows we talk,” the Director looked around the room and pressed a hand to one of the walls, “Fuck. How are we going to get him out?”

The rock beneath the Director’s hand morphs into a doorway and he opens it. The Playwright was standing in the living room, close to the front door to the home. He looked up at them both, eyes widening when he met Roman’s. Before Roman could say anything, even think of something to say, the Playwright spoke with ease.

“Roman’s here? Thank goodness. Virgil’s come looking for him,” he gave Roman a small smile, strained but caring all the same.

“Ah.” Roman stiffened. Virgil came looking for him? In the Imagination? Why? How? He didn’t have his own passage into this space yet, how’d he get here?

He didn’t want to talk to Virgil. As supportive as he’d been, especially when it came to taking care of Thomas, there were still some areas where Roman wanted to be alone, wanted to process his thoughts alone. Virgil was...vindictive. Which was a strong word to use, but an apt one. Virgil’s distaste in Janus made it hard for Roman to form his own thoughts, which was why he often tried away from Virgil as much as Patton.

He wasn’t ready for that kind of confrontation, and the Director must have been able to tell, because he physically looked like he didn’t want Roman to go.

“I actually didn’t expect to find you here, though I’m not entirely surprised,” the Playwright must not have been privy to these feelings, glancing between the Director and Roman, shock still gracing his features.

“Really now,” the Director said, tilting his head, “Why not?”

“I just didn’t know Roman had met you, but of course, even I’m not as omniscient as Creativity himself,” the Playwright stepped closer, reaching toward Roman. “You have to come up, though. Virgil said everyone’s worried.”

Roman starred at the Playwright’s hand, unsure of what to do with the gesture. He knew everyone would be worried, on a baseline. Closed doors didn’t do well around the Mind Palace, especially his, especially after his splitting incident, but that didn’t mean he had to cater to everyone else’s worry. He was allowed privacy.

Before he formulated a response, though, the Director placed a hand in front of Roman. His smile toward the Playwright turned sour, lips pursed in a mix of thought and anger.

“He doesn’t have to go see Virgil if he doesn’t want to.” Roman felt some of the tension in his shoulder alleviate at the Director’s statement, as basic as it was.

The Playwright, on the other hand, didn’t seem to understand. He looked between Roman and the Director again, surprised even further by how familiar they seemed. There had been a fair amount of transparency in Roman’s relationships with all of the other advisors that there must be some dissonance to see him be so familiar with someone he hadn’t even expected Roman to know. Something about that surprise, the bait and switch, the lie, felt fulfilling.

“It wouldn’t be difficult to alleviate Virgil’s worried and tell him to leave again,” the Playwright explained slowly. “I’m sure, if Roman told him he wanted privacy, he would understand.”

“I’m sure, if Virgil could understand that, then he wouldn’t have tread where he shouldn’t. You can’t make him do anything.” The Director’s voice grew darker, hand unwavering.

“Make him?” the Playwright sounded so confused.

Roman was also confused where the Director’s notion came from, but it was validating to hear reminders that Roman’s decisions were his to make. But nothing in the Playwright’s tone was forceful.

For a moment, it seemed as though the Playwright would drop his confusion.

Until he took a step forward, toward the Director and Roman, with one hand outstretched. Roman didn’t know what he’d been planning, but he knew the Playwright wasn’t a sporadic man. He hated adding physicality to situations where debate and discussion could suffice. So, in hindsight, it was likely the Playwright was reaching out to make peace.

The moment passed in mere seconds.

He was taller than the Director by a noticeable few inches, so the Director bent his knees. He pushed Roman behind him with his outstretched arm, acting faster than either Roman or the Playwright could react to. The Director stuck his leg out and grabbed the Playwright by the fabric of his shirt, behind his neck. The Playwright, surprised by the sudden movements, tripped on his leg and let out a sharp gasp of surprise.

Besides them was the living room coffee table. As the Playwright fell, the Director redirected his head toward the table, shoving him away from Roman.

It felt very spur of the moment, and it happened in a true moment. The Playwright let out a scream, sharp and fearful, before his forehead collided with the edge of the metal table. He fell beneath it unconscious. Blood pooled at the Director’s feet as he stood back up.

