#I feel so free. I can post all my cringe wherever now!!!!!!

[quotidianish]

doodles :3

[katherinecrighton]

Nuts and Bolts: Some Writing Advice

(Reposting a 2013 post from the Anna Katherine co-tumblr)

A friend of mine awhile back asked the aether for some practical, straightforward writing advice, which I assumed meant nuts and bolts stuff.

This is what I ended up writing to her.

(Caveat emptor: 1. The reason advice looks contradictory is because it literally is different for everyone — shit that works for one person won’t work for someone else. Just stick it in your toolbox and move along. 2. I will say obvious shit that you already know. Because it’s possible somebody else doesn’t. 3. You may totally disagree with anything/everything I say, oh my god, that’s fine.)

1. Use the word “said.” Throw in a “she declaimed” every once in a while if you like, but don’t do it all the time. Feel free to put in no dialogue tags at all, if it’s clear who’s speaking. But “said” is free and generally invisible to the reader (and the goal is to not remind the reader that they’re reading).

2. Writing advice for short fiction and writing advice for novels are and writing advice for one genre versus another are all going to tell you slightly (or wildly) different things. So, you know, watch out for that. I suggest switching mediums entirely, and try reading up on screenplays or three-panel comics.

3. Stick your finished draft into a Kindle or some other robot reader, and have a mechanical voice read the story to you. It’s a step removed, and you’ll hear where it clunks. Make notes as it goes.

4. If you don’t have a robot reader, read it out loud to yourself. Actually out loud. Put check marks wherever you cringe. It’s where the reader will likely cringe too.

5. Start your story at the point of change. It’s more interesting. Backfill with exposition a couple of paragraphs later.

6. Sometimes, if I’m writing a one-off, I pick a motif and stick with it as a lodestone for all my descriptions. It’s a way of creating a sort of subliminal mood and atmosphere for the reader, while at the same time maintaining a nice sense of continuity.

7. The English language likes to hear things in threes. Three bears, three nights, three wishes, and what with one thing and another, three years passed. English also likes iambic pentameter and any other rhyme or rhythm scheme it can get its hands on. Readers want language to both have a pretty meaning (three brothers seek their fortune) and a pretty sound (now is the winter of our discontent). The fastest way to do this, and not have it be totally obvious, is to combine the two. Have three lines of description, three examples of something, three jokes — and do it semi-regularly. It creates a rhythm in your work, like a heartbeat. Study other people’s stories and see if you can find where they’re doing the same or similar things. Count stuff.

8. Then, later, fuck with your readers by breaking the rhythm. Stop the heartbeat. Miss the step. The reader will get nervous and uncomfortable and have no idea why. Makes for good tension.

9. Other things that make readers uncomfortable: Set dressing. We’re used to visual mediums. If you want to set up a really uncomfortable scene, describe key things around it going in, and make it clear that it’s Not Okay. A pair of scissors that have been left half open. A door that is not entirely shut. A radio caught between two stations, the garden hose still left running. Nothing overt, nothing obvious – just stuff that feels uncomfortable to read. Do enough of those in a row, as you head toward a confrontation, and the reader will be a ball of avidly reading tension by the end of it. 

10. Graphic sex scenes are equal to action scenes. In both instances, know where everybody is, and what everybody’s doing. Describe with more physical action than you think is necessary. If the reader doesn’t know where everybody’s limbs are and what tools are being used, then they’ll get confused and bored. You can always edit later.

[starmonsterrr]

Introducing: Undertale self-insert #102480125 (Version 1.0)

HELLO HELLO SO I KNOW I HAVE TO CATCH UP WITH INKTOBERTALE BUT SHUSH I NEED TO INTRODUCE IO'S "CREATOR" COUNTERPART!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

If you haven't already read the introduction post of my primary Undertale 'sona' i advice you to do so. here's the link to it

DRRRRRRRRRUMMMROLLLLLLL

NOTE: THE REF NEEDS TO BE UPDATED

THIS THANG TOOK LIKE FOREVER TO FIGURE OUT BUT NOW I AM FREE FROM THE PAIN

Now it's time to explain the physics of this hhh

Aurum doesn't live inside the UTMV, but rather, exists as a creator for it, and lives in the fandom itself. That "fandom" location functions as a realm that allows for creativity from beings living in our world to brew and develop further to then take form in the UTMV itself, and is also where Creators can interact with eachother, no matter the distance.

Aurum cannot interact directly with the UTMV, but, due to being a Creator, is able to craft things and characters that live within it.

To do this, she requires a quill that it takes with itself wherever it goes. It functions as an outlet for her creative abilities.

I've also been thinking of the possibility of its soul being that quill, due to how tightly Aurum is connected to her creativity, but it might take me a bit to figure out the specifics for that.

In addition to creativity, Aurum is also able to spectate the works of other Creators, and of course, interact with said fellow Creators, but it can take her a bit to get out of it's shell.

Aurum tends to add quite an amount of detail to its work. While it has tried various artistic outlets, the one in which she excels the most is drawing, animation and writing, especially the earlier 2, as those are the hobbies it has been practicing since it has memory.

It also happens to be quite the extra-clever being. (extra clever earthbound spirit ghost in the form-)

It struggles with issues from a past fandom she used to mostly create for, and is trying to recover by 'pushing away shame', as it would word it. It also appears to have a particular dislike of what is known as cringe culture.

That scarf it wears? Just as the ref sheet says, it provides safety, but it also helps somewhat at covering up her neck scar that comes from a far older thing that happened. The scar may sometimes bleed when Aurum feels unsafe or as if it has 'slipped up creatively'.

Some bonus trivia:

Aurum's blood is gold! I made it like that because i myself have RH Null blood, which is also known as the....golden blood type.

It's design is inspired by the silver fox because I just recently found out it is one of my kintypes. And also because i have a tendency to represent myself online as a fox.

And the 'draconic' stuff? Dragon kintype, though that is covered by Io.

Speaking of, Aurum is the being that puppeteers Io.

INK FANGIRL INK FANGIRL INK FANGIRL

To add on the thing from above, this thing collects Ink images to survive.

probably has a little room full of simpy stuff

it's like a dragon hoard maybe

Aurum is meant to be in the autistic spectrum, as i myself am autistic!

I got the name Aurum from "Au", which is the periodic table of elements's symbol for gold. And y'know.... AUs! Aurum is a Creator! Doesn't that tie together nicely?

Yes, the scarf that it's wearing is a recreation of Ink's scarf.

Aurum first started as an arctic fox but then started getting covered in ink over time from drawing and drawing and drawing a lot, so it's basically identical to an actual silver fox.

Aurum sometimes stands on 2 legs, usually when interacting with other Creators.

I believe that's all i can think of right now, now off i go to catch up with Inktobertale. I may also do asks for Aurum when i take breaks! (AND I JUST REMEMBERED I MADE A SIDE BLOG TO RP AS IO HHHHH I GOTTA GET IT READY)

Later on i'll make a masterpost with the links to both Io and Aurum's posts

[theintrovertbean]

About Dorian and where I stand

I think it's time I voiced my actual opinion of Dorian. Partly because I need to write this down for myself to better understand my own feelings, and because of some of my posts, it might be hard to understand where I stand. Nowadays, I know it matters. Yeah, I gave it a chance. No, it didn't make me a Dorian enjoyer, but even though it makes me cringe sometimes, I don't think it's the worst thing to ever exist.

Disclaimer: This is my opinion to which everyone is free and more than welcome to add their own. I will address both good and bad things about Dorian, and I am going to criticize it. I also have to add that while I've been playing The Arcana for five years, I was gone for a while and missed out on a lot, especially the part when Dorian bought the game, so I'm not your all-knowing narrator. This is not a personal attack against anyone, whether they have a positive or negative opinion about Dorian. No drama here, just opinions and even some advice. Now let's begin.

I think the concept of Dorian is good, but it could be much better executed. The company makes some questionable choices, like now with the 3D figurines or when they posted those tales of the M6. I think the vast majority can agree that those tales felt like a living nightmare. That's certainly what they felt like to me, and I would prefer to ignore their existence. With the figurines, their quality is the issue. We do want the figurines, and we'd love them, but they don't look right, and I hate to say this because someone put effort into creating them (because, apparently, they're not AI-generated). Plus, I think it would be nicer if we could choose to get them painted. I'm aware that painted versions will be available too, but it would have made more sense to release both versions at the same time.

There are nice people on Dorian, I've met a few, so I don't think that liking Dorian automatically makes someone a bad person. It's simply not everyone's cup of tea. In many cases, for very understandable reasons. However, the people I actually communicated with were (and still are) very friendly and supportive. And tbh, there's no harm in enjoying the content that gets posted there. Unless it's something that promotes problematic ideas.

When I wanted to post a story there, I got loads of help, which I'm very thankful for, but some things make me wonder if I want my content to be put on Dorian. Ultimately, I've decided to do it, and I'm about to release the first episode. I know there are people on Dorian too, who would like to read some good Nadia content (not sure if I'm the right person for that, but there's no harm in trying). However, this is not a decision that I made lightly. I spent a lot of time wondering if I should do it. It's a personal moral compass thing, plus I know that there are people in my following who don't like Dorian. No, I am not going to abandon my blog. Everything I post on Dorian I plan on sharing here as well, one way or another. Right now, this is more of a test than anything else. And if somehow I end up becoming rich from the Dorian money, I can spend it on Arcana merch (/jk).

Dear Dorian, Arcana main 6 boobie mousepads when?

Seriously, my main goal is to spread the gospel about our goddess Nadia, wherever it may be, and I've had a few people encourage me to bring some content about her to the Dorian platform to show the Countess some love. But, know that when it happens, it's not because I'm such a big fan of Dorian. On the contrary, I'm quite critical of it, and anyone who has ever spoken to me knows that too. Anything I post on the Dorian platform will be purely out of my love for Nadia, my fellow simps, and the joy of creating.

Now, let's talk about Dorian's target audience. It's definitely not me nor the vast majority of The Arcana fandom. From what I've noticed, most of us are young adults, but Dorian is more attractive to people who are around their thirties. The adult adults. No hate to those people, hurting you is not my intention, and you did nothing wrong. It simply feels like Dorian is less focused on us younger people, partly because we are not very likely to pay them any money. However, an adult with a stable income is more likely to afford digital currencies. I understand that Dorian needs money too, or else they wouldn't be able to pay their creators, but it would be nice if they could do something in favor of the young adults as well.

Connected to the target audience, I have some things to say about the heart system too. If someone isn't familiar with it, Dorian uses hearts to unlock paid scenes. They use it for spicy content as well, but it's not exactly the best way to keep minors from accessing them. Yes, there are minors on the Dorian app too, I've seen a few. As soon as someone downloads the app, they get free hearts and they don't even need an account. Dorian is a social media platform with streaming features and by joining/starting a live stream, users are able to access all paid content, spice included. Having spicy content is not the issue, but making it so available is. I know, I know, places like Play Store and App Store allow this, it doesn't go against their rules. But, look into your heart, and ask yourself if it really is okay. If it's possible, I'd like to encourage Dorian to at least make their users (whether they are registered or not) confirm that they are over the age of 18 or let them add their date of birth when they use the app for the first time. This way, they could add a feature that automatically hides adult content from underage users. It's not much, but I know some people who would feel better.

There are things on Dorian that I genuinely enjoy, like the current event, The Arcana Love Quest. I've seen people say that it divides the fandom and makes it seem like one person is a much better fan than the others, but as someone who actually participates, I don't feel that way. However, I get where these come from because it does seem off from the outside. (Rip Nadia guild, we didn't make it to the next round, but it was fun.)

Now the "negativity". There have been countless people who voiced their opinions about Dorian, and they often didn't speak too highly of the company. I didn't see it myself, but from what I know, there was even something about comments getting deleted by Dorian and people getting blocked. Of course, there are people who simply hate. In those cases, I understand they want to shield themselves and pretty much everyone else from witnessing those vulgar remarks. However, civilized, constructive criticism isn't something they should censor or ignore. It's impossible to satisfy everyone, but they have to try and listen because even though criticism doesn't always feel nice, it's for everyone's benefit. By listening to what people say, Dorian could improve.

The Dorian app itself tries to be too many things at once. Instead of adding new features, I think it would be better to make it more stable and easier to control because it can get glitchy and confusing at times. However, I have to give their support team credit because I had issues with the app myself. I filled out a ticket, and they solved it for me. They were civil, kind, and responsive, so I really can't complain about that.

And about what they're doing to the official The Arcana app. It's upsetting, I know, but since Dorian owns it, we can't blame them for advertising themselves on it. Some people make a living by working for Dorian and/or posting content there and that is something I respect because this is literally how they pay their bills and put food on their tables. However, it's starting to get out of hand and anything more would be too much. Like the Dorian app, it wants to be too many things at once. To make the "Tales" button smaller than the Dorian stuff next to it is something that doesn't sit right with me. Also, half of the "Dailies" page is now about Dorian. There's also an entire page for streams, which is kinda unnecessary because if I want to watch a stream, I'll use the actual Dorian app for it anyway. Also, as soon as I open The Arcana app, I get like, three pop-ups about Dorian, which honestly reminds me of using illegal websites for watching movies.

There is also something else I wish to say. We can't blame Nix Hydra's mistakes on Dorian, and we can't expect Dorian to post content like Nix Hydra did. As I mentioned before, Dorian is a social media platform. Yes, we got Arcana tales once, but that's not what Dorian is for.

In conclusion, The Arcana is cursed like Lucio's wing. Do I regret giving Dorian a chance, tho? Honestly, no, not really. At least I have seen both sides of the coin. Dorian is not the worst, but there is a lot of room for improvement. My advice is to listen to not only the praise but the constructive criticism too. There is potential in Dorian and if they did a better job, then maybe they could turn other people's and my head too. For now, I remain somewhere in the middle.

[biomegasin]

i guess im genuinely very curious about what other people who want to lead a revolutionary life of some sort think abt using social media like instagram specifically. I think for me personally its hard bc it engraves certain ideas of cringe and aspirational ideal of coolness which is based on how i look/what i do.... i feel less creatively free bc of this. like to me it is obviously an ego-overproduction machine, but theres a spectrum for how harmful it is to people. me being someone who is pretty susceptible to it for example even tho im critically aware of that as well. but like. do u think its insane as a call to action to move away from certain platforms entirely? like to be a serious activist. or is this sort of just a me problem, where its suchh an insane distraction and distorted mirror that creates an ego monster out of me but other people can casually deal. the blocking of celeb movement thing post met gala has me thinking bout it bc the line between person that makes content online with decent amount of followers and celebrity is not so clear, and the literal technological built in functions of instagram specifically promote a microcosm of celebrity even if u have like under 1000 followers. its very different than a slow built personal blog of the past for example. stories are basically personal TMZ, like caught going about your day captured glamorously. especially bc of the time expiration the sort of pressure to view it all very quickly and stay caught up. also still trying to write about images from gaza on social and its very difficult...... bc of this big question i have about how using insta could ever not be complicit with the perpetrators at its core. and i mean in america i dont blame the workers for their forced sort of complicity with US crimes nor consider it true complicity thats complex. and let me say that coming from baudrillard to approach question of sharing images of gazan genocide on insta stories etc i think that there something fundamentally different about that proliferation of images than what he believes about the media broadcast from the gulf or apocalypse now created/erased those wars. like i think that sharing images of whats happening right now within your social circles is very important and that (insta stories) is how a large majority of people interact with their friends outside groupchats or wherever the average american isnt gonna be sending news from gaza. but like from there i think the echo chamber argument can be made but do you see what im saying and what my question is. im like struggling to reconcile having a smart phone at this point but also what will me dropping off the electronic social grid bc there is a level of compliance with the existing order there really do .

[dreaming-colourful-skies]

Hello again 👋

I am... not sure if a mass exodus to Tumblr is happening? Or if any of my mutuals from years ago are still active? 😅

If anyone cares and/or if I ever, like, relaunch this acct, lil fandom update &... context statement I guess! 

It’s getting long so I’ll hide it behind a “Read More”. But if you’re hemming and hawing over a follow or have a weird “you shipped that??” moment then feel free to take a look!

(And welcome to my page 🎉)

Past: FMA & Brotherhood

I stand by my older writing, at least to the extent you can see your old stuff without cringing too hard ahaha.

That said, I wouldn’t say I currently ship this pairing. Their fanon interpretation is in my memories fondly, especially from certain authors, but I’ll be honest, the ship did not occur to me while I was watching the show itself. I think part of the beauty of fandom is that transformative aspect, and I did appreciate experiencing the anime and manga in a new way through fanfiction.

I never set out to ship somewhat “problematically”, stumbling into it as FMA’s most popular Ao3 ship at the time. For my own writing, I consistently made it clear that Ed was an adult (like, at least 20), maybe Roy younger if an AU, and adjusted things like employment context to minimize power imbalances, because that was important to me.

Can people ship them in different ways, incl. age gap, boss/employee, etc.? Sure! I’m not out here to judge and don’t really want to touch that, tbh. It’s important to me that we can all create fandom in the ways that are meaningful to us, tag, curate our own experiences, and mute or click away as preferred, but I’m also too sensitive to dive properly into Discourse around these things (I mean, I’m out here creating soft bantery fluff hahaha) so that mismatch was a bit of a deterrent. Nuance is difficult online, and often in short supply.

Leaving was a weird combo of fandom getting quieter, inspo leaving me, and I guess life stuff. Tl;dr I’m pretty “ship and let ship” and against harassing any creators, but my own take was gentle and if it makes anyone comfier, I did want to add that context!

Little did I know that I would later stumble into a whole different arena of “don’t call me short, bastard!” exchanges.

Past: Carry On

My time in this fandom was fun! Ngl, there was no issue or major reason for leaving; I simply read the second and third books, once the third was out, and lost inspiration. 😅 What can you do?

CQL/MDZS, HQ

These fandoms are still dear to me, but I didn’t end up creating content for them for a couple of reasons. Perhaps someday if it makes sense!

Bungou Stray Dogs

It’s been... idk, eight months of BSD obsession? Six months writing it on Ao3 (Colourful_skies), in any case! If I do move back to Tumblr, I’m sure you’ll hear more. As of now, I’ve published ~65k in that time, which is... hard to compare, I suppose, but a high rate for me personally! I don’t know if that will continue, but at this point, I hope so. More recently I’ve attempted a bit more engagement w others, which has been fun.

In short, Soukoku and especially Chuuya have my heart, and I also really appreciate Sigma. I tend to write soft skk, fluff, and introspective fics, but mentioning that simply for context; I prefer to follow wherever inspiration leads me. Analysis is also v fun, including drawing connections with BSD authors’ works and making non-BSD poems or songs about skk/Chuuya, but idk if I would post about these topics here.

Moving forward, I hope to continue to work on my craft and brainrot over BSD & fandom with other lovely people, until my inspiration or mental wellness (?) lead me elsewhere.

Thanks for visiting my page! 🌻

[i-make-mogai-terms-2]

an argument for xenogenders

imma be honest i took this argument half seriously then i got bored so i might come back to it but dont count on that. i think its a good jumping off point for Something though.

0. foreword

i'm kind of tired rn but i just wanna get this out there. i am not an end-all be-all, i am not a representative or a large member of this community, and i would love it if someone could proofread or add to this or bring up counterarguments because hoo boy my brain ain't running today

note that i will not tolerate people just saying "cringe" or whatever. if you're here, come here with a real argument.

I. an argument for xenogenders

gender is a construct. a construct based off our biology, sure, but still a construct. the idea of gender has changed over time and varies by society. the concepts of gender vary from person to person. what "woman" means to someone might be completely different from what it means to someone else.

gender is presentation. you outwardly convey what you want others to think about you. part of that is gender. gender can be conveyed through appearance, actions, words. the signals are then interpreted by someone else. 

now, then. there are a lot of different positions that anti-xenogender people take, but i don't give a shit because i'm a teenager on the internet with like 3 followers. my point being: why does gender only have to be male or female (or male, female, and both/neither)? why can't we try to convey a gender in abstracts, in "tree", in "blue", in "love"? (it doesn't matter if people interpret it wrong - most people with xenogenders, heck, most non-binary people are prepared for that.) but no one can ever perfectly portray their self, their personhood.

gender is self-expression.

