#Thinking about him saying that often a star rating only matters in context of the review and sometimes it still doesn't.

[captainofthetidesbreath]

randomly, I'm just missing Roger Ebert very much

[cherrynojutsu]

Title: Like Gold

Summary: Sasuke grapples with love and intimacy regarding his developing relationship with Sakura after returning to the village from his journey of redemption. Kind of a character study on Sasuke handling an intimate relationship after dealing with PTSD and survivor’s guilt in solitude for so long. Blank period, canon-compliant, Sasuke-centric, lots of fluff and pining, slowly becomes a smut fest with feelings.

Disclaimer: I did not write Naruto. This is a fan-made piece solely created for entertainment purposes.

Rating: M (eventual nsfw-ness)

AO3 Link - FF.net Link - includes beginning/ending author's notes

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Chapter 7/?: Catalysts

Sasuke doesn’t indulge in baser needs often, despite the frustrating paradox that is the male endocrine system’s apparent determination to make him do so. He finds it feels… empty, after. Like there’s supposed to be something more, but instead there’s just whatever is situated above his head to stare at while his breathing levels out, an interminable abyss of silence and stars, or tree foliage, or apartment ceiling. Impulses and feelings of a sexual nature are probably normal for anyone his age, but in the past, satiating desires like this has made him feel guilty, given the context.

When he's not plagued by nightmares rife with gore and blood and bodies, or the occasional aching memory, his subconscious takes the opportunity to bombard him with dreams of a suggestive nature, having deduced somehow that it’s the most effective method to get him to… tend to things.

This variety of dream customarily involves pale pink hair, multifaceted eyes, and soft fingertips, branded into the part of his brain that controls his most base instincts with a hot iron.

He notes begrudgingly as he gazes at plain plaster above him, brows furrowed, that ostensibly, it works well enough, if the intricate mess of thoughts and feelings in his head and on his abdomen are anything to go by.

Sasuke would never admit it to anyone, but Sakura has headlined exclusively in nearly every sexually-charged dream he's ever had, and resultingly the majority of his sentient thoughts while indulging outside of dreaming, too. When they were Genin, it was innocent enough; he had reasoned that, being the main girl his age he associated with, it made sense his inadvertent dreams, beyond the scope of his control, involved her. He'd shaken it off in those early days as the by-product of the developing hormonal cocktail that is the pubescent masculine mind, and ignored the part of himself that kind of had a crush on her even then. Or definitively more than a crush, after the Chunin Exams and the hospital and jealousy.

He had tried convincing himself of the same thing at fourteen, once he'd left the village and had attempted to sever all bonds. It didn’t work, though; by that point he knew better, knew what the feeling he was trying to squash actually was.

Which meant it didn’t work at fifteen, either.

Nor sixteen, and definitely not seventeen, eighteen, or nineteen.

All of that has been wholly indecent on its own in the past, causing him to feel shameful every time it happens, and even more ashamed if it’s a rare day where he’s weak enough to act on it, a day where he wakes up mere seconds from an edge rather than minutes.

But this morning, he woke up on the tail end of all of that with the addition of freckles , of all things to fixate on, and he just knows he's never going to forget about them now, that they’re branded into his grey matter in perpetuity. Freckles just above the interior of a shoulder, eight of them, a small scattering he had been pressing his lips to, listening to a softly whispered Sasuke-kun, reaching around her with his only arm, so he could make her say his name like that again.

It is far from the first time he’s touched himself to the thought of Sakura, but it is the first time he’s indulged since they’ve been… together.

Except this time felt… different.

Less like an unrealistic reverie he should try to abstain from and more like an eventuality. Less guilt, too, or rather, almost none, because he’s in a relationship with her now, and he’s pretty sure he’s supposed to have feelings like this regarding her. Not that he is anywhere near ready to do anything about them, because he absolutely is not; he’s not certain he even comprehends that level of vulnerability, to touch another person and allow yourself to be touched by them, though he badly wants to, someday.

No, Sasuke doesn’t indulge in baser needs often… but he did this morning, when he woke up teetering just on the precipice, fantasizing about tiny tan flecks seen and unseen, and he’s trying to work through how he feels about it, this guilt surrounding the fact of not feeling guilty like he ordinarily does, as well as the lingering curiosity he’s struggling to force down regarding how many other freckles Sakura has.