Roman’s hands shot to his face immediately, as soon as the Playwright started falling, and he could only stare in horror at the scene. The Director, too, seemed shocked at his own reaction. He starred at his blood-stained socks for a little while, breathing heavy enough for Roman to hear. It must be the adrenaline.

“I,” the Director’s voice caught in his throat.

Roman watched. Just watched. The Director swallowed, turning around to face Roman with a mirroring horrified expression, eyes wide with surprise. “You have to make him forget.”

“What?” Roman’s voice was strained, almost a whisper, and he cleared his throat to repeat. “Excuse me?”

What kind of request….?

“If Marlowe remembers this, we’re fucked. He knows you’re here. He’s going to think I attacked him. I-I did attack him,” The Director took a slow breath, turning to look at the body on the ground before shaking his head—unable to look. “David is going to kill me.

“Make him forget. He can stay here. For a bit. We can figure this out,” he put his hands up towards Roman. “We-The other Sides’re gonna follow Virgil. We both know that. And, uh. Only Marlowe knew I was here. So we’ve got time to figure out how to, uh. Play this off.”

Roman starred at him with wide eyes. The past two days had been such a long mess, he didn’t know what to do. Physically, he could remove the Playwright memories. He’d be a blank slate of a character, only backstory. What would that do? The Playwright’s backstory was that he was the Playwright. He didn’t have some elaborate parent-death or chosen-one-esque story that he could fall back on. Poor bastard wasn’t even the one who had Roman’s memories prior.

But the Director was right, in a way. If they wanted more time to think about everything—the other Sides were looking for him? How did Virgil get in here? Why would he be looking for Roman, it wasn’t uncommon for him to stomp away from a verbal duel, why now?—then they couldn’t have the Playwright ratting them out.

When he manipulated the Imagination directly, his powers were red. Remus’ were green. It was distinctive. So when Roman sank down, put a hand on the back of the Playwright’s head, his hand turned red.

It blended in with the blood.

Roman felt vile. He had to do this, or else the others would find him. A quiet, dull part of his mind told him that didn’t matter but….he didn’t want to be found. He didn’t.

He pulled gently, as though tugging the thoughts out, and something glistened red and gold as he did. Then, Roman let it go, and it disappeared. It reminded him a little of Dumbledore pulling his own memories out in Harry Potter. Roman didn’t feel much the chosen one, either, though.

“There,” he said quietly.

The Director let out a soft breath. It didn’t sound like either of them knew what to do, to be fair. Maybe the Director hadn’t even expected this.

“I’ll….here.” The Director looked up and pointed at the wall behind the couch.

The couch scooted forward a little, enough for there to be a walkway behind it, and the room simultaneously pulled away from the couch. Then, a door formed on the wall. It clicked once, then swung open. Another room.

Roman stood still, staring at his hands—was that magic or blood?—while the Director leaned down to pick the Playwright up. The man hadn’t moved since being bludgeoned by the table.

“Under the sink in the bathroom is a first aid kit,” the Director said, voice stoic, taking the reins on the situation, “I’ll make him a bedroom and bandage his head. Then he can stay for a day or two. We must figure out what to do, about the other Sides and about Marlowe.”

That was fair. He’d only stay a little.

Dimly, Roman remembered that this was the Imagination, he mastered this world, so he could technically get rid of the Playwright’s wound. He could get rid of his memory and the wound and send him right back to his home, right back to the Artist, good as normal and none the wiser.

But….something in the back of his head stopped him. And the Director pulled him into the other room faster than Roman could overcome whatever clouded thoughts were plaguing him.

[popwasabi]

“The Mandalorian” S2 is a power fantasy with mini Star Wars trailers

The term “Plot armor” is often used by readers and viewers to describe the myriad of ways writers keep their heroes away from any real danger no matter what choices or actions they make in the narrative. It’s typically a derisive phrase for the way a writer’s hero seems to escape death no matter what is thrown at him for the sole purpose of moving the plot forward.

In Disney+’s “The Mandalorian” this term takes a far more literal description in the form of our main anti-hero, played by Pedro Pascal, in his beskar armor which seems to be, by all accounts the most indestructible material in the galaxy far, far away.

(I mean, it still looks really cool too, of course.)