FAQ: "why do you coin new genders that no one will use then" IDFK i'm doing it as a community building exercise and because i like flags

II. an argument against cringe

sometimes people are weird. that's really it. i'm fuckin weird, for more reasons than mogai bullshit.

i don't know why the fuck you'd want to hang out with people who don't like you because they don't like people who share the same label word as you. like, who fucking cares about a "cringe" vocal minority? 

and politics. why would people be prepared to take away transgender rights because of a few "bad apples"? it's 'cause they were fucking looking for a reason to take away transgender rights. the people who take away your human rights are never the people you should be sucking up to.

...i'm sorry if being seen as cringe is a new thing to you. i really am. i get the social alienation that comes with being seen as weird. but to truly be yourself, you have to accept that sometimes, people won't like you, because no one likes everyone.

III. an argument for transsexuality

my argument isn't really about dysphoria, lol. (can u tell my brains running out.) i dont rlly see dysphoria as a part of gender expression, which i'm trying to argue xenogenders are. dysphoria is a thing related to but not entirely made of gender expression... i dont rlly know what causes it, i dont know the brain mechanisms behind it, yadda yadda

feel free to copy-paste & alter this post and use it wherever... just don't paywall it, information is free <3

[jaeminscoffee]

Daddy Issues | S. Jn

Pairing | Seo Johnny x Fem!Reader

Genre | Smut, fluff

Wc;type | oneshot: 3.93k [not proof read]

Warning(s) | Pwp, dilf!johnny, y/n's a pillow princess, daddy kink, overstimulation, teasing, edging, dacryphilia, slight voyeurism, degradation kink, heavy use of the words 'doll, princess, slut, pretty, angel', typical lyra smut, i made haechan johnny's son (i was about to write changbin as johnny's son but decided against it) age gap, unprotected sex ( the Reader's on pills. Remember this is a fiction, don't play the wrong card irl) filth.

a/n- i found this request buried in my asks and was tempted to write it. Sure, the warning looks intimidating, but i know you wanna read it, y'all whores (ily) shoutout to @bakugou-is-my-bae @cvntzennie and @jenopollo for helping me decide what to post first! @suhpersonic

Minors try not to interact! <3

Age is just a number, so surely, there's nothing to be ashamed or embarrassed of, right? 

There's no reason for you to not fall for the friendly neighborhood bachelor, well not so bachelor bachelor, since he does go around asking people who knows of his marriage to pretend it never took place. 

Johnny's hot, super hot. Has the build of a supermodel. Has the face that one can only imagine belongs to a greek god, as you'd jokingly tell him how he seemed to be god's favorite and how you loathe Aphrodite for showing favoritism (which would always end up with you getting a very sultry, teasing look from the lad) 

Johnny has the type of personality that women can only wish the entirety of the male species would possess. He's an absolute sweetheart, life of the party, definitely the center of attention wherever he goes. And oh god, does he have an immaculate fashion sense. 

But Johnny's also the father of Donghyuck. Your best friend. 

More than being ashamed about the fact that you actually fell in love with a man who has a child of your age, it was the fact that you had to fall for Donghyuck's father of all people. 

Donghyuck is a sweetheart, definitely got his personality from his father but he's also got that glare that could creep the Lord's of the darkness from his father. He's got so much from his father that the resemblance is uncanny. 

You'd not want to get onto hyuck's bad side since you've gotten first hand experience at stopping him from almost committing homicide to someone who spoke shit about his friends, more specifically, you. 

But Hyuck's not in town. So a little fun with Mr. Suh wouldn't hurt anyone, correct? After all, you're still only a human with desires and the want to take risks. 

You'd always not so subtly drop hints at Johnny and he'd always give you that look that would have slick collecting itself between your thighs. A warning look. 

A look that said, "cross the line and you'll get it" 

But that's the thing, you want to get it and will do anything to get it.

"Y/n." 

You'd ask yourself less than a million times if you want to do this or not.

Sure, you weren't this hesitant when you decided to sext your best friend's father knowingly when he was in business mode to irk him up but that's one thing. 

And having to confront the same father who left a message smaller than a sentence that completely disregarded all the obscene text and images to show that he's not the slightest bothered or suprised by your behavior for that matter was another thing.

"Tomorrow at mine." 

It's almost as though he deals with hormonal teenagers one as such as yourself on a daily basis and that thought kind of backfired at you considering the whole 'Let's piss Johnny off so that he'd finally give me what i want' agenda. 

Ironic, huh? 

"Mr. Suh." you start hesitantly, unsure of what to call him, scared of what his reaction would be after your inappropriate shenanigans last night. 

Your stiff demeanor broke down a little with just a hint of shiver passing down your spine as you watch his features contort into a subtle but cocky smirk, "So now you're being all formal,"

"Well, what else would you like me to address you as?" you inquire, feigning oblivion to his tone and what he's implying at. "You tell me, doll. You seemed to have a lot of names to call me last night," he takes a step forward, prompting you to walk a step backwards, further into the corridors of his apartment and away from the actual location. 

"I do not know what you're talking about.. " you let your voice shrivel towards the end, eyes wandering around the complex, finding interest in every small detail as you avoid Johnny's teasing gaze. 

"You don't?" Johnny takes another step forward, latching his hands onto your forearms to prevent you from stepping further away, "You must have had a heavy sleep to forget all that you did last night," his voice drops dangerously low as he begins to walk backwards and back into the safety of his apartment, all the while keeping his gaze fixated on you.

"That won't do, would it? How about we take a walk down the memory lane? And see if that rings any bell?" He brushes your hair away from its static position on your shoulder, allowing him to appreciate all those fine details of your shoulders and neck that are exposed from your selection of clothing, an off shoulder. 

"How about we don't...?" You ask with skepticism, jolting slightly when you hear the door shut behind you and at the new intrusion of personal space by the lad.

"Why are you acting all shy now, Y/n? Weren't you the one so eager to get into her best friend's fathers pants? Just be the whore you are, darling. Your facade's fooling no one." okay you definitely didn't see that coming. 

Johnny's expressions morph into that of mischief as he watches your eyes grow wide and mouth fall ajar, "Am i not correct? Are you not a whore?" he asks with an eyebrow quirked up in a questioning manner.

You don't reply, almost as though the question was meant to linger in the open and that it was a rhetorical one. What you didn't expect, however, was for Johnny's hands to find pursuit around your neck, not necessarily applying pressure, but there as a warning. 

"Answer me." 

"I'm not.." you answer with a feeble voice, internally cringing at how squeaky you sound which only added to Johnny's amusement. 

"Really? Because I don't think good girls go around drooling at a divorced man, her friend's father for that matter and definitely do not send lewd images and voice out their fantasies to a guy twice their age, still want to pretend you're innocent? Or you admit it and we cut down the chase?"

"Yes, I am." you breathe out when his fingers tighten around your neck, a triumphant smile making its way onto his lips. Yet, Johnny felt the need to keep pushing,

"you're what?" 

"I am what you said I am," you speak, trying to avoid looking at the scrutinizing look on his face which seemed futile as he had his arms wrapped around your neck, keeping your head in place. 

"I want to hear you say it, doll. I need to hear you say it." At this point Johnny's intent was to get you into a flustered puddle in his hold and it sure as hell was going in that direction, seeing how you can't even hold his gaze for more than a few seconds in a shot. 

"I am.. I am a who-"

The sound of a phone ringing loud cut you off midway through your sentence, to which you were absolutely relieved. Johnny only seemed to grow annoyed the more he heard the phone ring. With a loud huff, he lets you go, not before giving you a stern look, "Go to my room." he instructed, making his way to the study. 

You let out a breath you've been holding in unknowingly the moment he steps away from you. You watch his figure retreat from you with awe, only now realizing how messy you felt between your legs and how your knees keep buckling. 

"Oh Hyuck!" you hear Johnny exclaim into the phone the minute you step forward to follow his command. 

Your best friend is on call with the guy you're about to fuck. 

Your blood runs cold as you shakily make your way into the apartment and towards the bedroom, shrugging off your sling bag, hanging it behind the door as you place your phone on the bedside table to wipe your hands dry from all the sweat that had accumulated at the palm of your hands. 

"Yeah, I'm fine, about to eat to my dinner actually" you hear the moment to make yourself comfortable at the edge of the bed, looking over to the door where Johnny stood with his arms across his chest, the other holding up the phone as he leans his weight onto one shoulder, leaning into the doorframe.

You take the time to really appreciate his appearance. He adorned nothing more than a simple grey sweat and tight black tee but he seemed ready to walk down a runway at any given moment now. His long hair, slightly disheveled looking almost intentionally messed up, compliments his features. And oh his features. 

The everlasting smirk stayed still on his lips, moving as he exchanged words with his son.

You only come back to your senses when Johnny snapped his free hand in front of you, gaining your attention. He points at his own shirt, then points at you, mouthing 'off' while he listens to Donghyuck speak about whatever he's speaking. 

"Really? Jeno said that? Tell him I'm more than willing to welcome him as my gym partner, the lad seems strong" Johnny makes a quick move to remove the gadget from his ear, before holding it in front of him after placing the call on speaker mode 

Your eyes widen the moment you hear the disturbance in the background and Donghyuck's voice resonate through the room. "no?? Why would you want to work out with him? He'll only make you feel old, you know?" 

"Says the one who still can't beat me at arm wrestling. If anything, i think Jeno would make the perfect gym buddy for me," Johnny raises an eyebrow at your defiance, cocking his head towards the side, staring down at you with a predatory look, "Hyuck, you know, Y/n-" you scramble to take your shirt off at the mention of your name on the call, "-stopped by earlier" he lets out a silent laugh of disbelief.

"Oh? Oh yeah! I'd told her I'd give her book back before I left but I forgot, did you perhaps give it back to her?" Donghyuck questions. 

"I figured you must've forgotten so, yeah i did." Johnny replies, pushing himself off of the doorframe, now walking towards you. 

"Man, I miss her! I might facetime her after I end the call with you," Johnny sets down the phone beside you on the bed, leaning down, placing both his hands on either side of your lap, finding comfort at the crook of your neck,

"I remember her mentioning something about her cousin coming over? Maybe wait for an hour or so before calling her" his lips graze against your neck each time he spoke, you let out a tiny whimper at the so longed feeling, only to earn yourself a small bite at the earlobe, immediately accompanied by a hand over your mouth, "you need to be quiet, doll. Or my son would find out how much of a slut his best friend is," he whispers in your ear. 

"Yeah? Did she mention which one?" 

"No, not really, she kinda just stormed out after getting what she wanted" Johnny creates a trail of kisses all the way from your neck to your shoulders, down the collarbone while one of his hand worked to unhook your bra, "Yeah, she's weird like that," you hear Donghyuck let out a chuckle as you whine into Johnny's palm, your figure slightly trembling from the fear of getting caught all the while being excited about the risky situation he's put the two of you in. 

"Anyways, I'll call you tomorrow? The boys are coming over now so I got to go! Night, dad!" Donghyuck speaks up again, "Night, Hyuck." 

You hear the beep indicating the call has ended. Johnny let's his hand drop from your mouth and makes its way towards your hair, brushing through the strands before pulling at it with a firm grip, "I had my son on call and here you are making all these sweet noises, you wanted to get busted, doll?" 

"It's not my fault! You-"

"ah-ah! Don't talk back, angel. You're already in deep trouble, don't want to add onto that now, do we?" He makes a swift move to have you lying on your back, your torso completely exposed to him while he remains clothed. 

"But Johnny-" you whine, jolting when you feel his hands caressing the soft flesh of your inner thighs, "How do you think Hyuck would feel about this?" his hands travel further north, cupping your heat from underneath your skirt. "fuck, you're drenched"

"Now tell me, pretty girl, what are you supposed to be calling me, now?" 

"Johnny-, tha-that was a joke! I don't have daddy kin-" you try clenching your thighs close from the sudden attention your core was receiving. Johnny wholeheartedly lets out a laugh at your attempt to hide your true feelings, making a quick act of disregarding your soaked panties somewhere behind him.

"Darling, the more you deny it, the longer we keep going at it-" his thumbs at your clit, applying pressure but making no move to quench your needs. You let out a sigh of bliss at the feeling, your back arching off of the sheets at the sensation.

In any other situation, you'd be embarrassed at how sensitive you'd gotten just from all the dirty talking and looks Johnny passed you. But that's the catch, he's Johnny, the only one who can get you this sensitive while doing the bare minimum. 

"Say it, Y/n." 

"No, Johnny! It's-it's embarrassing.." you plead with your eyes, grinding your hips against his fingers, earning a satisfied, dirty look from the lad. 

"Very well.. I'll just draw it out of you"

Without warning, Johnny with little to no resistance, slides two slender digits into your wetness, setting a pace fast enough to draw loud chains of cries from your mouth.

"You hear that, doll? You hear how fucking wet you are? Hm?" he growls animalistically, the thumb that remained on your clit now moving in circles with a motive to get you undone in seconds. 

"Johnn-..!" you whine out, feeling your orgasm growing so close that you could almost taste it, "Still going at that, angel?" he questions, not really expecting an answer as he soaks up the pleasured look on your face. "Johnny- I'm close.. -" you fail to notice the mischievous grin growing on his face as he speeds up the movement of his fingers. 

"Of course you are, doll" He feels you clench around his fingers, back coming off of the mattress as you ready yourself for your release, waiting until the last minute to draw his finger out.

"Why would you-? Johnn-I was so close!" you cry out as you sense your core clench around nothing, whining about the incomplete orgasm. "Why would I give you what you want when you wouldn't comply, baby? That's not how this works." He shrugs, licking his fingers clean of your essence, moving up from the bed to remove the shirt that seemed to be suffocating now.

"Johnny, please!" you whine louder, rubbing your thighs together to create some sort of friction, all unsatisfactory as it did not meet the same intensity as that of his fingers. 

"Please what, doll?" He smirks, knowing the ball is in his court and that you'd had to give in any moment now. Johnny leans down once again, drawing lazy circles at your clit, using his other hand to hold himself up above and close to you, his minty breath which had a hint of coffee fanning your face as you whimper, finally feeling your high building itself up again. "Spit it out, princess, you know you want to." he speaks in a soft voice.

"Please..please" you beg for nothing in particular, getting all worked up again, "The begging's lovely, doll. But you're starting to anger me here, will you say it? Or should I leave you hanging again?" 

You mutter prayers under your breath, hoping he wouldn't actually leave you hanging again, "Fine-" he moves again to remove his fingers from you to deprive you of pleasure all over again when you finally latch onto his wrist, keeping his hands in place blurting out, "Daddy! I'm so-sorry.. There, daddy, please make me come" you give in, the name, the feeling and look of pure victory on his face as he grins like a cheshire cat only intensifies the heat growing at a rapid pace at the pit of your stomach. 

"Final fucking ly, princess. Daddy will make you feel good" He reinserts his fingers in, drilling it with desperation to see you come undone as he draws rapid circles on your now sensitive clit with the other hand, watching you squirm under him.

"Joh-Daddy i'm coming..!" you cry out weakly as you feel your orgasm hit you with much force, easily driving you into over sensitivity. Johnny's patient in helping you ride out your orgasm, not stopping until you let out a throaty sob and plead him to stop to allow yourself some room to breathe. 

Johnny, however, makes no move to stop, only speeding up his fingers, his gaze fixed on where his fingers disappeared inside of you while his other hand held you down with a vise grip, "Give me one more, doll. I know you've got one more in you. " he pants, the feeling of his girth in confinement only throwing himself to sensory deprivation as he feels himself twitch inside his sweats painfully. 

You shake your head, tears now flowing elegantly down your cheek, your lips puckered into a slight pout, your eyebrows drawn together as you let yourself melt into the pleasure Johnny was providing you with. "Daddy.." 

You whine, feeling your second high reaching you ridiculously quick as you see Johnny's face contort in concentration, 

"I need to get you nice and wet for me, princess, you're doing so well. Give daddy another one" you coaxes you with his sultry tone, words and actions, inevitably having you come undone under him for the second time that night. 

You let out a choked moan, finally having enough as you curl upon yourself the minute Johnny removes his fingers from you, full fledged crying at the overbearing feeling of sensitivity. 

Johnny groans at the sight, leaning down to press a soft peck on your sweaty forehead before getting off of the bed to remove his pants alongside his boxer at a slow speed, granting you some time to recover.

"Condom?" he asks, readying himself to reach into the drawing when he notices you shake your head a no as a reply, "I'm on pills.." you mutter weakly. 

You hear him curse out at the thought of doing you raw, flexing his muscles before climbing on top of you again. He takes his time to gently turn you back onto your back, pressing his tender lips against your irritated one for the first time that night, his hand ever so slightly moving to play with your clit once again, making you jerk, "Daddy!" 

"Sorry, doll. Daddy just needs to make sure that princess is ready to take his cock" 

Your whining intensifies at his words, wiggling your hips to move closer to his own, "But I am ready! Look, daddy! I'm so wet and ready for you!" you whimper, earning a chuckle from the lad. 

Just like all the other times that night, he aligns his cock at your entrance without a warning, the tip ever so slightly pushing through your walls, "Alright, big girl. Show daddy how much of a slut you can be for him."

Suddenly, Johnny detaches himself from you, moving further away as he leans by the edge of the door, smirking at you whining at the loss of contact, "Patience, angel" 

He grabs hold of your hips, manhandling your body into all fours as he enters you completely with no trouble once he's got you where he wants you to be.  

Something about having to take Johnny from behind was so sexy that you could almost immediately feel your orgasm grow, "Fuck baby, keep clenching around me like that and i won't last long," he grunts, moving in you with a steady pace, 

"I never expected my son to befriend such filthy sluts like you, Y/n. Look at the mess you're making on my sheets" He grabs a fistful of your ass in a tight squeeze, the sudden shift in his demeanor only serving as a whiplash as you feel yourself growing closer and closer to the sweet orgasm. 

"Jesus, doll, you're so fucking tight i can barely move" Johnny growls, talking to keep himself from coming too fast. 

"Daddy.. I'm close. M-I'm so so close" you cry as your arms give out and you fall face first onto the mattress, the new stretch in your back only encouraging his cock to hit you deeper, finding the sweet cushion that serves as extra pleasure for you. 

"Me too, princess, me too.. '' You hear him let out a whine, his thrusts growing sloppier as he does you slower but deeper. 

He reaches around your body to find pursuit at your clit for the nth time that night, rubbing rapid, messy circles to go with his deep thrusts, "Daddy!" you reach your high with a high pitched cry of his name. 

Johnny comes not too long after you as he couldn't resist the constant tight clenching of your walls around his cock. He thrust slowly to ride out his high as you twitch helplessly, face scrunched up in too much pleasure. 

You feel your body being manoeuvred onto your side as he whispers sweet nothings which pass right through your ears as you feel him softened inside you, the feeling ridiculously soothing for your used up walls, 

"You did amazing, darling." he kisses your temple, not making any move to remove himself from within you, which you silently thanked him for. 

You both lay in silence as you turned your body towards him, earning a hiss and a playful smack from him as it added pressure onto his sensitive member. You wrap your arms around his torso, about to nuzzle into his chest and just drift away to dreamland when you hear the familiar ring of your phone from the table beside the bed. 

You feel Johnny's body shift to reach out to get your phone, looking at the caller ID before handing it to you with a smirk that you knew meant that he was up to no good. "Oh! It's hyuck" you exclaim in shock, quickly accepting the call and placing it near your ear, moving to get away from him. 

But Johnny seemed to have other ideas, as he latched an arm around your torso to keep you from moving, "Hey-" you begin, immediately feeling Johnny experimentally thrust into you again, making you whine, "Y/n! I miss you~-oh hey, are you okay?" you hear Donghyuck's voice from the other side, 

You look at Johnny with a pleading and warning gaze to which you earn yourself a toothy grin from the lad, 

"Of co-course! Just a little.. peachy,'' You turn around to place a hand on his chest to halt his movement, "You don't sound just peachy.. I've heard you like this before!" you hear Donghyuck make those noises he makes when he's thinking as Johnny keeps thrusting lazily the more you look at him, you see him open his mouth to speak, "Oh fuck! You're getting laid, aren't you???" 

"Tell Hyuck daddy says hi"

[carbo-ships]

Hey, this is probably a weird question and I mean no disrespect but I was wondering if you can give any tips on how to write selfship stuff? I’m struggling to write it as I keep “cringing” at it (i know it’s not cringy at all but still). I love your writing, thanks for sharing it with others! Your account is wonderful and super inspirational :) (if this ask offends in any way pls delete it)

Oh, wow, thanks! I'm actually super insecure about my writing, so that's awfully kind of you to say 😅

I've been writing selfship fics since I was uhhh..... 11. So that's 13 years ago. So I got into it long before I ever experienced cringe or even knew what selfshipping was. I usually write on an app on my phone so that I can jot down ideas wherever/whenever. Most ideas aren't big enough to be a full story, so it also feels less like I'm abandoning a "project" if it's only a draft on my phone (similar to why I do digital art rather than traditional, putting it on paper feels like a commitment, I wanna be able to easily drop ideas that won't work). But when I have a longer story I really like I'll shift it over to my laptop to make sure I actually fill it in.