Even moreso, he yearns for soft words that he has often thought may be sentimental to the point of being utterly quixotic. It's why he doesn’t typically submit to this kind of inclination in the first place; it’s meaningless on one’s own, he secretly thinks, though he has nothing to compare it to. No sense of connection or true lasting fulfillment like he imagines there must be, for people to talk about it the way they do; just pleasure that's there for a blinding scattered second and gone the next, with nothing tenderhearted or meaningful in the moments following as his vision refocuses and he picks up the pieces.

He stares at his ceiling, an aporia of longing and complicated compulsions ricocheting in the hallways of his head, or perhaps from his skull to the roof and back again, an absurd push and pull that leaves him with more questions than answers.

Has she ever thought about him the way he thinks about her?

What would it sound like, Sasuke-kun, when she’s like that?

Is it okay to feel like this, now? To think about her in this regard?

Sasuke is accustomed to not sleeping well - it comes with the territory of his lived experience, an unfortunate fact of life he’s somewhat learned to deal with - but during the mission to Sand, he'd slept fairly restfully, though in short increments of five or six hours. That's apparently the tipping point of how long he gets to go without being sojourned by some variety of vision in the night.

He eventually makes his way to the shower, using torrid water and soap to double cleanse what’s left of his mess. That's a big contributor to his consternation, too; it's so embarrassingly messy that it’s impossible to imagine ever doing anything like it with her . He flips the dial to cold after he’s bathed for the better portion of five minutes, because serpens caput is still burned into his retinas, and he’s hoping against hope to freeze it out of himself like he has tried to do with shame in the past.

It doesn’t work; it just induces shivering, algidity overwhelming the senses but doing nothing to distract the mind.

He shoves his face into his book after, desperate for the distraction a proverbial fiction featuring an old fisherman can provide and thinking once again that he needs to acquire a lamp. Anything to get the thought of pressing his lips to her freckles out of his head, because he’s pretty sure if he keeps thinking about it, he’ll have to take care of things for the second time today, and then he really won’t know how to feel.

So when a banging erupts on his apartment door shortly following eight, followed by a shout of, “TEME! I'm here, let’s go!”, all he can think is finally, because he knows it will at least get his mind off of this strange lack of guilt and a curiosity he’s not ready to unpack yet. The book helped, but he thinks he needs the challenge a fight against Naruto can provide to truly leave behind this level of prurience. He doesn’t know how he’s going to look her in the eye when they meet at three as they planned, otherwise.

Sasuke shoves on his sandals and grabs his chokuto before opening the door. “So you finally showed. Thought you'd sleep all morning.”

Naruto’s eyes narrow, indignant and already launching into a retort. Good. Maybe he’ll get some iota of order knocked back into him, enough to put compelling constellations away for the time being.

XXX

Sasuke feels monumentally better by noon. It’s another draw, an absolute whirlwind of swinging limbs that made it impossible to focus on anything else. He didn’t take joy in it necessarily, and he suspects Naruto bruised his ulna bone to the extent it almost cracked, but it helps, the diversion of pain; the tinge he feels when he moves it is a welcome hindrance. They’d stuck mainly to taijutsu and clashing weaponry, so physically, he’s pretty exhausted.

They’re resting in the dirt, making a valiant attempt at rehydrating. It’s moderately hot for this time of year, barely on the cusp of mid April, but it’s seeming like the Konoha heat will be returning with the same vengeance it always does. A small trickle of sweat sinks its way down his back.

Sasuke feels nearly normal again. Or normal to the extent he generally feels, anyways. He gets the urge to do something good - to tip the scale, so to speak.

"...The cutting board works. Thank you." It’s not what he’s most thankful for right now, but it’s a nice thing to say as substitution.

His friend grins at him. "Welcome! It was all me, by the way. Hinata-chan didn't even help me pick it out!" Naruto scratches his head, downing more water. He’s moving rather slowly, as if he is sore, too; Sasuke thinks perhaps he came close to beating him this round.

They stare upwards for a while, soaking in the sun as clouds roll lazily by. Birds fly overhead, finches and song sparrows twittering their selections, collecting materials to build more nests for this new season. It’s another effective distraction, one that fills him with a sense of nostalgia, replacing his earlier sense of compunction regarding the mystifying concept of physical love and the whims that accompany it.