The result of this narrative decision in this series is that action scenes often don’t have real tension to them. In another series you might be able to reasonably believe the hero might be in danger with blaster fire shooting all around them but with beskar it’s almost comically not the case at all. Stormtroopers fire laser blast after laser blast at The Mando and each time they bounce harmlessly off him as if he were fucking Superman. It makes scenes feel devoid of stakes and danger no matter what situation they are in.

The show thus becomes a power fantasy, as action scenes serve as extended highlight reels for the Mando. Where season 1 of the show mitigated the power of the Mando’s plot armor by putting him more often in situations where his beskar alone wasn’t enough to save the day, season 2 goes mostly full power fantasy as The Mando rarely runs into a situation he can’t just quite literally walk through.

(“Aim for his armor, men! That’s his weak point!”)

This isn’t to say the season wasn’t without its high moments or even that it wasn’t enjoyable plenty of times but the series’ devotion to fan servicey action and callbacks to “Hey remember ____” makes it a fairly shallow story. At least for myself.

Season 2 of “The Mandalorian” continues the story of Din and his small Yoda-like companion, The Child (later known officially as Grogu), as he looks to complete a quest to return the burgeoning Force wielder to the Jedi. As he seeks to reunite The Child with the ancient Order, he encounters other Mandalorians who are on a quest to retake Mandalore and right on their tail is the nefarious Grand Moff Gideon who is still bent on capturing Grogu for whatever it is he has planned for the Empire.

Let me start this review by saying power fantasies aren’t inherently bad to watch or read. They can be good, cathartic junk food for the soul and can also be compelling, artistic, or even deeply metaphorical in their own way. A movie series like “John Wick” for instance is a power fantasy that aims to reinvent the wheel in action film-making with Keanu Reeves performing perhaps the best gun kata of all-time onscreen. Another film like Paul Verhoueven’s “Total Recall” can satirize the power fantasy to show how ridiculous it is in concept.

So, making your hero an unstoppable killing machine isn’t necessarily always a bad thing if used properly.

(Seriously, this is one of the smartest action films ever made. Don’t @ me.)

Now that that’s established, however, “The Mandalorian” season 2, despite some strong moments here and there, is a power fantasy that lacks these elements for a more interesting narrative. If you believe killing dozens of stormtroopers onscreen while never suffering so much as a scratch for eight episodes equals compelling storytelling then boy does Disney have a series for you.

Through the first four-ish episodes, the new season is mostly just fine and even quite enjoyable. We have the Mando getting a fun side quest with Timothy Olyphant on Tatooine where they get to wrangle a sand worm in a callback to the Westerns that inspired much of the franchise’s aesthetic. The Mando gets to escort a frog lady to her home planet to give birth to some tadpoles and they run into some actual danger in this episode in the form of kyrnknas/space spiders. And we get the return of Bo Katan from Dave Filoni’s “Clone Wars” and “Rebels” cartoon series, with Katee Sackhoff herself reprising the role in a fun Mandalorian team-up episode.

(I’m just so happy to see my girl, Starbuck, again more than anything honestly ;_;)

But the wheels started officially falling off for me in the next episode.

Episode 5 marked the live-action debut of fan favorite Ahsoka Tano, played by Rosario Dawson, and she meets the Mando by getting the jump on him with her lightsabers. In virtually any other situation we have been told lightsabers can cut through virtually anything. Now, beskar has been shown to be plenty durable throughout the series so far but lightsabers? Surely not.

Well…

It is an overall good episode despite this but it marked the point for me where I badly wanted The Mando to just go the rest of the series without it. Obviously, the writers aren’t going to actually kill our hero, afterall The Mouse needs more money and he can’t have it unless we get 50 more Mandalorian episodes and spin-offs, but at some point I gotta feel like there’s a possibility at least that our hero might actually die or at least is in danger. It is actually super funny to me each time The Mando ducks or seeks cover in a shootout when I know, and the viewer damn well knows, he can literally walk right into the middle of it and shoot all these motherfuckers at his own leisure cause his actual plot armor is the stuff of adamantium and vibranium combined.

Episode 5 is mostly good though, it’s a nice callback to old school samurai flicks and for an old fan like myself it was enough to ignore beskar again saving the Mando’s ass.