Sometimes when I get stuck in a story trying to figure out how I get from Point A to Point B, I'll just put [] where I need to go back to finish and just write what I already know is gonna happen. I can figure out the details later, no need to let them stop me.

Also remember you don't have to share your writing with anyone if you don't want to. The first 11 years of my stories will never see the light of day, and that is perfectly fine. Y'all don't need to see middle-school me fawning over Roy Mustang. Those will remain in the Google Drive for all of eternity. Imagine that FMA equivalent of "My Immortal". Now please stop imagining. There are also some stories I write with Sol that I worry about how they'd be received, or that address something too personal, so I just don't post those. Easy peasy.

I also tend to write in the third person because it makes me feel less embarrassed lol. Like this isn't me, it's my s/i (we are exactly the same, there is literally no difference, but it feels less cringe to me).

Does that help at all? Feel free to DM me if you have any specific questions, I am in fact just some guy.

[elionwriter]

MY FAV STAR WARS COUPLE DYNAMICS:

(for the sake of this post let's all just pretend no one dies, ok?)

Anakin - Padme: their relationship started with pure drama and really bad, corny pick up lines and it just goes on that way. Even when they are happily exiled on Naboo with their children and everyone knows about them, whenever they talk about their love or tell the story to Luke and Leia it's always with the tones of a 'larger than life situation'. Obviously Anakin is the drama queen who really pushes it (and is still salty he had to give up his title as Jedi Master) but Padme fell for him when he did the whole whiny speech about sand and married him, she secretly supports this s***t! 😝

Han - Leia: bickering is their love language. Screaming to impose supremacy is their flirting. The thing is, they never bicker for serious stuff, because they actually agree on what matters and get along as a couple, it's the principle of things! Sometimes a friend of Ben overhears them and goes 😱 "I'm really sorry for intruding on this, pal. Will your parents be alright?" And Ben with the calmest expression will answer "They literally do this all the time". It's the silence that's worriesome. When Leia is just too tired to keep fighting after hours of doing so with politicians, when Han doesn't bother to stay to face the argument and just hops on the Falcon again, THAT'S when they realise they are falling out. So they push duty and lust for adventure aside to go back spending quality time together and patching things up. Sure enough, the bickering starts again and Ben is like "😌 aaah everything is fine again".

Din - Luke: they are the picture perfect couple. They literally never argue, at best they poke eachother when one of the two does something the other doesn't entirely agree on. They have each other's back in any instance, support every choice and are there for backup when others want a fight or have something to say either on Din's leadership or Luke's approach to the Jedi code and teachings. It took them forever to actually get together because they acted like shy teenagers on their first crush and Leia, Han and Cara had to practically push them into each other's arms, but once they got there they were solid a couple as a rock. Others look at them and think they are either disgustingly mushy or still in a 'honeymoon face', because NO ONE has such a stress-free marriage. Din and Luke truly don't get what the fuss and all the drama's about. So even though they end up practically parenting the space version of the kids from 'Cheaper by the dozen' they act like parental figures to their friends as well. Life as Manda'lor and the Reviver of the Jedi order can be hell, but together they are just balanced like that and can face everything! They even create a new co-op fighting style for Jedi/Mandalorians that becomes the terror and amazement of the Galaxy for centuries to come!😌😏💪

Kannan - Hera: very similar to Dinluke except they do at times have some small moments of tension because Hera is a fighter to the core and Kannan can't help but wonder if the battle will ever truly end. But his queen's passion and resolve is so bright and steeled that he can't help but fall in love a little more every time and follow, knowing it's the right thing to do. They have an example to set for their son, after all. Kannan will absolutely love Jacen and will introduce Ezra to his son (once Sabine and Ashoka bring him back) as his older brother. Much like when he trained Ezra or faced Sabine, Kannan will sometimes doubt himself and wonder if he's acting like a good parent to Jacen. Hera will smile and reassure him, describing to him the bright and happy smile on their son's face or how Jecen's nose scrunches and his long, greenish ears wiggle in delight whenever Kannan plays with him or cuddles him. As Hera says so, Kannan holds her and feels like he can actually see it too.

Sabine - Ezra: After Ezra is brought back to his family from wherever or whatever happened to him after facing Thrawn, both of them will just indulge in sudden hugs or touches to make sure the other is actually there. Of course, they first think of their bond as a solid friendship and camaraderie, because that's what it was when they left off. The extra touching is just the response to being apart for so long and being worried for each other. But then Sabine notices that Ezra actually looks really good with long hair and the scruffy beard he grew out. She catches herself thinking of how warm and safe if feels in his arms and mentally kicks herself because she's a Mandalorian, all she should need is a loaded blaster to feel safe. Ezra, on the other hand, starts playing with Sabine's hair when complimenting her new dye and suddenly finds himself cupping her face like it's the most natural thing in the world. Long story short, they fall for eachother hard and become the prototype of the couple "my boyfriend/girlfriend is my best friend". When they are comfortable with their new status, Ezra goes back flirting dorkishly with her like he did all those years back when they first met and Sabine will tease him by shooting his advances down.

Ashoka - Bo Katan: joke's on Bo-katan for cringing back in the day at her sister's relationship with a Jedi. She thought destiny or the force or whatever was really messing with her when she realized that her rival and pupil, Din Djarin, the new leader of Mandalorians was also falling helplessly in love with a Jedi (Obi-Wan's student nonetheless). When she hears Sabine Wren and her Jedi boy also got together she stops questioning it. The thing is that she herself has been inexplicably, undeniably charmed and hooked to a Jedi for years now. The very same Jedi she had teased didn't have enough booty, what felt like a lifetime prior. But she's Bo-Katan, she can be in angry denial about anything. Ashoka, on the other hand, has seen and has been conditioned too much on what attachment does to a Jedi, even if she doesn't consider herself one anymore. So, even if the chemistry between them and the long lingering stares are real, their love is always kept a quiet, unspoken thing. Whenever they call eachother "my old friend" they know they actually mean more, but leave it at that. Everyone around them can't help wondering 'are they a thing or...?!' but they never feed the theories and gossip. They know what they are and mean for each other when they are alone in the same room, talking about the past or what must be done in the future and Ashoka's mere presence is enough to cool down the ever-present burning rage inside of Bo. Meanwhile, the other can't help but admire how single minded and devoted to her people and culture the Mandalorian princess is, how she never gave up on them, despite everything. They smile softly at each other, then one of them breaks the spell by leaving. They go back to their own business and life untill destiny or the force or whatever brings them back into eachother's orbit.

Revan - Carth: normally they act very much like Leia and Han with the bickering and teasing bit but then Revan has one of her memories returning or is haunted by how she basically condemned her lifelong best friend Malak to a terrible death and Carth instantly does a 180° shift becoming the most caring, comforting and tender partner. She'll hide into his chest until the crisis in over. Sometimes it can go on for days and Revan is oh, so grateful of how patient and good Carth is to her. Then, at times, Carth is the one burying his head in her chest and she's the one doing the tender, hair strokes. Carth needs a lot of reassuring and might get upset and fret over even what appears to be a trivial thing. He's trying to heal and get better but the long, long years of solitude, hurt and paranoia are hard to iron down. Expecially when Carth seems to have an instinct that puts a Jedi to shame, foreseeing a crisis neither she nor Bastila had picked up. But he is making an effort to improve and she's proud of him, even as he tries very clumsily to patch things up with his son Dustil. She doesn't really step in that matter more than she has to, since Dustil is clearly not happy nor comfortable with the idea of them being together yet. Carth will sometimes open his heart to her and say something deeply meaningful on how he wants her to stay ( when she looks particularly haunted and about to leave without a work of warning) and be happy but does so with such awkward word choices that Revan just cannot refrain from laughing at his face and making puns. It's at this point that the back and forth teasing resumes. There is no denying they are still deeply wounded individuals and they are at their best when their friends are there to lighten the mood and show love to the both of them. Because they could easily go down the path of drama like Anakin and Padme but they choose the Ebon Hawk crew shenanigans instead.

Obi Wan - Satine: their love is stored in the memory of that glorious time they spent together in their youth. A moment in which no responsibility or sense of honor could keep them from giving in to that feeling of want and need for each other. It's a love that never truly went away, never left space for anyone else, but it never fully grew and bloomed either. So years down the line, that's what it is for Obi-Wan, a pleasant memory. He would never change how things went afterwards, but he wouldn't give up those memories and feelings for anything in the world. Satine feels the same, mostly. There are nights that she falls asleep wondering what could have been if only she had talked up at the decisive moment and dreams of a life spent together with Obi-Wan. But when she wakes up, she sobers up and goes back to her things. It's when she looks at her Korkie smile and notices how resembling to his secret father he is that she is truly at peace. She managed to keep a peace of Obi-Wan in her life.

Cal - Merrin: I have no idea for this one, but just stop and consider the possible 'nightsisters babies' though! Wouldn't they be the cutest things ever?! 😀

Sorry Cara Dune, you just haven't met the woman of your life yet. 😔

Also, I kinda like Zeb and Callus too but I don't really ship them enough to add them here, you know? Anyway I'm sure they make a lovely couple.

[elvish-sky]

A Light From the Shadows Chapter 2- Wow! An Uncle?! Great! Oh No, Wait, he Sucks

A.N: Ahh, chapter 2!!!! I'm delighted to go deeper into Aeri's story, and I hope you guys are too. Thank you for your lovely responses to chapter 1!

Warnings: Descriptions of blood, torture

A Light From the Shadows Masterlist

Read on AO3, WATTPAD

*********

Aeri was five, feeling the tickles of the grass brushing her feet as she sped across the meadow, running as fast as she could. Footsteps pounded behind her as Eddard chased her. She ran as fast as she could, short legs pumping as she leaped over a log and ducked around a tree, rounding the trunk to find Eddard smiling at her. He grabbed her and hugged her.

Calenglîn watched from the porch, smiling, as her husband grabbed their daughter, tossing her up in the air, the sounds of his hearty laugh and her giggles drifting on the wind. Eddard threw Aeri over his shoulder as she watched, marching them back towards her.

Eddard turned when they’d reached the porch, showing his wife the grinning face of the child slung over his shoulder.

“Look what I caught!” he told his wife.

She laughed, springing off the porch and grabbing Aeri from his shoulder. Calenglîn set her daughter down, gesturing for her to run.

“Go, Aeri!”

Aeri sprinted away again, and Eddard moved to chase her, but was tackled by his wife. They tumbled into the grass together, Calenglîn giggling as she fell on top of him. Eddard gazed into her eyes, reaching up to brush a strand of hair from her face, and kissed her.

“Ew,” Aeri, jealous that no one was paying attention to her anymore, had doubled back to see her parents kissing in the grass.

Eddard chuckled at his daughter, Calenglîn laughing with him as she rolled off and sprawled next to him. She shifted slightly further apart, and gestured to Aeri.

“Come here.”

Aeri did, snuggling in between her parents as they lay in the meadow, watching the clouds roll through the sky above.

Eddard sprawled into the long green grass, Aeri next to him, both of them laughing.

Aeri jolted awake, eyes opening to complete darkness. She blinked, trying to see anything in pitch-black but couldn’t. She shifted, something like stone digging into her back, and something brushed against her wrist.

Aeri tugged at it and realized it was a rope, binding her down. Wiggling her legs, she noted that her entire body was bound down to the stone. She was trapped.

A crushing feeling of hopelessness set in as the memories flooded back. She remembered her parents’ frantic voices as they prepared to leave the cabin, the panic and despair in their eyes as they shut the door for the last time. She remembered their urging for her to abandon them, her frantic flight through the forest, their screams ringing out in the air, the fact that they were-

Dead.

Killed by her uncle.

Aeri tugged harder at the ropes binding her, trying to get free, struggling, pulling wherever she could.

A scraping sound suddenly rang out, and footsteps padded into what she could only assume was her cell.

“Hello, Aerinithil,” a voice rang out into the darkness, “I’m your Uncle Rhugar.”

“I know who you are, you traitor,” Aeri spat.

“Ah yes,” said Rhugar. “But do you know who you are?”

Aeri shifted, trying to face in the direction he was, the sound of his footsteps circling around her reminding her of the hawks she watched as a child, circling before diving down for the kill.

The sound of a blade being drawn rang through the room, and Aeri tensed.

And then suddenly, a little light was let into the chamber and she could see Rhugar hovering above her, knife in his hand gleaming despite the darkness. Rhugar drew closer, knife in his hand still gleaming despite the shadows in the room.

He drew closer, and closer, until he was right above her, knife pointed towards her. Aeri took a deep breath, steeling herself for whatever came next.

Rhugar brought the knife down.

Aeri screamed.

She screamed as the burning knife carved a path of horror into her skin, traced its terrible trail all over her breaking body. She couldn’t bear it, the pain was boring its way into every inch of her, hammering on her insides, crushing her down further and further- until everything faded into black as her mind tried to escape from it all.

Aeri was seven, in her father’s arms, meeting her mother’s family for the first time. The tall, regal elves overshadowed even Eddard, and it was the first time Aeri thought her father was small.

She was passed from elf to elf, saying hello and trying not to get too overwhelmed by it all. She somehow made her way back to father, who put her down.

“Go find your mother, Aeri,” Eddard told her, so Aeri tried.

She wove through the elves, trying not to trip on anything or anyone until she bumped into a tall elf with eyes just like hers.

He looked down at her with a smirk. “Hello, Aerinithil.”

“How do you know my name?”

He knelt, suddenly looking her in the eyes, “I’m your Uncle Rhugar.”

Aeri had told him that he looked like her mother, at which he smiled, and then moved on. She wanted to see her father again, the only other person who felt as out of place as she did, so she set off, weaving through legs and ducking behind skirts.

She reached the railing of the terrace they were, on, and turned. And then she stopped.

An extremely tall elf was facing her, blonde hair in waves that reached down her back, a circlet crowning her head. Ancient blue eyes stared into Aeri’s, as they stood there.

“Wait for the sword that was broken,” Galadriel spoke into Aeri’s head.

Aeri blinked at her in confusion. “What sword?”

“You’ll know.” And with that the blonde elf with eyes older than Arda swept back into the crowd, elves parting around her like the sea as she walked.

Wait for the sword that was broken.

The next thing Aeri knew, she was bleeding on the same stone table that she’d been so brutally cut open on the night before. Blinking her eyes open, she again couldn’t see a thing, wrapped in that overwhelming darkness.

The scrape of metal against stone rang out once more, and Aeri lifted her head. Rhugar was silhuotted in the murky light at the doorway, a shadow perfectly tracing the scar on his face. He padded into the cell, eerily not making a sound as he walked. Behind him followed an orc, with something cradled in his arms.

“There’s someone I’d like you to meet,” Rhugar said.

He walked over and kicked Aeri, knocking the breath out of her chest before strolling back, nonchalantly like he hadn’t just hurt his niece again, and took the thing from the arms of the orc.

Aeri sucked in a breath of shock at the sight. Rhugar held an elf in his arms. Her face was bruised and bleeding, blood covering her fine clothes, and she was clearly unconscious.

“Say hello to your new neighbor.” Rhugar held the unconscious elf up, then threw her into the cell next to Aeri’s, her body crumpling onto the floor.

With that, Rhugar walked back over to Aeri, kneeling beside her. His red hair fell over his forehead, casting his face into darker shadow, his gleaming blue eyes contrasting with the bright hair as the only two spots of color in the room.

“And niece?”

Aeri stared up at him, paralyzed with terror of the man she remembered so fondly from her childhood.

“You are a blight upon the world and blemish upon the elves. You do not matter, to anyone.”

Rhugar leaned down to her ear, and she could feel the brush of his hair against her head.

“You are worthless.”

Rhugar drew back his fist, and Aeri tensed, cringing away from the blow she now knew to expect. He brought it down, striking her cheek, knocking her head back into the cold stone floor. Her face throbbed, head pounding, but she clenched her fists and willed herself not to cry.

He rose, wiped the blood from his knuckles onto his tunic, and left, the cell door screeching shut behind him.

Aeri lay there, broken on the floor, encased in total darkness, barely there anymore. She felt a shadow, a wisp of darkness brush her face, whispering as it covered her. The other shadows did the same, murmuring over her broken body as they patterned her skin.

The shadows whispered to her, tried to break her, but they couldn’t.

Aeri started to learn their language. And as they whispered, murmuring darkness, she began to whisper back.

*******

A.N: OHHHHH BOY! Stuff is HAPPENING!! Anyone have any guesses on who the mystery prisoner is? Or what’s going on with Aeri at the very end? I’d really love to hear all your thoughts!!

Everything tag: @entishramblings @itgetsatadhazy @boyruins @anjhope1 @kumqu4t @katbby16 @thewhiteladyofrohan @kirstenscaffeinateddisaster @beenovel @shethereadinghobbit @guardianofrivendell @hey-its-nonny

ALFTS tag: @lothloriien

@laurfilijames i can’t remember if you asked to be on the taglist or not and i can’t find the post, but let me know and i can totally remove your tag!

[mandochlorian]

JUST A JOB (Din Djarin x Fem!Reader)

Summary: You have a history with the Mandalorian now clad in Beskar; an unavoidable, unforgettable, messy history. So it’s no surprise that when he seeks you out, the first thing you do is run for your life. But Mando is good at the chase.

A/N: ooo look my first din djarin post, I might continue this into more parts in the future hehe

star wars masterlist

Your heart is beating so incredibly fast. As if the running wasn’t enough, you can sense his presence gaining on you more and more every second you spend pushing your legs as far as they'll take you. He can’t chase you forever, even blood-sucking, life-draining, helmet-wearing Mandalorians have to take breaks. Though this one is not like any other bounty hunter you’ve ever encountered. 

You just hope you make it - your legs are burning and if you squint you can see the ramp to your ship has just finish opening. Pressing the button on your bracelet, it begins to close again and you take a deep breath. You have to make it. You have to make it. You don’t look back. You can’t. If you look back, he’ll get you. 

Stars, you feel like his breath is right on the back of your neck and it sends shivers down your body. He’s there. He’s right there. Behind you. Your chest is throbbing, your hair whipping across your face as your ship comes into greater view. Holding your breath, you use the last bit of energy you have to stick your heels into the dirt. Skidding in a puff of dust, you grab the edge of the ramp and pull yourself up and above the ledge of it. You’re going to make it. You’re gonna make it. Thank the f-

Something strong pulls you back by your ankles, bringing your momentum to a stop. You can barely comprehend what happens as your back slams into the ground. The ramp then comes to a shut. You almost made it.

The sound that comes from your throat is guttural, you struggle to gasp for breath but it’s all in vain. Your shaking hand comes to your throat and you squeeze your eyes shut at the dust collecting in the air.

The Mandalorian leans down, his shining helmet blocking the sun above you. You swear you feel your blood turn to ice as you stare at him. “You’re still quite the runner,” he notes, voice just as deep as you remember it, “but your tactics are old.”

“They m-may be old but-” you let out a shaky laugh, though you’re terrified of the man before you, “they’ve worked up until now.”

He pauses, visor directly above you though he leans down a little to emphasis his words, “The fact that we haven’t crossed paths has nothing to do with you. If I had wanted to take you in, you would’ve been in some Imperial cell by now.”

“What, you want me to thank you?” You narrow your eyes at him, slowly sitting up. He pulls away, standing up straight. You notice he has neither on of his hands on his weapons. He knows you won’t bother running, it’d be futile when you have no clear path of escape.

He thinks about it for a moment, “Yes.”

“Go to hell, Mando.”

“Stand up.” He orders, watching your pull yourself from the ground. 

The slight ache in your back is evident. You get a good look at him, the sun no longer in your eyes and your chest no longer aching for air. All his once old, brown pieces of armour are now replaced by shining, silver beskar to match his helmet, “Someone’s kept busy.” Mando stands still as he watches your eyes rake over his new weapons and armour before your eyes land back up to his. "No restraints this time?” You muse, cringing as you stretch your shoulders out, “You must really underestimate me.”

He lets a pause hang in the air as he stares at you, bringing an awkward feeling to this encounter. “No, I need your help.”