Naruto speaks up after a bit. "Ne, teme, wanna go to the market with me? Hinata-chan asked me to get some groceries and some stuff for the backyard."

Sasuke glances at his teammate and contemplates. It can't hurt. He did want to pick up potatoes to make actual curry with, and he could get some other things, too. He'll still have time to shower before he meets Sakura at the hospital.

"...Sure."

Naruto takes longer to rise than he does, shuffling carefully as if he is in pain, but once he’s standing, he seems fine enough, stupid grin slapped on his face at Sasuke’s agreement to go with. They set off in the general direction of his building so he can drop off his weapon first. He gets dirty looks sometimes, walking around, though it’s not nearly as bad as when he first returned and it doesn’t bother him on the same level that it used to. When he’s with Naruto or Sakura, he gets less of them, but he can't imagine a sword strapped to his back in the market will do much to help his reputation.

Naruto doesn't allow the easy silence to last. "Y'know, teme, it's really good to have you back in the village. It feels like everything's finally coming together. We'll have to do some fun stuff this summer. And also in the fall!” Gears are turning behind cerulean eyes, and he adds, ”...Hmm, and the winter, too!"

"...Yeah." He stares at the mountain, thinking about what cherry blossom trees look like in summer and fall and winter. It will be nice to see the one across the street change colors throughout the seasons. Or the one on the hill, where they're going later today. He has seen their like numbering in the thousands, scattered everywhere on his journey - he’s highly cognizant of them, for obvious reasons - but he hasn’t been granted the privilege of watching the same one through the whole of a year’s growth cycle in a long time.

"Sakura-chan seems really cheery lately, too. Can't imagine why." The second sentence is said flippantly, without any real conviction, as if Naruto knows exactly why.

Sasuke glances at his teammate, neck warming and heart skipping a little at the mention of her. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of hearing that Sakura is happy from secondhand sources; it makes him feel like he’s doing something right for once. Maybe not all his impulses are complicated in nature enough to require dissection, as he was accustomed to doing when he was away; spending time with her is one, and he's been indulging it often.

He briefly entertains the idea of outright telling Naruto that they're together, then, but the dobe is moving on before he comes up with the words. "Well, anyways. Wanna spar Monday morning, if neither of us get a mission by then?”

That’s… specific. Maybe he doesn’t need to say anything to him, after all; he’s sure it’s no coincidence that Naruto is asking about the exact time period Sakura is busy training with Ino, probably as aware of her schedule as Kakashi is. Their old sensei might have told him, he supposes, or maybe Sakura said something; Sasuke wonders when he last saw her.

“...Sure. If you think you can handle it.”

The response he gets is a slug on the left shoulder, but it’s not overly hard. Sasuke narrows his eyes in response more out of habit than any real malice. He sees as Naruto’s hand retreats and slips out of a fist that words are written on his palm. He didn’t notice it throughout the morning due to their hands constantly being locked around weapons or thrown in punches, and he resists the urge to roll his eyes; it's likely a grocery list.

Naruto leans against the brick downstairs while Sasuke drops off his sword, and then they head to the main market area as the dobe chatters. It’s fairly busy, it being a Saturday, but it’s not intolerably so; most people are busy eating around now.

Sasuke is completely unsurprised when Naruto beelines straight for the noodles; naturally he would be out of them. He takes the opportunity to procure a blend of wild rice. Thus far he only has white and brown in his own pantry, and he’s been trying to eat it often. He's always liked rice, but it’s high in calories, too, an easy way to try putting on weight. Another variety to choose from would be beneficial.

He trails after his friend to the baking supplies next, where Naruto examines containers of flour and sugar. Sasuke concludes Hinata must bake, because he’s confident any cookie prepared by the dobe could not possibly be edible. While his teammate is occupied, Sasuke turns the corner and procures a half dozen eggs, a large bag of potatoes, and two different varieties of tomatoes. The extra five pounds of weight held in the crook of his arm doesn’t do wonders for his bruised bone situation, but it’s not wholly unbearable; he’s fairly used to dealing with pain.

“Hinata-chan said to go to the gardening stall on the north end,” Naruto says once they’ve paid and exited the building, so they begin a course in that general direction. “She said they have the best perennial bulbs; that means they come back every year!”

Sasuke twitches, surprised he can even pronounce the word perennial if he’s lived this long without knowing what one is.