(This was cool...This...was...cool.)

If episode 5 marked the point in which the wheels began to come off though, episode 6 is where the show really spun out into the ditch for me. Perhaps, this series worst episode, personally, episode 6 reintroduces fan favorite and series inspiration Boba Fett back officially into the fold and the result was perhaps the most self-indulgent entry of the series.

(I mean, it was directed by Robert Rodriguez so...)

Boba arrives to demand his beskar from The Mando who promptly tells him “no” before they are ambushed by a platoon of stormtroopers. Alongside Ming-Na Wen’s Fennec Shand, the three do battle with the stormtroopers with ridiculous ease. I’m aware that stormtroopers exist to be on the highlight reel of our heroes in this franchise and have a long history of not being able to hit the broad side of a bantha but again, I can only watch these guys die by the dozens onscreen over and over again while our heroes get away without suffering even a bruise before it starts feeling boring and repetitive.

It only gets worse once Boba actually puts on his armor. In a sequence that I would describe as “gratuitously” fan servicey, Boba wastes just about every last stormtrooper in this scene culminating with him destroying their two get-away vehicles in a single shot with a rocket. Considering he was killing them with ease just moments before with nothing more than a battle club and a bathrobe, it seemed almost hilariously needless that he donned his iconic armor.

(It would be tempting to say the stormtroopers fought as ineptly as the Putty Patrol here but even the Power Rangers have struggled a few times against these guys...)

I get that Boba is really important to a lot of fans, based on their perceptions of him in the original trilogy and subsequent books and graphic novels that came out in the following years, but here’s a hot take; this series didn’t need him in it. Maybe they didn’t need to keep him rotting in the Sarlacc Pit but this episode, alongside Ahsoka Tano’s feels more like marketing choices for the story rather than narrative ones. I’ll concede that there is a bit more substance to having Ahsoka there to commune with Grogu but their additions to the plot don’t actually show much of anything about the Mando outside physically helping him in a fight.

The way they tease, in both cases, stories that exist outside the internal narrative between Ahsoka’s search for Admiral Thrawn and Boba taking over Jabba’s palace at the end of the final episode, it feels like Disney threw in mini trailers for fans to nibble on at the expense of telling the Mando’s own story and letting it stand on its own like the first season.

The choice to have these characters shoved into this season again appears to be market driven not narrative. Once more, I get that these characters are important personally to many fans, but the appearance of these characters alone DO NOT equal good storytelling.

(Me when a fan tells me “But Boba was such a badass in *obscurely titled EU book that a handful of general audiences have read*! He deserves this moment!”)

The final episode of the season is truly encapsulating of all these issues “The Mandalorian” has, however. Moff Gideon, played by the always sharp Giancarlo Esposito, has Grogu imprisoned aboard his ship. The Mando and his friends plan a rescue mission to save him and, just like nearly every episode before, it is stupidly easy for our protagonists.

The crew of five, again, walk through every Imperial on the ship. I don’t mean this metaphorically by the way, I mean this literally as Cara, Fennec, Bo Katan and Koshka Reeves (played by WWE’s Sasha Banks) without a single moment of real adversity just blast through every stormtrooper on the ship and never get hit once in the process.

A good action scene needs an element of danger, a sense that our hero might actually not come out of this alive even though we all know they will. An action scene without this has no tension and without tension it becomes booooooooring.

(Even John fucking Wick is capable of bleeding, guys...)

The finale had a chance, however, to add real stakes and danger to the scene in the form of this season’s new enemy; The Dark Troopers. These Imperial battle droids were foreshadowed as these super soldiers at the end of episode 4 and seemed to be billed as a real dangerous match for our heroes to faceup against. When the Mando finally gets himself face to face with one he finds they are not as easy to kill as the nameless stormtroopers from before. To see The Mando briefly face real adversity for a change snapped me out of my cynical mood so sharply for a moment I thought I had turned on another series by accident.

But of course, danger never lasts long in this series as The Mando’s armor again saves him first from getting pummeled to death by the droid’s super fists then he uses his plot spear, cause of course he has one of those too, to finish the job.

Danger over.