Your first thought is: why me? What help could you possibly offer to The Mandalorian? But what you respond with is: “Bold of you to think that I’d ever help you. Last time we saw each other, you were turning me in to Greef Karga.”

“No. The last time I saw you was when I watched you hijack his ship and leave him stranded on Nevarro,” Mando states. You wonder if there’s a hint of pride in his voice that you just can’t quite make out. He let you go. Maybe you really do only have your freedom because every other bounty hunter isn’t good enough and Mando decided not to track you down once you escaped. 

“Am I supposed to feel indebted to you?” You wonder, crossing your arms over your chest and his hand flexes by the weapon on his hip. Your eyes trail down to the blaster, seeing his hand hover beside it. “Easy, Mando, trying to kill you would be like trying to kill a spider-roach.” 

He doesn’t seem to relax. “There’s still a bounty on your head, I’m sure you’re aware. I’ll make it go away.”

You frown at him, staring into the dark depths of his helmet, “You don’t hold that kind of power.” Regardless, you think, this must be a pretty important job if he’s willing to make the high price on your head disappear. 

“Yes. I do.” He answers, gesturing to you, “I need a merc.” 

“What for?”

“A job.”

“What job?”

“Just a job.”

“That’s vague and unconvincing,” you answer him, letting your arms fall by your sides, “the entire galaxy knows about you. Trouble follows you wherever you land. If I’m gonna risk being around that, then I deserve to know what the hell I’m getting into. What job?” You repeat yourself, more forcefully this time.

“I’d watch your tone with me,” Mando takes a step towards you, almost close enough to trap you against the hull of your ship, “you’re not the only hired gun in the parsec, just the most discreet.” He notices how you straighten slightly at the proximity he provides. The unsteady drumming of your heart appears again and you push it down, waiting for him to continue. “I need help freeing an asset that was purchased on Nevarro.”

“Nevarro,” you respond, your voice filled with skepticism and your hand is by your holster, “seems awfully convenient. You chasing me down, making me walk willingly into a trap.” 

“The asset we’re freeing is... gifted,” he continues, ignoring what you’re insinuating, “I fear he’s being experimented on by the Empire.”

He sees how your eyes widen, your chest falling. The Empire? You were sure they were wiped out after the destruction of the second Death Star. As for the kid being gifted, you don’t want anything to do with the Force. Not anymore. 

“I can’t help you, Mando.”

“What?” His voice is stern but filled with confusion.

“If what you believe is true, I can’t fight against the Empire.” You shake your head at him, pushing past him to lower the ramp of your small ship. It’s half the size of his Razor Crest, you estimated. 

“I need your help.” Mando repeats himself, unsure of what else to say to really sway you. He knows you’d be able to help, what with your track record.

“Find another Merc in the parsec,” you tell him, using his words to your advantage.

When he grabs onto your hand, you freeze and tense up. He loosens his rough grip when he sees the fear in your eyes. “No,” his voice is low now, “I need your help. He’s... he’s just a child.”

The way Mandos voice is soft and sad makes you huff out a breath. You can’t see his face but you can tell this means a lot to him. He lets go of your arm, suddenly seeing that he’s overstepped the boundary in a moment of desperation. Of course the Empire would take a child from his family to experiment on them. The remnants of them seem to be just as ruthless and cruel as when they were in their prime.

You press your lips together tightly, thinking for a moment. “Any trace of the price on my head better be wiped from the entirety of this galaxy. Do you hear me, Mando?”

“I hear you.” He steps back.

“Good,” you shoot back, giving him an unamused expression, “and you’re flying.”

[katfett]

LITTLE VALKYRIE - PART FOUR

A/Ns: So um, here it is. I’m a little uncertain about this but I’m hoping it holds up to the previous three chapters as it is beginning to get into the trek to York, which I’m stretching out as land travel with a marching army, ain’t happening overnight so we got a nice trek across England coming :) I hope you enjoy!

All mistakes are my own! I’ve edited, but likely missed a lot as it is nearly 2am here and I have work in 4 hours but I refused to stop writing haha

TAGLIST: @peachyboneless @youbloodymadgenius @criminaly-supernatural @heavenly1927 @zuxiezendler @surewhyynot @revolution-starter @punkrocknpearls @oldglitterstory @bloooferladyy @naaladareia @ecarroll1978 @mrsalwayswrite @eveenstar

(If you wish to be added, removed - just lemme know)

SUMMARY: She wasn’t meant to be here, she was on holiday in England and the next thing she knew she was in the middle of a war. Nora needs to survive if she ever hopes of finding her way home, but she wasn’t prepared to run into the sons of Ragnar Lothbrok. She wasn’t prepared for the adventure and trials coming her way.

CHAPTER FOUR

The chariot ride was uncomfortable; it felt every little bump and dip. Her back ached something fierce. She was grateful to not have to walk, given her lack of food or water over the last few days, but it was hard to find a positive beyond that. Nora could feel the start of a dehydration headache creeping in, making the trek ten times worse as the sun hurt her eyes. She tried to sleep the ride out, a near impossible task she was beginning to think.

Leaning her head against the wall of the chariot, ignoring Ivar’s presence, Nora wondered where they were heading. She hadn’t been the best history student, she’d eagerly sit through any movie about it like 300 or Braveheart and so on, even though they weren’t accurate, it was awesome to watch.

Probably should’ve paid more attention she thought drolly to herself. Then she’d be able to work out who these Vikings were, the rough year, and where she might be. This wasn’t how her holiday to England was meant to have gone. It was going to be hard to find her way back to where she’d arrived. There wasn’t a possibility it’d even be her way back. There had to be a reason she came here, right?

Though, it was going to be difficult, her arrival spot wasn’t going to have a neon sign about it to help her out, maybe there would be something that came with her that the English had forgotten, or not found? How was she even supposed to get back?

Nora couldn’t imagine what was happening back home; had she completely disappeared? Had time stopped? Were there people out looking? Was Mike okay? How did someone even rationalize something like this? How did she even explain it to Vikings who believed in a rainbow bridge?

Her eyes flickered to where Ivar sat towering over her. He hadn’t acknowledged her since they’d set out, his attention fixed on wherever they were heading.

What did he even want? Why had he dragged her along?

Would he think her mad if she ever found the ability to communicate what and who she was?

He must’ve felt her staring because after a moment those blue eyes lowered to her, and Nora found herself unable to look away. It was hard to work out what he was thinking as he stared back at her, his head tilted a little.

Those eyes were paralyzing; she couldn’t move when they locked on her. It was haunting to see the lack of emotion in them as he stared at her.

A shout from just ahead and Ivar pulled the chariot to a halt. It rocked as the horse shifted at the sudden lack of free movement. It was the rocking of it that allowed her to look away as she swayed with the movement, bumping into his legs.

He stiffened, she saw it and her wide eyes darted back to his. She didn’t know why she did it, but she quickly mumbled out an apology. It was a useless gesture when he couldn’t fucking understand her. It had been an accident. His eyes weren’t narrowed, but he didn’t look happy.

She leaned further back into the wall of the chariot, holding her hands up in surrender, hoping he understood she didn’t do it intentionally.

She could feel the scratching of that headache permeate through the back of her neck and brow. This was going to be a long day. Reaching up, she massaged her brow with the palm of her hand. If only someone would give her a drink. She didn’t care if they didn’t feed her, but she was dying for a drink.

***

She’d been quiet most of the day. He was thankful she’d stopped struggling with them for the time being. While he’d admired her fight, it would be tiring to drag her behind the chariot the whole way to teach her to behave at the right times. Fighting Harald, he still found the sight of her knocking the man down hilarious. Of all the people, he’d expected Bjorn to do it, but then again, his older brother didn’t really see the threat Harald posed.

To have a woman have Harald’s size do the job, was glorious. Ivar preferred her sitting by his legs, so he knew where she was. Harald had decided to remain with them, he’d been planning to return to Kattegat but had opted not to. Ivar knew why, and he could feel her watching him.

Glancing down, Ivar caught her bright gaze with his. He was still trying to work out how to communicate with her. This wasn’t like when Ragnar found that damnable monk, Athelstan; who’d been able to speak their language and was able to teach him English.

They were making good time, but Ubbe’s call to stop made him pull Fenrir up. The chariot rolled back as Fenrir fought the halt a little, and Nora bumped into his leg.

He stiffened. Embarrassing rolled through him; that rare, but powerful sensation making him freeze. People didn’t touch his legs; his mother had, Harbard had when he’d been smaller, ridding him of a great deal of the pain that had made him scream for hours on end. The jostle didn’t pain him, just made him keenly aware of what his legs felt like, how they looked beneath his clothes. She would feel the lack of muscle there.

She mumbled something through her gag. He didn’t know what she’d said but when she held her hands up in a gesture of surrender, he assumed it wasn’t cruel. She looked worried; like he might hurt her. He didn’t feel that sense of pleasure he’d gotten when he threatened Margrethe. Ivar didn’t want this woman so terrified of him that she’d not interact with him.

He watched her brow furrow and then the way she massaged at her head. Was there something wrong with her? He’d had head pains before, was she suffering from one?

Hvitserk appeared along the rim of the chariot, leaning over to look down at Nora. “I’m surprised she didn’t jump from the chariot halfway out of Wessex.”

Ivar hadn’t been. She seemed intelligent enough to understand there was an army between her and escape. He watched her cringe as Hvitserk’s loud voice startled her. She looked worn out.

“When was the last time she ate? Or had a drink?” he asked, looking at his older brother over Nora’s head.

“Before we caught her?” Hvitserk said with a shrug.

Ivar nodded. She had to be near dead on her feet if she hadn’t eaten or drank in the last few days. It was quite the feat to still be conscious in his opinion. He’d seen prisoners lose their sanity after a day. She had to be feeling the effects of it.

“Can you get her into my tent? Get one of the thralls to bring food, and water as well.”

Hvitserk nodded. He stepped around to the back of the chariot and Ivar felt the way Nora leaned further back into the wall. He frowned. She looked up at him, unsure.

“I don’t think she likes you,” Ivar said, grinning at his older brother who glared back.

“What woman wouldn’t like me?” he replied. Ivar rolled his eyes. Most women did like Hvitserk, because he knew just what to say to them, because he was a son of Ragnar, a non crippled son of Ragnar. Nora refused to move towards Hvitserk, and it made Ivar smile at the stubbornness of her. Even when Hvitserk held his hand out, smiling at her, patient. Ivar watched them, watching one another. He shifted Fenrir’s reins into one hand and reached down, grabbing hold of her upper arm. She stood rigid as he let go of her arm after dragging her up the wall of the chariot.

“Go.”

He pushed her forward to Hvitserk who caught her by the arm. She didn’t struggle as Hvitserk helped her down from the chariot. Ivar glanced up in time to catch Harald nearby, watching. He then noticed most of the people near them were watching; frowning or speaking to one another as they gestured to Nora. He’d need a guard on her.

***

Hvitserk guided her to a tent nearby, his hand clutching her arm firmly. Nora was too exhausted to put up a fight right now. She didn’t want to fight him; he wasn’t hurting her. In fact, he kept her close, half shielding her, and she was a little grateful as she noticed people were staring and pointing at her. Nora knew she stood out; her clothes alone gave her away.

She was glad to be out of the light when Hvitserk pushed her through the tent flap. It was quiet, and uninhabited as Nora’s sore eyes adjusted to the low light of the tent. She took in the bed of furs, the posts holding the tent up, and the low table. This was Ivar’s tent. She turned to look at Hvitserk who was standing in the entryway, holding the flap open as he watched her.

She gestured to the gag and glowered when he grinned, shaking his head. He motioned for her to stay, like one might command a pet with their hands and it would’ve made her growl but in truth, the gestures were their only form of communication.

To show she understood, Nora stepped toward the low table and sat at it, crossing her legs under her, and leaning her still bound arms on the table so she could rest her aching head on them.

Hvitserk didn’t speak and she was a little grateful when he left her, dropping the tent flap back down. Darkness encased her and Nora rolled her shoulders, trying to find a comfortable position. She wasn’t going to consider looking for an escape, just yet. She was too tired. She needed her strength back. To get that, she needed food and water. On queue her stomach grumbled, and she frowned.

If their aim was death by starvation, they were doing a bang-up job of it. Nora stayed where she was and had nearly fallen asleep when the tent flap reopened, letting in the light from outside through.

She glanced up.

A tall man, with white hair, held the flap open as a young, dark-haired woman stepped in. A slave? She gave her the briefest of glances before she stepped to the side and Nora watched Ivar crawl through. It didn’t escape her notice the way the slave girl recoiled at his presence.

Were people that repulsed by him? Was he a monster of a warlord?

Nora didn’t bother with them; she went back to resting her head on her arms. The sound of a crackling fire soon filled the tent and she listened as they spoke quietly to one another. She heard the shuffling of feet and Nora shivered as she felt Ivar come up alongside her.

It was him; she could tell by the way he dragged himself along the ground. How had he survived all these years with his condition? This time didn’t have the science, or the medicine hers did. What was he suffering from?

Nora startled a little as a hand scooped her hair back from where it covered her face. She looked up at Ivar. Her eyes went wide as she saw the knife in his hand. The slave girl had disappeared, as had the white-haired man. The fire lit the space, bathing them in a warm glow.

In fright, she tried to recoil but his hand twisted in her hair by her scalp, holding her still and she flinched but stayed put. Ivar’s face was passive and unreadable as he held her. Time felt like it froze as he brought the dagger up and slipped the blade beneath the cloth of her gag on her cheek. She held her breath.

With one firm pull, the dagger cut through the cloth and tight pressure eased. Nora couldn’t move, surprised and a little uncertain. Ivar set the knife down on the table and then, as though dealing with a wounded animal before him, slowly reached up and pulled the gag from her mouth.

She licked her dry, cracked lips and winced as it stung. He watched her, those eyes intent on her every little move. Oh, this wasn’t good. The tent flap opened and broke whatever hold Ivar had on her.

The slave girl reappeared and stopped in the doorway as she took them in. Nora didn’t move, but her eyes left Ivar’s face to watch hers. His fingers tightened in her hand, reminding her she was still held firm in his grip.

He glanced over his shoulder, speaking to the girl who jostled herself back into action and quickly stepped forward, setting a tray down near Ivar on the table. She hesitated to let go and Ivar snapped at her. Nora felt bad for the girl, but she also wasn’t daring to utter a word while he held her hair in a vice like grip with a knife in reach.

Even though he’d tried to communicate with her, she still didn’t fully trust him. She couldn’t. The girl left, and then they were alone again. Ivar didn’t look back at her straight away and Nora wondered what was going on in his head.

She wished he would let her hair go, give her some space.

Tentatively, Nora reached up, taking hold of his wrist. His head came back to look at her and she slowly wrapped her fingers around his brace covered wrist. She felt his fingers release her hair and as his hand slid out of her hair, she let go of his wrist.

She didn’t move as he reached for the knife, and she didn’t flinch or recoil as he reached out cut the rope around her wrists.

Rubbing her wrists, she nodded her thanks and then turned to face the table. The smell of meat reached her nose, and the heavenly scent made her empty stomach grumble, loudly. She winced and blushed, unable to face Ivar.

She wanted to reach out and take something to eat but she wasn’t sure if she was allowed.

After a moment, Ivar pushed a cup in front of her. He hadn’t moved from where he was resting, though he had moved his legs, so he was more comfortable. Glancing at him, Nora found him leaning an elbow casually against the table, his gaze on the table before them as he twirled the dagger in his hand.

Her mouth was dry, her lips parched, and she wanted whatever was in the cup before her.

He could’ve poisoned it for all she knew, and yet, she would still drink it because after three days without anything, she would take whatever was on offer.

Reaching out with both hands, she grabbed the cup and lifted it to her lips. She skulled the liquid inside. She shouldn’t have but the water tasted sweet. Nora coughed as the liquid slid down her throat and she pulled the cup away to cough into her hand. It was so good to have a taste of water.

She sighed, setting the empty cup down and wishing she could have more, but she needed to remember it could make her sick if she overdid it.

***

Ivar scooped her hair from back from where it covered her face. He knew how to do this, he just needed to get her to trust him a little. The thrall was off getting food and drink, and White Hair was ensuring no one stopped her in her mission. The fire bathed the tent, warming them as the evening air had started to grow cold outside, and the last thing he needed was to get sick.

She startled, trying to recoil but he anticipated it and twisted his fingers into her hair, hard enough to hold her still, not enough to truly hurt her. Her eyes were wide, she was frightened. He palmed the dagger. He needed her mouth free if he was going to try this.

Ivar didn’t need her to fight him. He was careful, unhurried as he lifted the dagger to her cheek, slipping the blade under the cloth. She’d stopped breathing. Ivar, had it been another woman, would’ve chuckled darkly at the sheer terror in her eyes. She wasn’t Margrethe though, and she wasn’t a thrall. No, Nora was something else, something unexpected.

He gave the cloth a firm tug and it sliced through the cloth easily. Hvitserk had gagged her after Ubbe had shown them the deep gouges on his hand from her teeth yesterday but Ivar trusted she was smart enough to know not to dig those teeth into him.

He was quiet as he set the dagger down before reaching up to pull the torn cloth away. His eyes dropped to her lips when her tongue darted out to lick those dry, parched lips and he didn’t fail to see her wince. He’d felt a similar sting was time ago, when the English had ferried him back to Kattegat after Ragnar’s deal.

The tent flap opened. The thrall stopped in the entryway, annoyed that she couldn’t just hurry on and leave, Ivar tightened his fingers in her hand as he watched Nora’s eyes jump to the thrall.

He glanced over his shoulder as he spoke, “Set it down, and go, quickly.”

His tone left no room for tardiness, but he also disliked the girl’s presence. She recoiled at the mere sight of him, and if he could, he’d gouged her eyes out for the venom he saw lingering whenever she looked at him.

He watched her set the tray down, her eyes going to Nora and she hesitated. She was lucky she moved before he could bark at her again. The thrall retreated, leaving them alone again.

Fingers brushed against his wrist, and he looked back at her. Her bound hands were slowly wrapping around his wrist. She was quick to understand that communication was better with slow gestures that gave them time to work out what the other was saying. He would remedy that, sooner rather than later.

He eased his grip on her hair, letting his hand slide from it as she let go of his wrist. She surprised him, a little, by not moving away. He picked his knife back up and freed her hands.

Nora nodded her thanks and then faced away from him.

It was quiet for a moment, peaceful even, he thought and then her stomach grumbled. He saw the red flame her cheeks and smirked. She didn’t reach for the food and water though.

Ivar made himself more comfortable before he grabbed one of the cups and slid it across to her. It was just water. He didn’t want to ply her with mead. He needed her to be able to talk with him.

She scooped up the cup and down the water, quicker than he expected.

He was quiet as he watched her. The English wrote to communicate, he didn’t expect her to be able to read runes, and he wouldn’t be able to understand her writing.

He reached out and took the cup from in front of her.

Small he thought.

He nudged her arm with the empty cup, and grinned when she looked at him, confusion evident. He held the cup up, and like he was speaking to a small child, trying to teach them to speak, he spoke.

“Cup.”

He motioned to it with the knife in his hand. Quiet settled between them. He repeated the word. It must’ve dawned on her what he was doing as she twisted to face him, her legs curled under her as she leaned forward a little, her eyes eager. He shook the cup a little, and pointed the knife at her, waiting.

She gave him the most perplexed look but then she tried to repeat the word, in his language. It was rather rough, and it took every bit of him not to sigh at the way she butchered a simple word with that strange accent of hers.

Then, she surprised him. She reached out and plucked the empty cup from him. Holding it in the palm of her hand, she pointed at it and spoke.

The smug look on her face made the corner of his mouth curve up in a smirk. He fought the urge, just. Rolling his eyes, he nodded, gesturing with his knife to the cup again. She repeated the word in her language.

***

Ivar was intelligent, frighteningly so. When he’d reached out to take the cup, Nora had half hoped he would refill it. Instead, he nudged her with it, like a toddler trying to get her attention. She looked at him, brow furrowed, and tired. She really did want to sleep once she was hydrated and her belly reasonably full.

He held the cup up, gesturing to it as he spoke one word. What? She was so confused. He repeated the word, still gesturing to the cup.

Wait.

Was he – Was he trying to teach what word meant cup in his language? The idea of sleep suddenly vanished. If she learned how to speak basic words in his language, she could ask for things, she would be able to learn more about this place, where they were going.

Twisting to face him fully, Nora leaned forward, wanting to try. Hang Yoda’s suggestion that there was no try, the little green frog didn’t get transported back in time and taken prisoner by Vikings.