“Anyways, she wants to plant some, uh…” His voice trails off, and he peeks at his hand, where Sasuke now sees the names of flowers written in feminine writing that has to be Hinata’s.

Of course. Like he could spell the words, let alone read his own sloppy handwriting.

“Iris, phlox, and uh… echo-na-na-chee-ah.”

“Echinachea,” Sasuke corrects dully, giving him a withering look.

“Sure! That! She wants to plant those in the backyard, kind of line the house with them, since the front is looking pretty nice now. She said to get bulbs; they root better. They might bloom this year, but if not, they’ll for sure come in next year!”

“...And she entrusted you with this?” Sasuke asks, raising an eyebrow.

Naruto just laughs, utterly unphased. “Duh, that’s what the list is for, teme. Hinata-chan is super smart like that. Putting it on my hand makes sure I don’t lose it!”

They meander to the northern edge of the market, past the congregation of other stalls selling seeds and garden starters. It's getting towards the end of planting season for Fire Country, but there is still plenty to choose from here, allegorical gates of green swinging open in salutation. They pass some tomato plant starters, already starting to climb their cages, but Sasuke decides against it; his hand is full presently, and the bone still kind of hurts, and none of them are red heirloom tomatoes anyways, being smaller variations like plum or cherry or grape. He likes all tomatoes, honestly, but if he was going to grow one, he’d just want the one of a favorite to worry about. Repotting a starter would also require a planter, which he doesn’t have; another thing to carry.

The stall Naruto leads them to is probably the nicest one there, judiciously laid out and everything labeled neatly with precise calligraphy. The few tables the vendor has are overflowing with perennial starters, but Naruto goes to the three vertical displays of seeds and bulbs, so tall they are at eye level with both of them. They’re filled to the brim with diminutive packages, printed with large pictures of the flowers they contain the beginnings of, along with genus names and common names in smaller text. The blond examines them, surveying his hand, then the display, then back to his hand again in scrutiny.

Sasuke watches, resisting the urge to sigh and waiting for the inevitable.

“Hmm… I guess this would be a lot easier if I knew what any of these looked like. Gonna have to read them all.”

Sasuke rolls his eyes and steps forward to point to the section of iris bulbs to start with. He gives him a minute to work out which colors to pick, observing the throng of people entering and exiting around them, young and old and in-between.

Phlox are next; he directs his teammate to the appropriate section, where there are quite a few options of hues. Naruto examines them as if he is making a grand decision transformative in nature, mumbling to himself.

“Hmm… She likes blue and purple. Maybe I should…”

His own gaze wanders as he tunes Naruto out, taking in pictures of begonias and caladium on plastic shiny in the sunlight, before his vision locks on the far display.

He wanders over to it as if his body is moving of its own accord.

There are several varieties of lilies, he learns as he scans the packaging, oriental, trumpet, and what is apparently called nerine. White nerine lilies had been the variety his mother grew, lining their yard with curved porcelain petals, clusters emanating from many single stems.

He sets his groceries at his feet to free up his hand, picking up one of the packages to read the instructions on the back. His arm aches as he does so, but he couldn’t care less.

Nerine lily bulbs require good drainage. If there are still puddles in the prospective planting area 5-6 hours after rain, locate another site, or amend the soil with organic material to raise levels 2-3 inches. Nerine lilies also require soil that is somewhat gritty, though it also must be organically rich. Adding compost may increase nutrient content.

In spring, choose a location in full sun. If you are in a hotter region, site them where they will receive morning sun and afternoon shade, and plant the bulbs with an inch of the slender top above the soil surface. The top of the bulb is the area that looks like the stem of an onion. Install bulbs 8 to 11 inches apart for a massed look.

Nerine bulbs develop foliage that gather sun rays and strengthen the plants during the spring and summer months. Flower stalks develop in the fall. Provide water when the plants are actively growing, and very little when they are dormant.

You may cut the final flower stems to display decoratively. This will not hurt the plants and the cuts last long periods of time indoors. After they finish blooming for the year, cut off any remaining flower stalks. Your plants will rest for the winter months before sending up new growth in the springtime. Over time, nerine lilies will form clumps. They like to be crowded, so don’t feel pressed to divide them unless flower production begins to decrease. Clumps can then be dug, split apart, and moved to other parts of the garden, or shared with friends.