Moff Gideon doesn’t fair much better in this episode. This villain who had been built up for two seasons as this calculative monster gets stopped rather easily with Mando and his friends barely breaking a sweat. This character feels wasted because of this, even though I’m sure Giancarlo Esposito will return in the next season. He just feels about as much like a pushover as the nameless stormtroopers in this series.

The episode had one more chance though to show these Dark Troopers meant business toward the end as we found the heroes cornered on the command deck with nowhere to run and a dozen of these droids ready to blast and pound them into the floorboards. But help arrives in the form of a Deus X-Wing Machina.

Without having to face even one Dark Trooper, Luke fucking Skywalker arrives on the ship and kills every droid without breaking a sweat. It plays as inspiring in the moment but again I just found myself bored and irritated. A chance to see the series heroes actually use their wits and show their creativity in a moment of true danger thwarted to please fan boys.

I get that Grogu called out to him in episode 6 but creatively this felt like an extremley lazy way to solve the heroes’ dilemna.

(“Hello my name is Jedi. I enjoy doing...*computes script* Jedi things.”)

This season wasn’t all bad. It certainly had nice production value that made each alien world pop and beautiful to look at. Every actor and actress played their parts expertly well, with what they were given, and made for interesting characters at times. There are also nice homages to both Western and Samurai cinema throughout the season that fans of both will appreciate. And Pedro Pascal is just so good on his own, especially in tender moments with Grogu, that you forget that his character is kind of a Gary Stu.

But the main crux of the issue here that I’m trying to get across is the reason you need to remove the plot armor of your heroes is not just because action scenes need tension and stakes, it’s that when faced with danger these scenes reveal who these characters are. I used to believe that the reason Mandalorians and Jedi had such a fierce rivalry in the lore despite the obvious advantages of wielding the Force was because these famed bounty hunters were just that fucking good at killing. That despite being, on paper, normal people they had great martial prowess, athletic skill, and the tactical wit to outsmart people who can literally sense their feelings. But now with beskar and the way this series is written, it appears the Mandalorians were challenging warriors just because they happened to harness the most OP armor building material in the galaxy.

It makes you wonder how the fuck they were conquered to begin with…

(Maybe they just needed more knee rockets...)

This takes away from the mysticism of the Mandalorians for me. It makes The Mando less interesting to me in the way he fights. Yea he can shoot really good too but really it’s the armor that makes him the fighter that he is and I find that kind of boring. We occasionally get this character to remove the armor during the series, including a whole episode that was easily one of the best of the season, and in every case he’s more interesting once the helmet comes off. I get that fans hold a lot of reverence for that armor, yea it still looks really cool, but making it this impenetrable super material doesn’t add anything to the story.

If anything, it takes away from it.

(Plus how could you not love Pedro Pascal when he’s out of armor? uWu)

I wouldn’t go as far as to say I hate season 2, even though I spent 2000 plus words just now lambasting it but I guess I just want to say I am unimpressed more than anything. I feel like I’ve seen better Star Wars be it in the movies, cartoons, books, video games, etc and I’ve certainly seen better action in the franchise as well.

Considering fan reaction so far appears to be overwhelmingly positive, I am definitely in the minority here and you are welcome to enjoy this series as much as you want in spite of how unimpressed I am with the season. But considering all I have seen of this fandom the last few years, regarding complaints about fan service (“Rogue One”), easily defeated/underdeveloped bad guys (“The Last Jedi”), and Mary Sues (The sequel trilogy in general), I have to ask again what is it actually that fans like or don’t like about new entries in the franchise? It’s not that there isn’t valid criticisms there and “The Mandalorian” is enjoyable in sincere ways too but it has many of the issues I hear commonly said of more divisive entries in the Disneyverse. So why does it get a pass?

I’ve been told it’s not worth my energy to talk too derisively about the fans in one of my earlier write-ups, so I’ll leave it at that but it does make me wonder.

(“Rogue One” admittedly has a simarily self-indulgent action sequence though haha...)

Season 2 of “The Mandalorian” isn’t the worst piece of Star Wars media ever created, far from it, and for most part its solid enjoyable Saturday morning cartoon theater but if the series wants to really take steps to become more compelling in the future it might be good to stop bubble wrapping their heroes in plot armor. Literally.

Until then this is the way…I guess…

Me getting ready for the backlash...