Ivar shook the cup a little and then pointed the knife at her. It was quiet, and for a moment she tried to remember how he had pronounced it. She tried to replicate it, though by the look on his face her accent was butchering the simple word.

Two can play this game.

She reached out and took the cup from him, setting it in the palm of her hand and holding it up, pointing to it.

“Cup.”

Let’s see you do it, Mr. Smug she thought, internally chuckling. She saw the corner of his mouth twitch and she felt her heartbeat quicken at the way he rolled his eyes at her, nodding. He gestured to the cup with his knife. Repeat.

She did as he hinted and said the word again. Just as her accent butchered cup in his language, his butchered hers. Nora giggled; she couldn’t help it. She watched him purse his lips and held a hand up as a means of apology. It wasn’t at him, just at how bad their respective accents made this.

He turned and made her flinch when he skewered a piece of meat with his knife. He turned back and held it up. Nora’s stomach growled. The smirk that came to his face made her audibly growl as he pulled it away when she went to reach for it.

Apparently, he could play this better than her.

Once she sat back, waiting, he held the meat back between them. He said a new word. Did this mean meat? He said it slowly the second time. Nora knew what he was doing. If she didn’t pronounce it right, he wasn’t going to give her the meat. Pursing her lips, Nora leaned her elbows on her knees and then her head in her hands as she ran through the word in her mind. She could do this; she would do this.

“Meat.” She said the word slowly, carefully. Hoping her damn accent didn’t lose her brownie points this time. He looked at her past the meat and she narrowed her eyes at him, holding her hand out and making a give it over gesture.

Nora felt her pulse quicken and her cheeks warm as Ivar smiled at her, his eyes crinkling at the corners. Oh boy, he was handsome up close when he smiled like that. He tipped the point of the knife to her and let her take the meat off it.

Carefully, she chewed on it. It was pork, she gathered. It wasn’t chicken, that was for sure. It was good, whatever it was. She held her last bite up, rubbing her mouth on the back of her sleeve.

“Meat.”

This time she said it in his language, and then hers. He turned and grabbed another piece, holding it out to her. She didn’t even care that he’d grabbed it with his fingers, she devoured the last bit she held and then reached out to take the new piece.

As she took it, she repeated the word in her language. He was watching her, his eyes taking her in, and she was struggling to work out why he was staring at her like he was.

The tent flap opened.

Nora jerked out of her daze, and whatever was going on, to look at their visitor.

Hvitserk stepped in, his gaze searching the tent before landing on the two of them at the table. He grinned, and Nora didn’t miss the way Ivar rolled his eyes as he looked back at her. She covered her mouth with both hands to hide her smile at the lack of utter contempt Ivar seemed to have for their lesson, or whatever being interrupted.

***

“Enjoying yourself in here?” Hvitserk asked as he approached, not waiting for Ivar to offer for him to join them.

He plopped himself down on the opposite side of the table to them, grabbing the second cup and a piece of meat. Ivar slammed the knife he was holding down into the tabletop, stopping Hvitserk and making Nora jump.

“Who said you were invited in?” Ivar looked at Hvitserk, clearly not happy. Realizing that, Hvitserk smirked and ignored his little brother to look at the woman among them.

“You took off the gag,” he said, and his eyes fell to her wrists, “and her bindings. Was that wise?”

Ivar looked back to Nora who was watching them both, still sitting beside him. He jerked his head to Hvitserk. “Fool.”

Hvitserk glared at him.

Nora spoke, trying to repeat the word, she didn’t quite get it. Hvitserk glanced at her, eyes widening. She then held up the cup, and proudly butchered it again. Ivar rolled his eyes, though he was grinning at the absolute confusion on Hvitserk’s face. Nora surprised Ivar though as she moved, getting up onto her knees and leaning across the table alongside of him to reach for a piece of meat. He let her, his eyes following her intently as she came close to him.

Most people kept a healthy distance from him. Nora froze, seeming to realize what she had done. She blushed bright red, and as quickly as she’d moved, she sat back, a piece of meat in her hand. Ivar didn’t know how to respond as she held the meat up to Hvitserk.

“Meat.”

He had to grin. She got that one perfect. He looked at Hvitserk, and his grin faltered as he realized his older brother was watching Nora before his gaze moved to Ivar.

“Why are you teaching her our language?” he asked. Ivar rolled his eyes, and leaned forward, taking the cup from Nora’s hand. He held it up and said the word for it in Nora’s language. He smirked at the way Hvitserk’s eyes bulged. “Why?”

“Why not? We need to communicate with her,” Ivar said, with a shrug as he refilled the cup from the larger pitcher and slid it back towards Nora without glancing at her. He could see from the corner of his eye as she took it. “I want to know who she is, where she comes from, where she got those clothes.”

Hvitserk slowly nodded. “And you’re learning her language, why?”

Ivar grinned. “So, she won’t be able to plan anything behind our backs.”

***

Nora didn’t know what they were saying, but least it gave her a chance to watch how they interacted. She wondered if they were related to one another. They had similar features here, and there, and their smiles had that same upturn at the corner of their mouths.

Who was the older brother?

When Ivar took the cup off her, and refilled it, after shocking their newest addition by saying the word for it in her language, he surprised her by sliding it back to her. She was silently thankful for the kind gesture, though she was careful to sip this time.

After finishing off her food, and water, Nora struggled to fight the yawn that came on. She covered her mouth, looking sheepish. Both men looked at her. They spoke to one another before Hvitserk sighed, clearly not happy but he climbed to his feet and stepped around the table towards the furs. Wait, this was Ivar’s tent, wasn’t it?

She watched as Hvitserk picked up a few of the furs and dropped them unceremoniously near the fire. Nora glanced at Ivar when Hvitserk spoke to him. He looked at her and jerked his head in Hvitserk’s direction.

She climbed to her feet, a little stiffly and made her way towards Hvitserk. He didn’t move as she stepped around him to the furs. She glanced up at him. He was so tall. She smiled a little awkwardly and nodded her thanks. He nodded, and then moved away, back to the table.

Nora unzipped her jacket, shrugging out of it. Her vest followed, she collapsed down onto the furs and unlaced her boots, tugging them off, her socks following. She tucked them into her boots which set beside her jacket and vest. Grabbing one of the furs, she dragged it over legs and glanced across at Ivar and Hvitserk.

She paused.

They were staring at her.

Fisting handfuls of the fur, she waved a little awkwardly before shuffling to curl up on her side under the fur, facing the fire. She wasn’t going to wish them goodnight. It didn’t take long for Nora to fall asleep, exhausted, finally not so starving or thirsty.

[keigoslovebird]

The Cat That Caught the Canary

Pairing: Hawks/Keigo Takami x Fem!Reader

Warnings: violence/threats of violence. A bit of swearing. Reader is fem and has a cat mutant quirk. 

Genre: fluff, some suggestive content near the end

Word count: 7k

Author’s note: This is my very first MHA fic and I am so excited to share my love of Hawks with you all! There will be multiple chapters and smut, angst, and the like later on. I can’t promise any sort of regular updates, but I will do my very best to be semi-consistent. It is very self indulgent and very sweet because I’ve got the big dumb for the bird man. Please enjoy 7k words worth of Hawks fluff and let me know what you think!

Also, “koneko” means little cat or kitten in Japanese.

You don’t know how it happens, but it does. 

You’re walking home from the train station, cutting into a secluded alleyway because the sun hasn’t set yet and there’s still sunlight spilling over rooftops. Your perceptive ears twitch and turn towards the sound of rustling and the shuffling of feet. Your instincts tell you to speed up, to run because there’s something out there, but a lifetime of fighting those instincts forces those feelings down. It’s probably someone else just trying to walk home, it’s fine, you tell yourself. Just to be safe you carefully turn around to look behind you, hoping to see some kind old lady walking down the street.

There’s no one in sight but you just know there’s somebody out there. You sense their presence, their movements but you can’t see them. It feels as if someone has dumped a bucket of ice water over your head, a sickly chill settling deep within your bones. Something is wrong, very wrong.

“I know you’re there. I can hear you,” You call out into the seemingly empty valley between two houses. When no one responds you quickly turn on your heel and head towards the busy, bustling street a few hundred feet ahead. 

“Not so fast, kitty cat,” A low, gravelly voice breathes into your ear. They’re so close you can feel their breath on your neck, tainted with the smell of cigarettes and whiskey. Panic seizes and constricts your heart so fast that you don’t even think before you break out in a sprint. If you can just make it to the street you’ll be okay. The second your shoes hit the pavement, a hand grabs you by your shirt collar and harshly yanks backwards. You’re pulled further into the alley and into the shadows beginning to emerge from above as the sun starts to set.

You feel your back slam into a concrete wall, head bouncing off of it so quickly and forcefully you see stars and a dull ache begins to form at the back of your skull. You’re momentarily dazed, vision slightly blurry but you’re still able to make out two large figures looming over you menacingly. One of them has you caged between their thick, hairy arms, effectively trapping you in place, not that you could’ve outrun them anyhow. You’re small and agile, but they’re just so much bigger than you, or at least it seems that way. It takes a few seconds for your vision to clear, but now you see that your captors are two very large, very intimidating men. The one caging you in is much taller and more muscular than the other. The man to his right has chin-length black hair that’s greasy, likely unwashed for several days, if ever. He’s thin and spindly and the look on his face is reminiscent of a spider awaiting its prey. Your ears flatten against your head, tail tucking between your trembling legs as you realize the gravity of the situation you’re in.

“What’s a cute little thing like you doing walking around alone?” You recognize the voice as the one who called out to you before. He’s standing beside his burly friend who has you trapped. You can smell the cheap alcohol and smoke on the man’s breath even stronger now that he’s so close. “It’s far too dangerous at night. You never know what kinds of things could be lurking in the shadows, just waiting to take a bite into a sweet, tasty morsel like yourself.”

Your heart races, hammering so furiously that it feels as if it’ll beat out of your chest. You’re frozen and silent from the fear overtaking your entire body. The feeling of dread and terror is icy and sharp in your veins.

“I’m curious, kitty cat. Are these real?” The long-haired man reaches a gangly, too long arm over and grabs your ears in a punishing grip. You reach up in an attempt to bat his hands away but the muscular man moves his hands from the wall to hold your hands at your sides. The long-haired man’s other hand snakes between your legs, reaching for your tail and yanking it with a force that makes you yelp. You can feel tears prick your eyes and you shut them tightly to avoid letting them see you cry.

“Yes! They’re part of my quirk. Please stop, that hurts,” You whimper, lip trembling with unshed tears. The hold on your sensitive ears is beginning to overwhelm your senses. “I don’t have much money on me, just take whatever you want but please don’t hurt me.” You plead with them, just hoping they were looking for an easy target to get some quick cash from. 

Before any of you can react, there’s a flash of crimson and suddenly the man who had been holding you in place is knocked off his feet. “Wha-,” The long-haired man doesn’t get a word in before he too has his feet swept out from underneath him. You look over in the direction where the projectiles came from and nearly faint at the sight of number two pro hero Hawks perched atop a building above you. He swoops down from his perch, his huge scarlet wings seeming larger than life as he lands beside you. The two men who attacked you are laying on the ground, feathers wrapped around their wrists.

“Miss, are you alright? I’m sorry I couldn’t get to you earlier, there was another situation downtown that made me late for my patrols,” Hawks looks genuinely apologetic and the whole situation is just so overwhelming and your head is reeling at how fast everything has shifted since he arrived. The chemicals coursing through your body are making your head swim and your thoughts are so jumbled and fragmented you can barely string together a coherent sentence. 

“Y-yes, I’m fine! Thank you, Hawks, I am grateful that you came to rescue me.” You manage to stutter out, bowing at the waist to show your gratitude. In your state of confusion you forgot to address Hawks formally, making you squeak at your carelessness. “Ah! H-Hawks-san I’m sorry for being so casual.” A fiery blush begins to spread across your cheeks from your embarrassment and Hawks’ close proximity. You’ve seen him in tabloids, plastered across social media, and on local news stations, but this is the first time you’ve seen a pro hero in person, let alone such a handsome one.

Hawk’s cool, collected persona rarely wavers, but what does make it waver is the warm, rosy glow of your cheeks and the way your eyes sparkle as you talk to him. He notices that your fuzzy little ears are twitching and he wonders how soft the fur would feel between his fingers. 

“Ah, no need to be so formal with me. I don’t mind when people talk to me casually.” He waves a gloved hand in the air dismissively. Smiling brightly, he shows off his perfect, pearly white teeth. His smile is so warm and infectious that you find yourself smiling back at him. “Especially when they’re as pretty as you are.” He winks and you feel your blush deepen and spread even further across your face. You knew about Hawks’ flirtatiousness from social media posts and tabloids that detailed his various flings, but you never expected it to be directed at you.

Hawk’s eyes flick down to your mouth, hoping it’s too brief for you to catch or that you’re too frazzled to notice. He finds his gaze lingering a bit too long on how your glossy, pink lips part and the way the corners upturn when you smile. He analyzes your face, taking in every painstaking detail to commit it to memory. He takes note of the beauty marks and dimples that frame your pretty, tender smile. It’s a genuine expression of gratitude that makes his insides fuzzy and warm. He wants to wrap himself in the feeling, revel in it, and never let it go.

“O-Oh well thank you and you have my gratitude, Hawks,” You look away shyly, scratching the back of your head sheepishly. You can feel the tip of your tail begin to flick out of anxiety and attempt to subtly reach down and grab it to still its movement. You hope and pray that he doesn’t the way your voice wobbles.

“It was my pleasure, miss. I’m always here to help, it’s my job after all,” He looks as if he’s about to say something else when his phone buzzes from his pocket. He pulls it out and sighs tiredly. “I’m sorry for leaving so suddenly but duty calls. Don’t worry about these guys, I’ve already called the Police Force and they’re on their way. Those feathers will restrain them until the police get here,” He flicks his visor down over his eyes and his wings begin to flap, stirring the air around you as he gets ready to take off toward wherever the Commission has called him to.

A part of Hawks wishes to stay here with you a bit longer, a part of him that he’s been taught to rein in and repress for the sake of his hero duties. He can’t stop and comfort every civilian that he saves when there’s countless more that need him. The frightened, nervous look in your eyes tugs at his heart strings and he just wants to tell you it’ll be okay, but he doesn’t let himself indulge in those thoughts for very long. He’s Hawks, number two pro hero, the man who’s a bit too fast. He has too many people relying on him, counting on him to even entertain the thoughts in his head. 

“W-Wait! I want to thank you somehow.” You blurt out, cringing at the way your voice squeaks. There’s a weighty beat of silence while you dig around in your purse to retrieve a card. “I work at a cat café… Here’s a gift card for a free drink. It’s not much but I wanted to at least give you something.” You awkwardly thrust the card in Hawk’s direction, eyes wandering to avoid making direct eye contact with him. He takes the card and smiles at you again but this time it’s softer, sweeter and it stirs something deep in your belly. This smile feels more authentic and less rehearsed than the kilowatt smile he flashes for the cameras. He takes the card and gingerly tucks it in the pocket of his coat.

The card, emblazoned with the cafe’s name and decorated with paw prints, radiates warmth against his chest.

“Thanks, kid. I’ll drop by sometime when I’m not busy saving the world.” He winks, giving you a two finger salute and in a flourish of brilliant vermillion feathers, he’s gone just as quickly as he came.

He regrets saying that he’ll stop by because truthfully, he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to. The Commission has him working more than ever and he never gets a day off, if the dark circles hidden under the concealer underneath his eyes are any indication. He knows he shouldn’t have given you false hope that you’ll see him again, but the way your smile constricts his heart and your scent steals the breath from his lungs, he knows that if you called out for him, he’d come running.

━━

Many weeks pass before you see Hawks again and you begin to think that he has simply forgotten or is just choosing not to see you, a thought that makes your shoulders sag and your ears droop. But really, what would a talented, successful guy like Hawks want with an average girl like you? Sure he said you were cute, but he probably tells lots of people that.

It starts out just like any average day at the cat café you work at. You show up to work at seven am, three hours before opening so you have time to prepare for the day. You unlock the front door with your key and your boss calls out a hello from the back where she’s tending to the cats before they’re allowed to roam the café. 

The café itself is small but cozy and intimate, sandwiched between a bookstore and a thrift store. It always smells like chamomile and daisies, both for customers’ and the cats’ enjoyment. The overhead lights give off a soft, warm glow. There’s several tables and chairs set up along the walls, cat trees and scratching posts taking up most of the free middle space. It’s never terribly busy, just enough to keep the café open and the cats cared for.

You begin your opening duties, starting with sweeping the floors and wiping down surfaces. This part takes the longest because you have to be thorough and diligent in your cleaning, lest you want another visit from the Tokyo Health Department. You decorate the cookies and cupcakes your boss’s wife makes with cat faces and paw prints and arrange them in the dessert display case. Once you finish your duties, it’s time to let the cats out to roam. You open the door that separates the café from the room that the cats play in before opening and five cats come prancing out, the little bells on their collars jingling softly as they move. One of the cats, a grey Scottish fold, rubs against your legs and meows cheerfully at you.

“Good morning Chibi, it’s nice to see you too,” You lean down to scratch between her ears and she purrs, enjoying the affection. “I’ll check with the boss soon to see if we can get another one of those mouse toys that I know you like, how does that sound?” The cat chirps appreciatively and head butts your hand before walking off to convene with the other cats. They’re surrounding the 5 cat bowls nestled in the corner of the café, noticing the blatant lack of wet food in their bowls. Their eyes are dilated, ears pointed forward to express their annoyance. One of the cats reaches his paw into the bowl and pokes the little bits of dry food around it. “I know what you guys are thinking and you’re not getting more wet food after yesterday when Shiro and Kuro ate so much they threw up in a customer’s lap. The same customer. Dry food only today,” You warn over your shoulder as you go behind the counter to put on a clean apron. One of the cats makes a noise akin to a grumble and another seemingly rolls her eyes.

Ten a.m. rolls around and your boss unlocks the front door for the public. A handful of people come in and order the typical fare of cappuccinos and lattes while they play with the cats. You busy yourself with making drinks and cleaning up any messes the cats make while your boss mans the cash register. The sounds of the café blend and intermingle into an ambient, comfortable backdrop to a pleasant atmosphere. A few patrons scattered throughout the cafe are chatting quietly with their companions and the cats are chasing each other around their cat tree, the bells on their collars gently tinkling.

It seems like just a normal day. Until he shows up.

You’re in the middle of making a customer’s cappuccino when you see Hawks through the café window. Your body jerks so hard you almost destroy the cat face that you were drawing in the foam. You never actually expected him to show up and now your head tingles at the possibility that he’s here to see you, although your voice of reason tells you to dampen your excitement. He’s probably here just for the cats or the drinks, nothing more.

Hawks is in his civilian clothes and has a pair of sunglasses on, but those scarlet wings are recognizable anywhere, despite how much smaller and sparser they are. You notice by the way he moves he’s tired, a little worse for wear. 

The bell above the door dings as he swings it open, his presence seeming to suffocate the entire room. Any source of conversation ceases and all heads turn toward the door, including the cats. No one would expect for one of the top heroes in Japan to visit a tiny cat café on the outskirts of Musutafu, in fact, this is one of the last places one would expect to see him in. He’s rarely seen outside of the hustle and bustle of the metropolitan areas, and even rarer seen off duty and out of his hero costume.

A couple of people go up to him and ask for pictures of autographs, which he graciously gives with that signature million-dollar smile on his face. He’s inwardly thankful that the café is in one of the more sparsely populated areas of the city so he’s not caught up in entertaining the public when he’s really here for just one thing. You. 

You’re standing behind the serving counter, a determined look on your face as you use a toothpick to draw in the foam of the cup in front of you. Your hair is pulled into a ponytail and you’re wearing a cream-colored apron with the cafe’s logo on it. Your tongue is cutely poking out between your lips, eyes thoroughly focused on your task and the sight is so endearing that he feels warmth spread throughout his body. There’s a tingling in his spine that he knows he should ignore, but the temptation to come see you again was too great to ignore.

“Welcome Hawks-sama! Please sit down and relax. Whatever you would like is on the house, just please let us know and we’ll get it for you right away!” Your boss rushes to Hawks and excitedly babbles at him as he approaches the sale counter, awe-struck and taken aback by the hero’s unexpected appearance. She bows deeply and not-so-subtly gestures at you to bow as well, mouthing “be respectful” and jerking her head in his direction. Flustered by her threatening passion at properly greeting Hawks, you put the cappuccino you were holding onto the counter and bow.