When Sasuke looks up, deep in thought, he notices Naruto searching for what he assumes is echinacea, flitting stiffly at random between the first two displays and scratching his head. Wordlessly with the package of lily bulbs still in hand, Sasuke points to the bottom right corner of the first, where several color selections are.

“Thanks, teme!” Naruto plows back to the specified stand and stoops down comically slowly, though Sasuke barely sees, gaze drawn pensively back to the packet he was examining.

The memorial stone has decent drainage, aside from the occasional hard rain like last weekend; that will become less common as the weather warms, and one or two monsoons a summer never drowned his mother’s lilies. Shade in the afternoon could be an issue, though. There’s a large oak tree on the west side that might cast some protection over it, but he only ever visits under the cover of night, so he’s unsure. He would have to examine the trajectory in person to gauge.

He considers the market bag the groceries were handed to him in earlier, studying it closely.

Carefully, he puts the package back where he found it, though his eyes linger on it. He’s no gardener, not like Sakura is, and besides, his arm hurts.

XXX

He’s leaning up against one of the blue columns outside of the hospital when Sakura emerges at three, sprightly as ever. She’s holding the two journals and the medical text from their first trip to the library; she said yesterday that she needed to return them, but there shouldn’t be any new ones she needs to check out just yet. He hadn’t stayed terribly long after they’d finished the tenmusu because he needed to shower and write his mission report, but they’d made plans to swing by the library and journey back up the hillside to read together again. There was also mention of possibly picking up food afterwards, to take to her place. Hazel Wood must be in her tote, hooked around her shoulder.

“Sasuke-kun,” she greets cheerfully. “Whew. It’s getting warm out already.”

“...It is,” Sasuke comments before he extends his hand for her texts, his own already held there, a silent offer to carry them for her.

She blushes as she passes them to him, sliding them into his hand. His eyes drift to the freckle on her cheek, and he wipes his mind blank by sheer willpower alone as they head east. The books aren’t as heavy as the groceries had been earlier, so it doesn’t hurt as much, but he's wondering at this point if the bone might actually have a small crack. He thinks he should ask her to look at it; maybe later, at her apartment.

“My balcony days may be numbered by now, at least until the fall comes,” Sakura observes as they meander.

He contemplates. “...Do you sit out there often?” It is so utterly befitting of her that he thinks he can picture it, her reading out there, surrounded by plants. He wonders if she ever admires the night sky. Their team had stargazed sometimes, on missions that first year as Genin.

Green eyes settle on him from his right. “I like to, when it’s nice out. A lot of times in the summer it gets too hot, though there is an occasional night when it’s cool enough. Fall is really the best for it. You can see the changing leaves from above. Even if it's a chillier day, it’s pleasant with some tea and a blanket in the evening."

He debates for a long moment, but decides against bringing up stout squirrels or chestnut-flavored everything or Naruto slipping on a leaf.

“...It sounds nice,” he comments simply instead, wondering if he’ll be invited to sit with her on her balcony, once fall arrives. They would have to sit kind of close; the space doesn’t seem very big from below, and it's cluttered with greenery.

Sakura smiles up at him, a look that says she agrees with his assessment.

Then, she offers softly, "You can sit out there sometime with me, if you'd like."

His neck warms; all he can do is nod and avert his gaze elsewhere, an abundance of something tender and sweet flaring to life in his belly.

Returning the books barely takes two minutes; they’re wandering towards the outskirts of the mountain in short order. Sakura sprawls in the same spot she did last time, so he takes up the same position, too, leaning up against the trunk of the tree, stable and strong.

And then his eyes catch on another freckle she has, this one near her elbow, and all he can think about is the slightly textured consistency of his ceiling, and whether the impulse to press his lips to her skin without guilt was an okay thing to feel.

She reads and he more contemplates than reads for about an hour, sprawled beneath the scant amount of shade provided by this tree that has lost its petals, trading them in for florets of a greener variety. It’s pleasant, once he can drown his inner disarray of thoughts. He eventually gets through a sliver of his book, though turning the pages is a little cumbersome, tinged lightly with pain. Perhaps he shouldn’t wait until later to ask her to examine his arm.

Sakura finishes her own book, though she keeps the pressed petal between its pages; she must have gotten through more of it while he was on the way to and from Suna. She just reclines there, after, looking up at the sky with her arms at her sides, near exactly the relaxed pose she used to lie in when they were younger.