“Thank you for such a warm welcome, ma’am. I insist on paying for anything I order, but I happen to have a gift card from a certain employee of yours.” He grins in your direction, his eyes full of mirth and amusement at your boss’s enthusiasm.

“Of course, sir! Please let the barista know when you’re ready to order and feel free to stay as long as you’d like!” She speaks a bit too fast and a bit too loud, a few customers turning their heads in the direction of the commotion, but Hawks doesn’t seem to mind, likely used to these types of reactions. The ringing of a phone is heard from the back of the store and a conflicted look crosses your boss’s face, not wanting to leave and miss the opportunity to talk to him. “I apologize for the rude interruption sir, but I have an important phone call I must answer. Koneko-chan here can take care of anything you need. Now if you’ll excuse me.” Your boss bows again, hesitating to actually leave but eventually she does, leaving you alone with Hawks.

“I’ve asked her many times not to call me that in front of customers. I have a name but she refuses to call me by it, saying it’s important for the theme of the café, or something like that,” You smile shyly at him, unsure where to look or where to put your hands so you put them behind your back. Your tail is flicking again from your uncertainty and in your head you’re willing it stop.

“Well, what is your name? I never got the chance to ask the day we met and I regret going all this time without knowing your name. Unless you'd like for me to call you Koneko-chan, it’s a pretty cute nickname for an even cuter girl.” Hawks’ tone is laced with a teasing flirtatiousness that makes your heart flutter. He leisurely leans on the shop counter, propping his chin up one of his hands.

“Ah, well, Koneko-chan is a childhood nickname so I don’t mind being called by it, I even enjoy it. I prefer to be called my name by customers, but you can call me whatever you’d like, Hawks.” You look up at him through your lashes and shyly tell him your name, hoping you’re not mistaking his friendliness for flirtatiousness and that he really is expressing an interest in you. 

“Koneko-chan it is.” He declares, flashing you another glimpse of that perfect smile that makes your heart skip a beat. He nods in agreement with himself, as if he was closing some sort of negotiation. “But say, I think you owe me a drink. Could I get an iced coffee, extra sugar?” He scans the menu for a brief second but you know he’s just looking for some caffeine, judging by the slight drooping of his shoulders and the exhaustion you can see through his jovial expression. He hands you the card that you gave him several weeks ago. What he doesn’t say is that he’s kept it in the pocket of his coat since that day, periodically patting it to make sure it was still there, even pulling it out when he had a free moment to spare, despite how far and few between those moments tend to be.

He almost doesn’t like how easily you’ve managed to get inside his head. The part of his brain that was trained to be a hero tells him that he shouldn’t entertain the idea of anything more than a friendship with you, let alone show up to your job and continue to stoke the fire that’s building inside him. The other part of his brain tells him that he deserves to have this sweet, secret little thing with you, even if it’s only for a little while because right now he doesn’t feel like Hawks, number two pro hero of Fierce Wings. He feels like Keigo Takami, an average 23-year-old guy trying to talk to a girl he likes, dare he say, a girl he has a crush on.

“Of course, I’ll get right on it,” You turn to start preparing his drink and check the watch on your wrist. “It’s almost my lunch break, would you like to sit and talk for a bit?” You can hear the insecurity in your voice and hope it doesn’t make him rethink whatever this thing is that’s blooming between you.

“How could I turn down good coffee and good company? Of course, I’d love to.” Hawks eagerly nods his head in his palm, beaming with pleasant agreement.

“Feel free to sit down while I make your drink. I’m sure the cats would love to meet you.” You start pressing buttons on the coffee machine and look over your shoulder to give him a warning.  “Although, I would be careful with those wings of yours, they might mistake them for a toy.” You giggle to yourself at the thought of the cats cornering him, looks of curiosity and wonder on their faces as they use their little paws to bat at his feathers. You don’t notice that Hawks is watching you with a feathered eyebrow raised out of his own curiosity and wonder of what’s going through your head. What he wouldn’t give just to know what you’re thinking about, what you think about him.

“I don’t mind, at least I’ll be useful for something while I’m plucked this thin!” He shakes his sparse wings for emphasis, showcasing the fact that they’re little more than tufts of feathers about the size of your palm. He removes himself from the counter he’s been leaning over for the past ten minutes and walks over to a table to sit and wait. He waves at you from his seat, pointing to the chair across the table from him and grinning, reminiscent of a child that spots their friend from across the cafeteria. 

You don’t know why such a talented, handsome, accomplished guy like Hawks wants to spend time with you, a quiet, ordinary girl but you’re not about to question it. You want to cherish this moment and take advantage of the time you get with him because you know nothing is guaranteed or assured in his world.

After you finish making his drink you hang up your apron and make your way to the table in the corner where Hawks is sitting. You set the cup down in front of him and slide into your seat, a cat hopping into your lap not seconds later. He’s a little ginger cat named Mikan and you scratch behind his ears absentmindedly while he makes biscuits on your thighs.

Now that you’ve changed out of your work apron, Hawks can really take in your appearance. He already knew you were pretty, but he didn’t realize just how stunning you are. You’re wearing a pair of well-worn light blue denim jeans, they’re form-fitting and accentuate the swell of your hips and he has to resist ogling your butt as you walk over. Your top is form fitting as well, the material stretched over your breasts enticingly. He gives you a quick once over before you sit down, hopefully subtle enough that you don’t notice his eyes wandering. He wills those thoughts away in favor of focusing on how thankful he is to even be sitting here with you.

“I’m sorry it took me so long to come see you. I don’t get a lot of time off, but they just had to give me some after they saw the state of these things.” Hawks’ tone is joking and light, but you can hear the exhaustion and weariness that tinges his words.“ They’ll regrow soon, it just takes a few days, but I can’t save the world without my wings so I get some time to visit my favorite cat girl.” He winks, his flirtatiousness causing you to quickly avert your eyes to the cat in your lap. You coyly look back up at him and smile when you find his gaze unwaveringly trained on you. Each time you look at him, it feels as if those piercing golden irises are analyzing your every move, every change in your expression. 

That’s not really too far from the truth. A part of Hawks’ hero training was dedicated to recognizing body language cues and facial expressions. It’s been ingrained in him to search for dishonesty, any hint of wrongdoing in the way a person carries themselves. When he looks into those wide, inviting eyes of yours that seem to put him in an unbreakable trance, he doesn’t even know if he could resist you even if you did turn out to be malicious. It should scare him, and it does, but not as much as it should. As much as he’s observed you, he knows you aren’t being disingenuous by the open, unguarded expression on your face and the way you’re casually leaning towards him as he speaks. 

Your voice interrupts his internal monologue, his racing thoughts coming to a screeching halt.

“Oh, I’m sure you know lots of girls with mutant cat quirks. Even if you do, I still better be your favorite.” Judging from the way a smirk is tugging at the corners of your lips and the playful inflection of your voice, you’re teasing him. 

Oh, he likes that. He likes it a lot. 

It sends a delightful shiver down his spine and he’s silently thankful that his wings are much smaller than their usual size, otherwise you would notice the way they’re twitching.

He’s only just met you and he’s already so smitten he would do anything for you. He would rip the moon and stars out of the fucking sky with his bare hands if you asked him to. The effect you have on him is dangerous, he knows this, but he’s never been one to shy away from danger.

“You know you are, Koneko-chan. You’re the only kitty for me.” He sighs dreamily, leaning forward to rest his chin on his hands. The lights overhead reflect off of his pupils, highlighting the mischievous glint in his half-lidded eyes. You laugh, high-pitched and contagious, and he’ll do anything to hear it again. His head is swimming with the swarm of emotions he’s experiencing all at once and it feels as if he’s simultaneously drowning and taking his first real breath of fresh air.

Hawks seems to be deep in thought and you take it as an opportunity to admire his beauty. Your eyes follow the angle of his jawline, the high, regal slope of his nose. You focus on those mesmerizing golden eyes and the black markings that give them a more avian-like appearance. He really is devastatingly handsome and to make matters worse, he knows it and he knows you’re staring at him by the way he’s smirking.

You’re so taken by one another that you don’t notice Mikan climb up on the table to meow at you loudly, demanding your attention by headbutting your arm. You chuckle lightly at the cat’s jealousy towards the man across from him, who he sees as the one who’s stealing all of your attention. Hawks watches, fascinated by the way you and the cat have this wordless, unspoken conversation through your eyes. You notice the way he’s watching you two with quizzical interest and you smile, knowing exactly what’s going through his head. 

“Despite what many people think, I can’t communicate with them. Our physiologies are just too different.” You explain as you scratch Mikan’s chin, the cat purring in contentment. “But I am more attuned to their emotions and I empathize with the way they’re feeling because I often feel the same way. It’s an essentially useless quirk but it has its perks, especially here.” The cat rubs his chin against yours and you lean in closer to let him rub his scent on you.

Hawks smiles and can feel his heart swell at the sweet, tender moment between you and the small animal in your lap. He chuckles to himself when he notices that both of your tails are twitching, a sign that a cat is happy, if the extensive Googling he’s done about cat behavior is worth anything. He wants to remember this moment forever, just him, a pretty girl, and a cat in a little cafe miles from the city center. He wants to keep it, tuck it away in his pocket to covet for himself. It feels as if you’re the only two people in the world and for now, you are and that’s all that really matters. 

You feel like you’re floating on a cloud in some faraway land, just waiting for the sobering free fall back down to earth. The way the sunlight hits his flaxen hair like some sort of halo makes him look like an angel and you think he may as well be one. He’s so radiant and ethereal that you feel like you’re being burned alive but you can’t bring yourself to care. You don’t mind as long as it’s his light that burns you.

You’re suddenly jerked from your shared reverie by your boss yelling at you that your break is over. Mikan darts from your lap at the sudden outburst and you both jolt in your seats as well. 

“I’m really sorry, I have to get back to work.” You get up from your seat, trying to look and sound as apologetic as you feel. “But if you want to hang out some more, I’ll be off in a few hours and there’s a cute little park a couple streets from the café that we could meet at… Only if you want! You’re probably busy...” You speak quietly, shifting your weight from one foot to the other in uncertainty.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world, Koneko-chan.” Hawks says it with a wink, but he really means it. Bar a national disaster, he’d be there just to see you for a little longer.

Hawks hangs around the café for another hour before leaving to stroll through the streets of your quiet little corner of Musutafu, appreciating the lack of attention he gets as he walks around. 

You get off around 4 p.m. and rush to the park you had mentioned to Hawks. True to his word, he’s there, leisurely leaned back on a bench in the middle of the park, watching the birds fly amongst the trees. You join him on the bench, sitting an appropriate amount of space away from him, close enough to be friendly but far enough away to give him adequate personal space. 

“You’re here.” You sound a little breathless and surprised and it almost comes out like a question.

“Of course I am. I said I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” There’s no teasing, no flirtatiousness in Hawks’ voice and the way he speaks so matter-of-factly momentarily startles you. You know this isn’t a side of him that many people get to see and you’re thankful for it.

You talk until the sun hangs low in the sky, learning whatever you can about one another. Your voice feels scratchy from overuse and you feel like you’re dominating the conversation, words tumbling out of your mouth before you can stop them.

Hawks is more than happy to let you do most of the talking. You likely already know most of what’s publicly known about him and what isn’t public knowledge he knows he can’t tell you, at least not yet. He wouldn’t really know what to talk about outside of heroism, he doesn’t have the same opportunities that any other guy in his early twenties does and he knows it would be hard to relate to him. So, he lets you lead the conversation, hanging on to your every word, adding his own input every once in a while. 

You know you’re talking a lot, but Hawks doesn’t seem to mind so you don’t mind either. You’re mostly content with doing most of the talking, but there’s a question burning a hole in your chest that you have to ask him. You pivot your body towards him, placing a gentle hand on top of his and he has to ignore the tingling sensation where your skin meets his.

A serious look takes over your features and anxiety steals the breath from Hawks’ lungs, worried that you’ve completely changed your mind about him, that you’re going to tell him to go away and leave you alone because you don’t need the drama in your life that will inevitably follow you if you were to ever pursue anything with him.

“Hawks...” You start, apprehensive as you struggle to find the right words to say. “You’re always so busy saving and taking care of other people, but who takes care of you?” The moment the words leave your lips you want to take them back, his happy expression quickly fading to a look of somber contemplation.

Hawks is stunned into uncharacteristic silence by the seriousness of your words and the vulnerable expression on your face. No one has asked him about his own wellbeing before, excluding people who ask whether he’s physically fit enough to keep doing his job, whether he’s still of use. His entire life he’s been worked to the bone with little regard for his health, let alone his happiness. He’s been trained to be the government’s human weapon against evil and he’s damn good at being a weapon, but it’s often forgotten what he really is. 

A human.

“I… I don’t know,” Hawks’ voice is filled with a rare uncertainty that he’s not sure that he likes. He sighs tiredly, running a hand through his already unruly mess of blonde hair. “I haven’t really thought about it before.” He sounds defeated and it’s the most heartbreaking thing you’ve ever heard and you can feel a lump form in your throat. He has spent every moment of his short life helping people, preventing disasters, saving the world while carrying that heavy burden on his shoulders. He’s Winged Hero Hawks, number two pro hero and his persona is so grand, so great that he feels larger than life. But right now he looks so small sitting next to you on the park bench you’re afraid he might disappear right before your eyes. 

You’re looking at him with those pretty eyes yours that are so full of warmth and love that he just wants to kiss you. He doesn’t give himself time to think about the consequences of what he’s about to do, moving faster than his brain can react.

He puts a rough, calloused palm on your cheek, eyes flicking from your mouth to your eyes, wordlessly asking for permission. Your pulse quickens from his close proximity, his breath fanning over your cheeks and you can smell the sweetness of the coffee that he drank earlier. 

With a slight nod of your head Hawks closes his eyes and leans in, his lips getting closer and you swear your heart is beating so loud he can surely hear it. Your stomach is in knots and you’re not sure you’re taking in enough oxygen. You let your eyes flutter shut and part your lips, your breath quickening as you feel his body press against your own. When your lips finally meet it feels as if the world and time itself have stopped. Your senses are overwhelmed by his musky cologne, his vanilla lip balm, his soft lips against yours. 

Him. 

You can’t see or feel anything but him and you’re so overwhelmed you think you might die, filled with Hawks in every sense of the word, but you can’t even think of anything but him.

Hawks, Hawks, Hawks. 

You’re repeating his name in your head like a mantra, hoping it’ll keep you grounded. His fingers are tangled in your hair you think, but you’re not really sure, not with the way his lips are moving, needy and insistent against your own. You let out a squeak of surprise when you feel his hot, wet tongue probe between your lips and he swiftly loops one arm around your back and hooks the other around your thigh, half pulling you onto his lap. 

The cute little sighs and hums you’re making fill Hawks with more satisfaction than they should. He opens one of his eyes to take a guilty peek at you and he can’t think of anything prettier than the sight of your blushing, squirming body in his lap. He experimentally licks at the inside of your mouth, gauging your reaction before sliding his tongue against your own.

A voice, albeit a very small one, in the back of your head tells you to stop, you’re still in a public park and the sun is halfway hidden behind the landscape. You try to pull away from Hawks but he just leans in further, his lips following yours, so you gently but firmly push against his chest to separate yourselves.

When your lips part there’s a string of saliva that still connects you and Hawks thinks it’s the most erotic thing he’s ever seen. 

It takes a few seconds for his higher thinking to return, but when it does worry he begins to etch itself into his features when he realizes you’ve pushed him away, wings pressing against his back.

“Hey, did I do something wrong there? I thought it was pretty good, and I think you did too judging by those noises you were making.” He always falls back on old habits, trying to mask his insecurity with flippant arrogance. You shake your head, a look of apology on your face.

“As much as I’m enjoying myself, I’d rather not grope each other in the middle of a park like a couple of teenagers,” you muse, “But I would love to see you again and pick up where we left off.” Your tone is suggestive and Hawks can feel his jeans tighten from the implication of your words.

“Ah, of course. I should be treating you like the proper lady you are, and here I am disrespecting your honor in a park.” Hawks tries to lighten the mood, his nerve endings still singing from your little make out session. The air around you feels hot and sticky against his skin and he’s trying to calm the blood rushing in his ears.

“Don’t worry about it. I really, really liked it.” You can feel the heat rise in your cheeks once more, despite the fact that moments ago you were almost dry humping in Hawks’ lap. “But it’s getting late and we both should head home.” You sigh, not wanting to leave your little bubble away from the chaos of the world. You stand up, holding your hand out to him. 

He takes your hand and rises from his seat on the bench. The way that your head just barely grazes his chin makes him realize how small you are. Have you always been that small?

“Hey Hawks?” Your eyes are shining again and you’re playing with a loose thread on Hawks’ jacket. 

“Yeah?” There’s a sort of pleading in your eyes and Hawks wants so badly to give you whatever you want, whatever you’re about to ask him he knows he’ll say yes.

“About what I said earlier…” You start, reaching for his hand and lacing your small fingers with his and squeezing. “I’ll take care of you, if you’ll let me.”

[softlyjiminie]

black swan | three.

⇢ pairing(s): professional dancer!park jimin x figure skater!reader.

⇢ word count: 4.1K.

⇢ rating: 16+, mature.

⇢ genre: angst, eventual smut, fluff, e2l, fake dating!au, corrupted idol!au, dancer!au, figure skater!au.

⇢ summary: a life of skating was all you’d ever known, your heart craving the feeling of ice beneath your feet and the light brush of cool air against your skin under thousands of sparkling lights… what a shame, if only you’d known that one night, one accident could rip you from the life you’d grown to love, leaving your career in the unsteady hands of the prince of ballet, park jimin.

⇢ warning(s): please read for this chapter! heavy angst, social media bullying, mentions of drugs ( weed ), mentions of alcohol and drinking, angry jimin!

⇢ author’s note(s): hello my loves! sorry for posting this so late but i really hope you enoy this chapter. i might have to delay chapter four, for a special post in order of joon n koo’s birthday! love you lots.

⇢ previous | series masterlist | next

“park... you’re out, bail’s been paid.”

jimin rolls his shoulders at the call of his name, standing from his seat on the cold metal bench. he shakes out the blonde in his hair, deciding that the colour was too good and that he’d probably dye it a darker shade as soon as he was back in the safety of his penthouse. smirking, he grabs his discarded leather jacket... designer of course and slings it over his left shoulder— poking his tongue into his cheek as the officer unlocks his cell with a deep blush.

“you sure you don’t want to join me in here one last time sweetheart?”

the officer looks down, fumbling with the keys in her hand as a blush paints her heated face. “wouldn’t you get in trouble for that? another scandal wouldn���t be good for your career,” she bites down on her lower lip and the cat like smile on jimin’s face only grows wider— his forefinger and thumb touch at her chin, tilting her head up to meet his dark eyes as if he’s going to kiss her. “especially now that the paps are outside...”

he only lets out a simple tut, staring down at her with a hooded gaze. “you wouldn’t have a career if you opened that pretty little mouth of yours, sweetheart.” the cop falls silent, not having the chance to reply as jimin parts ways with her— collecting his belongings on the way out. inmates clap and cheer for him, although he’d only been in this station for a night, he’s already built up a reputation for himself around town...drunk driving, speeding, possession of drugs. park jimin was booked in for nearly all of it; but got away with it practically every time.

the sunshine from outside blinds the dancer, harsh golden rays warming his skin in the most irritating of ways. instead, he tilts his shades down over his eyes and way from the mass of bleach blonde hair that swoops messily over one side of his face. cameras are situated around the station, jimin knows that for sure, he can’t see them but he can hear the clicks and flashes from paparazzi that hide in bushes around them. they all want jimin for this week’s front cover, it’s only obvious that he’ll make the headlines for the fifth week in a row but who’s to say he cares? flashing a toothy grin as he flips the middle finger to sneaky photographers that pretend not to be seen.

“you’re so immature, jimin,” hoseok, his manager scolds, fixing the hem of his tight and light grey christian dior suit. the man himself is only a little ways taller than jimin, hair parted and slicked down with brown tinted shades that hide the tiredness in his eyes. hoseok is not that much older than jimin, but they’ve worked together long enough for jimin to consider the elder his family— or more like a pestering older brother. his manager pulls him into a sleek black van parked not even three minutes from the police station, the walk taking longer as jimin stopped to wave at fans. he was a dancer, a performer— it didn’t matter where he was, he always had an audience and he always appealed to them. “get in the fucking car.” hoseok seethed through gritted teeth, opening the door for his client, who only smiled mischievously as he entered it.

slamming the door, hoseok circled the vehicle and climbed in from the passenger  side. “what’s got you in such a sour mood hyungie?” jimin hums lazily, leaning back into the plush, cream leather seats of his mercedes while his manager tuts in annoyance— gesturing for their driver (and body guard), seokjin, to head towards the dancer’s gated neighbourhood. running a hand through his blonde locks, jimin’s caramel eyes light up at the sight of his day bag of which he carries around on a daily basis— diving in he pulls out a box containing a few of his rolled joints. grabbing one and bringing it to the flesh of his plump lips, jimin frowns darkly, at the lack of lighter in his bag. “the fuck his my lighter?”

“i took it,” hoseok mumbles simply, rubbing his temple with his free hand, the other twirling jimin’s pink lighter between his own slender digits. the younger leans forward in his seat, restricted only by his seatbelt as they make their way through the L.A traffic— making a grab for the lighter which his manager swiftly pulls away and pockets. “you’ve been acting up again jimin, it’s not looking good for you—“

the dancer in question lurches forward once more, making seokjin swerve ever so slightly. “give me the damn lighter hoseok.” jimin seethes through gritted teeth, the hand that launched at his manager now digging into said man’s head rest. anger flares up in the dancer’s chest— he’s just spent the night in a fucking cell and all he wants to do is have a few puffs of his joint so that he can relax a little.

but hoseok doesn’t budge, easily sinking into the comfort of his seat. “you can’t keep doing this ji,” he scolds, watching the scenery pass by through their tinted windows. “this is the third time in the last two months that you’ve gotten booked into a station for something...” the younger rolls his eyes knuckles turning white. the manager feels a temper tantrum coming on, from the way his client breathes hotly down his neck. jimin had never been good at managing his anger, no one had ever known why— he was a brat for no damn reason but hoseok sensed there was always more to the blonde, that’s why he took him in. “speeding? when you could have waited for jin to pick you up. not to mention how the company shouldn’t be putting their money towards paying for your bail—“

“money that i bring into that fucking company? they wouldn’t have it if it weren’t for me.” the younger points out childishly... and to be fair, he’s not wrong. people from across the world came to see park jimin perform— if they were lucky enough. his graceful movements and talent for following the music no matter how it changed was always something that entranced his fans. jimin was their biggest source of revenue and a major asset, one of the only reasons they hadn’t fired him yet— hoseok supposed. “i’m park jimin, shit...they need me!”

hoseok sighs in defeat as their bodyguard pulls into jimin’s gated neighbourhood. the brunette turns to face his client, a worn out expression pulling at his heart shaped face. “just think about it jimin, if you don’t fix up and don’t stop your bitch fits... it could be over for you.” hoseok hates to scold jimin like this but he also knows it important that he learns. he flinches when the dancer scoffs, begrudgingly pulling out the pink lighter and passing it to the latter.

the younger simply snatches the small device from his hyung’s grasp, brining his joint to his lips and lighting it as he slides from the car.

he didn’t need to think about shit, he was park jimin for goodness sake.

social media was an evil place.

jimin was used to all types of comments across his socials. he knew he was meant to be in the studio for practice, but he was too deep into the internet to turn back now. so more often than not he found that he was drowned is all sorts of praises and love from his fans, complimenting him on his skills, his physic and his oh-so-beautiful face but sometimes, if he looked hard enough— there were those full of hatred and malice, intended break down the souls of those they were targeted at, break the soul of park jimin.

‘i used to love jimin, but he’s getting caught up in all this bad stuff... we might have to unstan...’

‘he’s still a great dancer, but i’m disappointed in how he’s acted recently.’

‘why do celebs think it’s funny to get arrested? it’s fucking cringe especially since they can afford bail? lol no offence park jimin.’

each word cuts sharply at his heart, like knives, creating deep wounds. it hurts to read them, so much so that it brings stinging tears to his eyes but he doesn’t let them fall— he hadn’t in a long time. moments like these lead the blonde to believe in his hyung’s words, was he a has been? was his career coming to an end? familiar insecurities rot his brain, draining what was once left of the boy who loved to dance.

he takes a sip of the bitter, honey liquid that fills his crystalline glass, eyes blurring and throat tightening at the burn the alcohol brings. a filling pain to ease the hurt in his heart. ‘fuck,’ jimin thinks, he’s fucked and he knows it. the dancer wonders if he had been different had his brother not fucked up his life, the older park was probably off somewhere doing god knows what with who knows who and jimin can’t help but let his mind wonder to what he would be doing if his brother wasn’t there. if his brother hadn’t caused that accident. before that day, jimin only ever dreamed of where he is now— practicing hard wherever he was; the canteen in high school, his bedroom, the kitchen when his mother was making his favourite dish.

god he missed those days.

slamming his glass down onto his island counter, jimin stretches his arms above his head so that his black fitted shirt rises up— brushing his tummy briefly. the news hums from the TV in the background, as he sways with sleepiness. something about an accident, something about a skater...he’s not listening. sighing in defeat, jimin grabs the bottle of special edition brandy and takes a lengthy swig while he makes his way to his on-suite bathroom. the dancer’s nimble fingers brush through the roots of his overbearingly blonde locks, fisting them as he looks into the mirror with reddened eyes and a broken heart.

taking another sip of his liquor, jimin finishes the substance off with a warm, fuzzy feeling in his chest before throwing the bottle in the trash and opening his cabinet, reaching for the dark hair dye that sits on the middle shelf.

stopping his mercedes benz, jimin parks his car outside of hangsang studios, the dance company that hired the boy. his eyes that reflect black under the artificial lights of the street lamp flicker up to the company logo cast into the side of the towering building— a scoff emitting from between his plump lips. the door to his car opens not a second later, aeri, jimin’s girlfriend slipping into the passenger’s side with a huff.

she throws her practice bag onto the back seat, making the dancer flinch as he presses his forehead to the steering wheel. “practice started at five, you know that right?” aeri seethes, buckling herself in and pulling down the mirror, she fluffs her blonde hair— colour similar to the one the dancer once possessed as she insisted on matching. “of course you don’t, god sometimes i wonder why i’m even with you...”

her words do nothing to the dancer as he sits up in his seat, pressing his foot into the peddles as he sets the gears into drive. ‘i sometimes wonder the same thing...’ jimin can’t help but think, sourly. he loved aeri, he did, but she was draining to be around— obsessed with the idea of being at the top, even if it meant criticising her lover at every point. he’d grown numb to her abuse by now. “i’m sorry, ri... i’ll be at practice next time.” he says instead, knowing very well that speaking his thoughts will only set the girl off. the streets are clearer than they were earlier in the day, fewer cars allowing jimin to pass through lanes with ease... his eyes focus on the road, but he longs to take in the scenery— just for a moment. to feel like the world has stopped in place. “i’ll make it up to you, babe.”

aeri scoffs, wrapping her arms around herself after she pokes jimin’s arm. he slows the car at the stop sign, watching with thin patience as the signals change from green to red, colour by colour. the girl turns to face him, lips drawn into a scowl and small hand taking a fistful of jimin’s darkened, navy locks. “dying your hair? is this what you skipped practice for? when will you take this showcase seriously jimin? fucking hell.”

the pinch in her tone irritates the life out the aforementioned dancer, so much so that his shoulders pick up while he begins to drive again. aeri wasn’t always like this, there was a time, back when they were trainees where jimin would have tripped over his feet to get her to notice him, they were usually paired for dancing events— closeness eventually leading them to dating. but now, she fancied the idea of being a star rather than the blue haired boy himself... the infamous new york showcase had always been her dream and jimin supposes he was only a stepping stone to that path. his name being a direct lead there, his money an added bonus. he knew that skipping practices made her mad, maybe that’s what why he did it— to get back at all the horrid words she’d spouted at him in the last few years.

“— and i swear, if you don’t clean up your act, i’ll leave you and find a new dance partner—“

jimin tunes back into her words, an empty threat that he’d heard from her many times before— looking into the rear view mirror he catches her humid gaze before making a turn towards her house. “i know baby, i’m sorry...i’ll do better, let me make it up to you, yeah?” he mumbles absentmindedly, using words that he knew would satisfy her appetite to being him down until the next time. “i’ll buy you that bag you wanted, hm? or those dance shoes you were after... will that do until i’ve caught up with dance?” aeri pulls at her hair in frustration, reaching behind her for her dance bag as she kicks her feet and screams like a petulant child.

“pull over!”

jimin does as he’s told, pushing his hands through his hair as anger rises in his chest— rattling inside his body as if asking for permission to break free. aeri waits for cars to pass before opening the door and storming out, not even giving her lover time to react. the blonde girl whips out her phone, texting someone jimin can’t see before the dancer’s wound down his window.

“aeri, come on doll, let’s not fight.” he tries to reason with her, but the will to keep her close has gone from her voice as she looks up at him with a fiery gaze. her chest rises and falls with anger, causing jimin to roll his eyes and bring his head back into the car. “you’re really gonna walk home?”

“no, my new dance partner is coming to pick me up because he’s not a lazy bum like—!”

jimin doesn’t stay to hear the rest of her cold insult, having had just about enough of her attitude, reversing the car and heading in the direction of his home, his anger still simmering brightly.

“well well well, if it isn’t our handsome ji. look who’s finally coming around!”

the boy in question rolls his eyes despite the little smile that plays at his lips, he’s glad to see that hoseok hyung’s mood has sweetened slightly— his expression matching the brightness of the L.A sun that highlights the blue of jimin’s hair, yet causes him to squint at the same time. he pulls his shades over his eyes, ignoring hoseok’s outstretched hand and going in for a quick, apologetic hug. the manager knows jimin isn’t one for displays of affection, but knows him well enough to recognise an apology from the younger when he sees one.

but jimin’s warmth retreats just as fast as it came, the younger pulling away as if hoseok’s new alexander wang suit has has scorched his tan skin. jimin seems to be grumbling as he slides into the van which seokjin drives and buckles himself in. the annoyance the blue haired boy felt from last night has yet to fade, but he knows he has to keep his anger in check— hoseok texted him early this morning about a meeting with the board... which usually never means anything good.

the car ride is mostly silent, the slight hum of the radio in the background as jimin rests in the back seat. there were few times he’d ever met the board, the first being after his accident, when hoseok had recruited him. the second being when he’d made it big, when the CEO had told him he’d made it big just like his parents would have wanted and the third, well...that would be now. seokjin pulls up to the tl the hangsang company building, quickly helping the dancer out before heading with into the building with hoseok by their side.

walking through the company building, jimin attracts a lot of attention— many have said that he exudes an intimidating, strong aura but the dancer only reckons it’s because of his name...after all, his family does come with a reputation. rookies and senior dancers alike blush and bow as jimin makes his way towards the head office, his slicked back blue hair shines under the false white light and reflects off of the black shades that match his jeans,  chelsea boots and turtle neck.  of course, the boy knows that he looks good, fingers coming up to fix the denim jacket he wears but his stride slows when passing his usual practice room— gaze faltering as he spots aeri tangled with a younger dancer, a rookie who jimin recognises as choi san. the familiar emotions from yesterday crawl up his spine and mix with the blackened jealousy that blooms across his firm chest— but jimin doesn’t have time to linger on his feelings as hoseok ushers the trio into an elevator and presses the button for the tenth floor. aeri looks away from the dancer just as the door closes.

“it’s not looking good for you jimin,” the CEO, explains— he goes by the name of mr.chan. jimin himself admits that he hasn’t been listening since the moment they entered the room but he picks up the tone of disappointment in the CEO’s voice.  shaking out his dark locks, jimin scoffs likely and rolls his shoulders— feeling annoyance build up behind his eyes... he’s got a headache now, which is only worsened by hoseok giving him a scolding glare.

“jimin don’t.”

he sits up at the second mention of his name, jimin knew not to test his manager at this time and also knew hoseok would give him the scolding of a life time if he didn’t listen. tilting his gaze to the CEO, jimin finally tunes into mr.chan, even if he doesn’t like what he’s saying. “you’re our prized dancer park, a household name...but you’ve had fewer performances then any other dancer this year, your recent bad reputation is...driving clientele away,” the old man lets out a wheezing cough, making jimin grimace. mr.chan was a greasy old man, with oily hair and beady eyes. he was harsh to the eyes, jimin supposed it was lucky that he was rich or mr.chan was doomed to be single for the rest of his life. “not to mention the bail we’ve been paying, you’re more of a burden than an asset at this point.”

“you’re fuckin’ kidding me right?” jimin rises from his seat like the anger that boils and bubbles through his veins, having enough of the ugly man that rattles on before him. all he can think about his punching the CEO square in the face. “you  fucking need me here. if im a burden to you, i’ll cut my loss and join another company that wants me. they all want me. i made this place what it is and i’ll tear it right back down. you need me.” the dancer seethes, pointing his finger right at the CEO’s face, mr.chan and his fellow associates swallow thickly, because after all— jimin is right. his raw talent alone is what built this company up from what it was, and anyone would kill for the money that he brings in however he may act.

the panel of staff mr.chan has with him, are rendered silent as is the CEO himself— who are they to challenge park jimin? but a lowly assistant speaks up, grabbing the attention of the congregation. “but raw talent will only last you so long...after that, what will you have? a pile of scandals?” she says meekly, as if no one would hear her— but the scowl on park jimin’s face tells her otherwise. usually, she’d have been fired on the spot for talking in such a manner— jimin might have even had a field day with making her run errands for him but mr.chan and his associates need an argument against the dancer’s case, promptly taking  the assistant’s statement and running with it.

the blue haired dancer sits back in his seat with defeat as the group of fat heads before him smile and cheer as if they’ve just discovered wine. although hoseok chooses this time to interject, sensing jimin’s temper tantrum reaching its peak once again. “but we have a solution, don’t we mr.chan?” the manager cuts through their wheezing laughter in a way that would make you think he was the boss around here. “remember what we discussed?”

the old man nods suddenly, almost in fear as he gestures to the assistant to pass a file to jimin. honeybrown eyes narrow as the girl makes her way over with a brown file full of documents— a sense of nervousness emitting from her. the dancer knows it’s partly because everyone is scared shitless of him and his reputation, the other part is that he’s damn well attractive up close. jimin bites down on his lower lip, looking the girl up and down before he snatches the file from her and opens it up — revelling in the way she blushes with embarrassment.

“we’ve proposed that you start dance therapy with a world renowned physical therapist, min yoongi,” hoseok explains slowly, knowing that anything mr.chan says from now will surely set the dancer off. the aforementioned male grips the arms of his seat, knuckles turning white as he tries his best to suppress another outburst and listen to his manager. “he’s excellent at what he does, the best of the best— he’d be sure to get you back on track...”

jimin scoffs, staring daggers into the spot between mr.chan’s unbearably bushy eyebrows. if looks could kill, he’d be dead within an instant. “so you want me to join a beginners class? do i need to remind you of who the fuck i am?”

“no, you’ll have private sessions,” his manger says lowly, grabbing the younger’s attention. “we want him to motivate you, we’re not denying that you’re a phenomenal dancer jimin, you’ve just been heading in the wrong direction for a few years...”

all this new information causes a feeling of unease to reside within park jimin, the changes that are to come don’t sit well with him... but with hoseok’s words from a few days ago swirling and twirling with his thoughts like a waltz, jimin can only agree to their proposition. “so, what’s the catch?” he whispers now.

“they’ve got another client in south korea ,  we’re thinking of bringing them over too—“

“well then do it!” jimin stands, raising his voice, the conversation is too tedious and all he wants it out. he needs a drink or a smoke or something other than people telling him what he was or what he isn’t. running a hand through his navy locks, the dancer grabs the file and begins to head out, not caring about what’s left to he said. but before he has a chance to storm out, hoseok slips a piece of paper into his hand and lets him go with a saddening smile.

“it’s the name of the client,” he whispers.

and so with that, jimin strides out of the office, the company building— not even bothering to greet seokjin properly as he jumps back into their black van. his bodyguard promptly drives him home, knowing better than to question the silenced dancer, who unfolds the paper to reveal a name.

‘LN YN’.

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[the-blind-assassin-12]

Resol’nare - Part Seven

A/N: This part has a lot of bits that I have been excited to share. There are a lot of pieces of my own HCs in here, as well as a few plot hint crumbs that I’ve had fun developing, so I hope you guys enjoy this one! (Also sorry it was late- we got power back late last night and I was too lazy to post after making dinner. oops. Don’t worry, I already formatted eight so this won’t happen again next week) Also, also... Fennec and Boba are fun to write :) 

*this story will regularly be using words in Mando’a. for a good list of references click here.*

Summary: The Mandalorian makes the journey back to Tatooine to take care of some things back at the covert after his run in with Navina on Nevarro. More is revealed about the goings on in the upper levels of Boba Fett’s complex, we learn what he and Fennec are up to, as well as a little more about how things are run below. And we finally hear what Bo-Katan has been itching to tell him. 

Warnings: descriptions of violence, death, talk of manipulating kids (if you’re unsure feel free to ask) 

Word Count: 5.6k

Tatooine. 

  The suns were sinking into the Dune Sea by the time he pulled Peli’s rental speeder into one of the hidden bays at the rocky base of Fett’s palace complex. There were three other occupied spaces, leaving just the one to his left empty. A quick scan of the vehicles that were there told him immediately who wasn’t. Fennec. Hers was the easiest to recognize. She had painted it a heavy matte black, accented with a weblike design of crisscrossing red lines. It wasn’t inconspicuous but she didn’t want or need it to be. If one of her targets saw her speeder and made the connection, it was already too late for them to turn and run. She liked knowing that they felt some modicum of fear or at the very least panic in the seconds before she struck, and he couldn’t blame her. They had it coming. 

For too long the scum that she and Boba were after had run nefarious crime rings that preyed on scared, young kids with nowhere else in the galaxy to turn. It was how they’d both ended up in their line of work, Boba swept into a life of violent instability in the aftermath of his father’s death, and Fennec developing a kind of admiration and a misplaced feeling of owing her employers for rescuing her from being sold to a brothel as a child. The slime had wasted no time in manipulating her, taking that gratitude and twisting it into something ugly and sinister, crafting her into a sniper, a trained, leashed killer, trading one horrible outcome for another. By the time she realized how trapped she truly was, the price on her own head had climbed so high it had very nearly gotten her killed. 

He winced thinking back to when he’d found her crumpled form in the sand. His thoughts had flashed so quickly to Grogu, to getting back to where he was and ensuring his safety, that he had only given Fennec a cursory check for any signs of life. Had Fett not been tracking the Mandalorian in search of his father’s armor, the woman would have died there in the desert. But the grizzled wanderer had found her, and saving the assassin from the brink of oblivion had given both of them a second chance. Fennec had been freed from the things that held her feet to the flames, and Boba had been given a reason to care for someone other than himself. He may have never been in any real peril on Tatooine- Not even in that pit if how I’ve seen him fight is any indication of how he handled that Sarlacc- but two souls were saved that day regardless. Though they worked as a pair and while Fennec deferred to Fett at first, she gave him her loyalty because she chose to, not because she was made to, and he gave her his respect because she had proven herself to be just as resilient as he was.  

Now, having taken the palace from the Hutt crime family and rooted out their presence on the planet, the two child killers turned vigilantes had started working on the galaxy’s other crime rings. Their sights were currently set on the Black Sun syndicate, and they had been working on picking away at one of their strongholds in Ord Mantell City, dispatching those who gave them no new information immediately, and freezing and bringing anyone who might have something useful to share back to the complex on Tatooine. Karga and the Bounty Hunter’s Guild on Nevarro had even been helping them, and more than a handful of the Mandalorians from the new covert had offered their assistance as a way to repay Boba and Fennec for providing them the space. Yes, they were taking the law into their own hands, but he had seen time and again how easily the New Republic could be made to look the other way, so he had no personal or moral objections to what they were doing. 

And so far they had brought three children under the age of thirteen back to the covert. The kids were being held captive as leverage so that the Black Sun leaders could keep control over their parents, often threatening them with things unspeakable should they refuse to do what their bosses required of them. The youngest was no more than five. After they’d been fed and tended to by the Healer and given a place to rest in the tunnels below, Woves one of the Mandalorians he’d first met on Trask, had set out to get in touch with the guardians of the rescued children. Since joining the cause to unite the clans, Axe had become increasingly interested in participating in educating and caring for the covert’s children, even assisting the Instructor in teaching new sparring techniques or sharing the perspective of someone who had grown up on Mandalore when it came to more cultural or historical lessons. Though he’d tried to make contact multiple times using the information that he had on the children- only their names and home planets- just the two older boys had been claimed by living relatives. 