Sasuke finishes the passage he’s on, and marks his place with the petal she’d plucked from his hair last week, before pointedly setting the text aside and following her eyes to the azure. Fluffy clouds are floating by as the sun inches closer to the west horizon, pushed steadily by the breeze.

“How is Ichika’s recommendation?” She questions.

“...Interesting.” He genuinely is enjoying reading it, despite his aberration.

Her head angles towards him, lying against a gnarled root at a slightly different angle. Her expression is curious, like she’s encouraging him to elaborate.

“Simple, but heavy with metaphors.” He considers for a second, then adds, “You might like it. Poetic.”

Full lips twist upwards. “Maybe I’ll read it next. Her recommendations are usually pretty apt; she gets a good read on people.”

“...How was yours?”

“Hmm.” She pauses, as if thinking it over. “A girl and her mother who get caught up in some bad luck. They inherit an estate - that’s where the title comes from - and supernatural things start happening. It’s kind of a story within a story situation; the grandmother they inherited the house from was an author, so they start going back and reading her writing for clues.”

“...A mystery.” It seems like she’ll read any genre. Mysteries would probably entertain her; she’s always liked to solve things.

She laughs, music to his ears. “Yeah, I suppose it is. It was pretty good. Well written; better than the last one.”

There is a pause.

“...Maybe I’ll read it next,” he echoes, her same words from earlier.

Green sparkles at him, amused before she shifts back towards the firmament.

“...Sounds like a book club.”

It is the most Sakura joke. He huffs a ghost of a laugh as more gauzy clouds drift idly by. It is peaceful, sitting here underneath the same sky as her, observing in easy silence through branches with fresh emerald buds.

And then Sasuke flexes his forearm, shifting slightly, and it still hurts. He considers; she probably won’t mind.

"...I think Naruto cracked my arm bone," he finally confides.

She turns to him, expression fluctuating immediately into one of disquiet, pink brows knotting closer in concern. He blinks and she's standing already, walking over and sitting cross-legged in the nearest open space, an indent in gnarled roots that she navigated through and found a place in as if it were nothing.

Wordlessly, Sasuke holds it out for her to inspect once she’s seated, and she gently rests her fingertips on his forearm.

"It’s from this morning?” Sakura asks, looking concerned in a way that makes his heart thump a little. Or maybe it’s from her hands encircling his skin.

He nods; she must have deduced that they trained earlier. She prods gently before threading green chakra beneath his skin towards the bone, probing for a break.

She frowns. "Oblique fracture in the ulna, though it's very slight and non-displaced.” Her gaze flicks up to him, and all at once, it’s the exam room again, him hyper aware of how close she is to him even though this is clinician Sakura. “I’ll fix it; you really shouldn't have been carrying anything on it."

It takes him a moment to realize she’s referring to him carrying her books earlier, because he’s thinking about the groceries from the market, which were definitively heavier. Her proximity and the aroma of tart berry and the freckle on her cheekbone are all incredibly distracting. Especially the freckle. He peers at her fingers, glowing verdant, and notices one on the inner portion of her right wrist, too.

"...Sorry." He says finally, flicking his eyes back up to her nervously after a long minute is spent mending marrow back together. She inclines her head back down to his arm, apparently accepting his apology for not mentioning it sooner. It's an odd sensation; he can feel the crack fusing from the inside out, ataractic chakra seeping into the diaphysis to fortify.

He feels like he should clarify, so he adds as she works, eyes fixed on her face which has settled in concentration, “I thought it was just bruised at first.” She nods as if that makes sense, working on it for another minute or so without glancing up.

He hopes she's not mad at him. Sasuke shifts his gaze downwards, something in him sinking.

“Flex it, then bend, please,” she requests, not moving her digits; she must need to feel the arm move to determine if it’s healed. He does as she asks and it’s notedly improved, no lingering pain.

“It’s better. Thank you.” He looks upwards just as she does, hoping the jade will still be soft on charcoal.

It is, startlingly so, and she’s flushing all of a sudden, dropping her hands from his arm and rising to her feet a step away, as if she, too, just realized how close they were. It's different here, daylight and not part of their routine like her entryway is becoming.