The smallest, a girl barely reaching the top of Woves’ boot, didn’t seem to have anyone anywhere. Though he continued to try to locate the child’s kin, everyone knew it was only a matter of time before the Armorer was presiding over the gai bal manda, the man who had once been one of Bo-Katan’s most feared fighters kneeling in front of the entire Tribe and swearing to protect and raise the child as a warrior, as a member of his clan. As his own. 

Ni kyr'tayl gai sa'ad. I know your name as my child. Grogu. 

He felt a tug in his chest, just behind his rib cage as he dismounted the speeder, those big round eyes blinking at him from beneath that wrinkled green forehead and those over large ears filling his thoughts before he could guard himself. With a sigh, he wished for what could have been the hundredth time that he had been given the chance to take that vow, swear those words… Raise my son. 

Slinging his bag across his body and ensuring that the Darksaber’s hilt was clipped firmly to his belt with one hand, the other went to one of the leather pouches at his waist. Without needing to look, he pulled the small silver ball from its designated spot, spinning it twice between his thumb, index and middle fingers. We’ll see each other again. I promise. The metal sphere slipped smoothly in his gloved grasp, the object giving him comfort. It was something tangible, a link to the thing he carried in his heart for the child that had upended his entire world. Bo-Katan might understand Woves’ choice if she… He let out another breath and tucked the ball away. But all she can see is Mandalore. 

The sharp-eyed, orange- haired heiress was not too keen on her former companion’s sudden calling towards child rearing, but swearing an adoption vow, promising to care for a foundling, was such an integral part of Mandalorian beliefs, of The Way, that she knew better than to try to talk him out of it. She would lose any credibility that she had as a leader if any of the others caught wind of that. She still had Reeves, and Hast,  one of the few that had made it off of Nevarro, had also volunteered to help her search for other hidden coverts and lone stragglers in the far reaches of the Outer Rim, on the quiet, often overlooked planets in the Mid Rim, in the corrupt and crowded cities of the Core Worlds. And if she wanted more help I’m sure there are others who would go. 

He cringed, tilting his chin down to glance at the innocuous looking object knocking against the beskar tasset covering his left thigh with every step towards the tunnels he took. If she wanted, I could… He reached across his body to wrap his hand around the sword's grip. It still felt strange. Unnatural. I could order others to join her mission. Dropping it as soon as the thought crossed his mind, it hit the beskar beneath it with a loud clang that echoed in the dark passages that connected the speeder bay to the main hall. Leadership in a fight, in a battle, in negotiations, while all still outside of what he would have chosen for himself, were things that he could get his head around. But making demands? Setting punishments and enforcing laws? It was the things that ran in that vein of what it meant to be the Mand’alor that gave him the most pause now that the Armorer had assuaged some of his other doubts regarding the title that had been thrust upon him, unwanted. 

Thing after thing. Loss after loss. Responsibility after responsibility. That had been his life for nearly four decades, and it didn’t seem like his burdens would be getting lighter any time soon. For the first time since he left Nevarro two days before, he thought of the woman he’d run into there, whose stolen vambraces he was bringing back to be reforged. Navina. Though he’d only spent a few hours with her he had picked up the impression that difficult trials and heavy hardships followed her wherever she went, too. He wondered if that was uniquely Mandalorian, or if there were others who understood the same level of loneliness that sometimes came when such strength was constantly required of a being. She had spoken of her clan; of losing her mother and being separated from her father and the foundling that her family had taken in, not knowing after all that time if they were still alive. He knew the odds and she seemed clever enough to know them, too, and though he had sympathy for her, it also made him feel less like he was alone in struggling to carry an ungainly load. I have to remember to ask the others about her father… Harsa. That was the name.  

There were several things he had to do on this trip, asking about Navina’s family name just the latest addition to the list. After promising the Armorer on his last visit that he would begin training with the Darksaber, he knew that he would be spending at least two sessions with the Weapons Master, learning how to wield the legendary black blade. We’ll start with the beskad, though. He was firm in that and he knew that no one would argue with him. He wanted to check in with Fett, make sure that the arrangement was still working and that the man didn’t need anything from him. He had no doubt though, that if the man running things topside had any issues, he wouldn’t hold them back, not hesitating to contact the Mandalorian directly to launch his complaints. His directness was one of the things that he liked most about Boba, and one of the reasons that he had been so quick to trust him. I hope he’s free now. I’d rather start there then…

The last thing that he absolutely could not leave the planet without doing, was meeting with Bo-Katan for a debrief on the recruiting efforts and to begin discussing tactics for reclaiming their ancestral homeland. Hers, anyway. She wasn’t happy that he had put it off for as long as he had, but again, he knew that she wouldn’t voice her displeasure for fear of the optics of disagreeing with the Mand’alor. Politics. His top lip curled at the thought that he would have to get good at knowing how to keep people on his side, even when he knew that their endgames were slightly out of alignment with his. Maybe she’s in the sparring hall now. He knew that she spent hours training with Reeves and Hast whenever she came back to the covert, and he hoped that was where she was now. 

If he was being entirely honest, something about her still didn’t sit well with him, but he knew that he didn’t have to like everyone to work with them. 

Striding the last few steps through the winding passage, he finally reached the plain stone archway, a circular splotch of light from one of the torches visible on the other side of it. Two helmeted Mandalorians stood guard, but moved aside as soon as they saw the signet on his shoulder and the Darksaber on his belt. 

“Olarom yaim, Mand’alor.” The shorter of the two spoke with a nod, welcoming him home in a voice that cracked too adolescently for the modulator in the newly sworn fighter’s helmet to hide. A kid. He recalled the first few years after he’d finished his required training in the Fighting Corps, the cockiness, the harsh lessons that no amount of studying or practicing in the sparring hall could prepare him for. He’s just a kid. 

It was different though, the way that Mandalorians allowed Tribe members to swear additional oaths inducting them into the elite group of warriors at seventeen, than what the syndicates did, how they inducted their young members. We learn and train our whole lives for it. Understand what we’re agreeing to. Not like… He swallowed a sudden spike of rage at the thought that the quiet, innocent child that was likely still latched to Woves’ right leg would have otherwise ended up raised to be a mercenary -or worse- for the Black Sun. But she won’t now. 

“Thank you,” he responded to the young guard cursing himself for forgetting the Mando’a translation. I need to do better with that. Again he felt his thoughts backtracking to Navina and the way that he’d heard several Mando’a words roll easily off of her tongue. Maybe she can… when we meet again in a few weeks, maybe she can help me with… He sighed. There was a long list of things he needed to talk to her about when he saw her next, just like the list of things that awaited him at the top of the staircase he was currently climbing. He wanted to know more about her pendant, about the seam they had found in the metal that hinted at a modification that was made well after the piece had been crafted that would allow the Mythosaur to hold the peculiar stone that shone purple. He wanted to know more about what had prompted her family to leave Concordia, why they were running and why they’d had to separate. He wanted to know anything that he could from her and any other Mandalorians he encountered that might help him be the Mand’alor that the young guardsman and everyone else in the covert seemed to think that he was. 

As soon as he ascended the last few steps though, his thoughts were interrupted by a heavy arm falling around his shoulder. “Still in one piece then, Mand’alor?” 

Boba Fett’s gruff, gravely voice was oddly comforting, and he knew that he was likely one of maybe two people who thought that. He returned the one armed thunk that he supposed the other man took for a hug. “Seems that way.” The man’s heavily scarred face pulled up into a jagged looking grin, the expression almost jarring on such a serious visage, but then a rumbling chuckle came out and took the smile with it, leaving his features in their natural scowl. “Everything alright here?” 

The Mandalorian followed Fett through the large main hall, past the stone slab throne that he only occupied when passing judgement on those that he and Fennec brought back once any useful information could be wrung from them, and through to the long table that had been brought in for strategy meetings and sharing information with the Bounty Hunter’s Guild and others who agreed to offer help. “Everything’s fine,” he said with a grunt, gesturing flippantly with one hand, pulling a chair out from the table with the other. “The Princess wasn’t too thrilled when she found out she’d have to wait for you, but tell me, Mandalorian, is that woman ever truly happy about anything?” 

He had never so much as seen her smile. Pulling out a chair of his own, he simply shrugged. It seemed unlikely. “I’ll meet with her as soon as we’re through here.” Fett nodded. “I had… urgent business on Nevarro.” 

“Urgent?” One eyebrow rose on the man’s forehead. 

“Yes, I met another Mandalorian, only she was,” he tilted his head to the side as the image of Navina’s silver-gray eyes staring at him through her shattered visor flashed in his mind. “Different.” 

Boba answered with another gruff chuckle as he reached for the jug of spotchka that was never too far away. “Different, was she?” He took a long pull, the remnants of his teasing laugh still there when he lowered the jug and swiped the back of his free hand across his mouth. 

What? No, that’s- He leaned forward, elbows on the stone surface as he made a quick slicing motion with one hand. “No. That’s not what I meant.” 

It wasn’t. But as he dropped his palms back to the tabletop, he could recall the way it felt when he’d gripped her biceps, shaking her from her dreams. He had been concerned that she would hurt herself or more inconveniently, break one of the controls in the cockpit with the way she was thrashing in her sleep. But what he remembered now, hands flat before him, was how it felt to make contact with her skin, even if it was just through the thick padding of his gloves. He pressed his thumb down hard on the table like he had pressed it into the crease of her bent arm, squeezing the muscle there to get her attention. She felt strong and warm and solid and he almost held onto her for too long, caught up in the feel of another body beneath his hands. That isn’t what I meant. 

He cleared his throat and went on. “She hasn’t sworn the Creed, but she carries out the traditions, she can fight, knows things about Mandalorian history-“ he looked up at the man across from him, Fett abandoning his ribbing to regard the Mandalorian seriously. “She had a helmet and a dagger made of pure beskar.” 

“And you’re sure she’s not a thief?” 

Technically she is. But she didn’t steal the helmet or the kal. She didn’t steal the pendant. “They belonged to her parents.” He explained what the woman had told him about how her family had been split up- how she had known for a fact that her mother had been killed, but that since it had been years since she’d seen her father or the other child in her family, she had no way of knowing if they were still alive. “She… she asked me to spread word here at the covert, in case anyone knows where to find her father. Harsa. His name is Gavil Harsa.” 

Boba shrugged. “Don’t know any Harsa. But then, I’m no Mandalorian either. Your different girl and I have that in common.” 

She’s not my-

But before he could protest what had just been said, voices from the same entrance he had come through caught his and Boba’s attention, the other man standing as Fennec’s dry, smirking tone could be heard greeting the guard at the door. “You’re back.” He stated, opening his arms wide, his voice booming across the otherwise empty space. “What took so long?” He dropped his arms as Fennec maneuvered a carbonite block through the doorway. 

She cocked her head in the direction of the hardened, frozen slab containing what could have been any number of humanoid species, their features completely indiscernible but clearly contorted in terror. “Ixon here didn’t want to come quietly.” She turned to pull the block the rest of the way through, the unit hovering weightless and only needing her guidance for direction. “It was actually quite a workout.” She grinned. “For him.” Fett let out another gravelly laugh as Fennec turned her attention to the Mandalorian. “Mando,” she smiled and used one hand to push her long black braid behind her. “Good to see you.” 

“Fennec,” he nodded a greeting. “You’ve been busy, I see.” 

“Nothing for the Mand’alor to worry about,” she winked, shoving the block containing Ixon more roughly than necessary. “Just dealing with the trash.” She winked as she walked through, waving off Boba when he tried to assist her. “I’ll handle this one on my own.” She patted the side of the unit with an almost malicious gleam in her dark eyes. “It’s personal.” 

“I’d pity him if he weren’t walking slime,” Boba offered her the spotchka jug but she declined with a flick of her wrist. 

“He might not be walking when I’m done.” She gave the block another shove towards a door on the other side of the large room, her lips lifting in a quick snarl. “See you around, Mando,” she called over her shoulder, disappearing with Ixon, not waiting for a response.

“They say if you love your job you never work a day in your life,” he clapped a large meaty palm on the Mandalorian’s arm. “And Shand loves her new job.” That much is obvious. “Speaking of jobs, Mand’alor,” he gestured with his jug towards another set of stairs that led to the tunnels that the covert was using, the blue liquid sloshing gently as he did. “I’m sure yours is calling.” 

He stiffened. “Yes.” 

The man, gnarled by life and the things that had tried to drag him from it, set the jug down then. “Taking that planet back… well, you know what I think there.” I do. From first mention, he had not held back his opinion of the mission. “But bringing this many Mandalorians together under one roof? And they haven’t killed each other yet? I know you didn’t ask for this but,” he narrowed his eyes. “That’s no small feat.” 

It was as close to true praise as Boba Fett had likely ever bestowed upon anyone, and he knew that. It was also the truth. He thanked the man and crossed the room to yet another doorway that led to a different set of stairs. This time though, as he shifted the bag on his shoulder, the metal pieces inside clanging together, he did not stop on the landing and wait to pass off the reclaimed beskar to a middleman. This time, he continued down the second set that brought him to the forge. 

It was quiet, the Armorer taking a rare break from her unending task of providing the best protection and defenses that she could for her people. As a child it was easy for him to forget that there was a human beneath that pointed gold helmet. Her understated power, the sparks that flew frantically from her hammer, the ability she possessed to craft such stunning objects all contributed to the almost mythological status that he and the other small children regarded her with. He still admired and respected her and held her in higher esteem than anyone else in the covert, he knew that even the Armorer needed to eat, needed rest, needed to give her own ears a reprieve from the ringing of her tools battering hot metal. 

Entering the room for the first time since the covert relocated to Tatooine, he gave himself time to take the space in. Slowly turning his head he scanned over the work table, all of the tools neatly arrayed, each one clean and sharp and shining, each one a weapon in its own right. The forge itself was unlit, the mouth that usually spat fire simply open in a gaping yawn, but as he ran his hand over it he felt the residual heat that never completely faded. He wondered if what was left of the forge back on Nevarro still retained any warmth. 

Drawing his hand back, he stepped over to the small table that the Armorer used for meeting with the recipients of her work. Reaching into his bag, he took the vambraces that Navina had surrendered and set them on the surface between the two empty stools, leaving them for when the Armorer returned to her duty. She’ll know what to do. And where they came from. He would return to the forge the next morning to speak with her in more detail about the items’ provenance, and also to spread Navina’s family name to the member of the Tribe who was most likely to know it. He gave the room one last scan, slowly turning his head so that he could see it all through the eyeline of his visor, then left, continuing on with his own list of responsibilities. 

A handful of the covert’s children, some in the second hand helmets of the older ones, others belonging to clans that didn’t cover their faces at all times displaying smudges of dirt across round cheeks, were gathered in the widest portion of the hall. Engaged in some game that he likely played himself at that age, they shrieked and laughed and jumped. The kid would love it here. He could easily picture Grogu waddling into the group of young Mandalorians and fitting in without a problem, and he hoped that he had other children to be a child with while he underwent his Jedi training.

Continuing on and following the fork to the left, he headed next for the sparring hall. Unlike the forge, it was not empty. He could already hear the sound of practice staffs clashing, and the Instructor’s voice calling out advice to his trainees. One of the fighters grunted as they lunged or swung, and he knew right away from the sound that it was Bo-Katan, the heavy footsteps he heard suggesting that she was training with Hast. 

Since she was occupied at present, he stopped at the door beside the entrance to the sparring hall to arrange sessions with the Weapons Master. The man seemed pleased that the Mand’alor was ready to start working with the beskad in preparation for the Darksaber, and gave him his choice of available times for one on one training. Slating himself for three instead of the two he had planned on, he thanked the man and, with nothing left to do to push it off any longer, he entered the sparring hall and prepared to speak with Bo-Katan. 

She was still locked in a battle with Hast, the hulking man nearly twice her size but incredibly nimble for his weight and width. Blocking a swing of her opponent’s staff, the helmetless woman gritted her teeth and gripped her own weapon, holding it horizontally in front of her chest to take the force of the blow. Her feet slid back but she dug them in and gave a strong shove. Staffs still connected, the push set Hast off his balance just enough for her to turn the staff and whip it down and behind the man as he tried to regain his footing. In a sweeping blur she used it to take his legs out from under him, and he fell hard to the ground. Following all the way through to the finishing position, Bo-Katan flipped her staff around, jabbing it a few inches from Hast’s helmet, signifying her victory. 

It was impressive, but the Mandalorian knew that she was a skilled fighter, having seen her in live battle. She extended a hand to help Hast up, then turned towards the entrance. “You’re here.” It sounded almost skeptical, and he noticed the tiny twitch of her brow, hardly any sweat beading there after her workout. “Back from your,” she passed the staff behind her to Hast who took both of them back to the wall, the Instructor stowing them on their pegs. “From your urgent business?” 

He’d been expecting her to be upset, so the bite in her tone wasn’t a shock. “Yes.” He answered simply, not willing to allow her annoyance to spark his own. “I’m ready to discuss plans with you.” 

Her eyes narrowed, lips pressed together in a thin line as though that was the only thing keeping her frustration in. She swallowed, then let out a short breath and gestured toward the door. “Shall we, then?” 

The Mandalorian nodded and once she’d thanked the Instructor and Hast for the session, she followed him out into the hallway, the two heading for one of the smaller halls that had been designated for closed door meetings. “Thank you, for your patience.” He knew that she hadn’t been patient, but that she wanted it to seem like she had. “I had things to tend to, but I’ll be here for about two weeks, and I,” he opened the door to the room, letting her in before him and then closing it after he entered. Letting out a small sigh that he knew she wouldn’t be able to hear, he continued. “Aside from training with the Weapons Master I can spend as much time as necessary working with you.” 

Her cheek jumped as she gave a quick smile that was more of a forced smirk. “Well, that’s great news.” Pulling out a chair, she gestured for him to do the same, which he did. “Because we have a lot to discuss.” 

She went on to tell him that she, Hast and Koska Reeves had come back with ten adult Mandalorians from a covert located in the Mid Rim, and four children that had been part of their clans. There were a few that had chosen not to come back to Tatooine, but he and the others had all agreed that no one would be forced into joining them, that it was a decision only they could make for themselves. Still, adding fourteen to the Tribe in just one trip was something of note. For most of his life he had thought that his kind were far closer to extinction than they were. It was encouraging to see their numbers grow after so much time spent thinking that they were alone, and he hoped it gave the others that joined them there that same feeling of hope. That even if the quest to take back Mandalore were to fail, they would still have a safe place there where they didn’t have to hide in the shadows and only gather in groups of twenty or fewer. At least they were united now. At least they had a home.    

She went on to tell him about the old rebel base they had heard about on the remains of Concord Dawn, a planet in the Mandalore System that had all but been destroyed in the centuries of warfare that plagued that portion of the galaxy. Largely uninhabitable, and missing nearly a third of its mass, the planet had been abandoned ages ago. But it’s proximity to Mandalore made it a good candidate to set up a base of their own once the battle for their planet began. She outlined what would be needed in terms of weapons, fortifications and troops, and stated that once they had acquired and allotted the required supplies, she would like to accompany him on a trip to Concord Dawn so that he could see it for himself before the base was established. 

Agreeing to all of this, he listened as she laid out her plans for obtaining what was needed, giving her another two hours of his time before exhaustion started setting in so heavily that he wouldn’t have been able to listen to much more even if it was the most interesting topic in the universe. Assuring her that they could pick up where they left off the next morning, he excused himself from the small room and headed for the chamber that he always slept in when he was at the covert. 

He didn’t know why, but as he removed his helmet he thought again of the woman he met on Nevarro, and how he was about to begin a war to take back her home planet. Unbuckling the rest of his armor piece by piece and laying it out to be polished and cleaned, he wondered if she would ever go back to the place she was born once they had won it back, or if their own traditions would make her feel unwelcome there. Frowning, he hoped that wouldn’t be the case, that he would help build the kind of society that welcomed anyone who was an ally, whether or not they swore an oath. Would she take the creed? Pulling the breastplate cuirass over his head, he wondered if it was even something she would want to do. She said she wasn’t given the chance… what if she was? 

Shaking his head to clear her from his thoughts, he finished taking care of his armor for the evening, focusing on the lightness in his limbs that came from removing all that weight, and sunk into the mattress, finding sleep as soon as his eyes closed. 

But the head shake hadn’t cleared her completely, his dreams tinged with purple light and the echo of her name.

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