“You’re welcome,” she says somewhat hastily, complexion darkening. He’s not sure he’s much better; his neck is warm, and he remembers very specifically where each of her fingers had just been on his skin, like the ten points of contact are singed into his epidermis, and likely his grey matter, too.

As he tries to force his pulse to even out, Sakura adds, softly, “You could have just come in with him.”

His brows furrow in confusion. “...What?”

Sakura blinks, countenance appearing as if she is sorting through a problem in her head. Pink dissolves back to her normal coloring.

“Naruto came in with a slipped back rib, earlier today. I assumed it was from sparring with you.” She rolls her eyes, then. “He went and got groceries before coming in; he had them with him. Luckily nothing chilled; he had to wait for a bit.”

"...He didn't say anything about his rib." Now the slow rising and crouching is making more sense.

She sighs, closing her eyes for a second as if something has become clear, but she only replies, "Ah. Of course."

"...Wouldn’t shut up?"

"...Yeah." She turns away slightly, cheeks stained anew for some reason; it makes him curious what their third teammate babbled to her about. "He said as I was kicking him out that he was going to plant flower bulbs with Hinata this afternoon. He showed me the ones he picked. It’s good timing; the perfect time of year to plant some. Pretty soon it'll be too warm."

He lets those words drizzle slowly into his being, a little gentler than a summer monsoon.

"...Our next Hokage can't pronounce echinacea," he eventually tells her.

She chuckles with mirth, a sweet sound he finds relieving; she must have gathered he was present for that endeavor, now, and she can't be too mad at him if he can still make her laugh. Sasuke inwardly hopes she doesn’t gather that he also got groceries; he doesn’t think she’d be very impressed. It was kind of stupid to do that with a questionable arm, in retrospect.

"No," Sakura acknowledges finally, appearing highly entertained. "And he didn’t know what a perennial was until this morning, yet he’s planting an army of them. Probably without reading the directions."

They look over the village together for a lengthy moment in which he considers text printed on the back of a white package.

Then she says his name, so quietly it’s almost a whisper. "Sasuke-kun.”

He angles to her, and sweet jade is on him again, ebbing seafoam cresting as the late afternoon sunlight hits her.

"Thank you for telling me about your arm. In the future, please come to the hospital, if I'm working. You can wait in my office, if you’d prefer. I don't mind; use the window.” Her expression changes to troubled, and suddenly she is no longer the clinician version of Sakura; everything is tinged with something more, something that burns him in its intensity. “You shouldn’t just… suffer in silence, if something hurts. Even if you think it’s nothing. Please tell me."

Oh. She’s not mad, just worried. Heat grazes his ears, and he swallows, staring down at his forearm.

He wants to be close to her. He really does.

"Okay,” he agrees, and means it, carefully meeting green.

They head down the hill together to seek dinner before the rush hits, deciding to go to the yakitori stand she mentioned when he first returned. She chatters about how Naruto wants to have a bonfire in his backyard, once summer’s here and everything is planted.

“...He’s excited about his yard,” Sasuke comments after they’ve ordered, leaning against the wall of the exterior waiting for their takeout. He requested his without the sauce, since Sakura said it’s on the sweeter side for yakitori.

Sakura grins, and she’s really pretty, shadows of a nearby tree dappling her skin, cheeks still red because he paid. It’s only fair; she’s been feeding him. “Yeah, he is. I’d like to see their flowers and garden in the back, eventually. I’m sure once they’ve got it how they want it, they’ll have all kinds of get-togethers back there. Last year we carved pumpkins at their place, instead of at Ino’s and Sai’s; there’s less mess to clean up if it’s outside. He said today that you should come this year.”

“...What?”

She blinks as if remembering something, then smiles sheepishly. “So I never mentioned this, because it happened after I…” She flushes, and she looks away for a second. “...After I sent a letter for the month already, but Sai learned about this artistic thing they do in the Land of Woods, a couple years ago.” Her gaze shifts back to his. “They hollow out pumpkins and carve designs into them, in late October. Warding off evil spirits as they go into the cooler season or something; they put them on their doorsteps with candles in them so the carvings light up the night. It’s odd, but I think it’s become a tradition now. It’s fun, once you get the hang of it. We roast the seeds with salt and Hinata bakes pumpkin bread.”

That sounds entirely odd and completely characteristic of Sai; he supposes there is the artistic angle to consider. Sasuke passed through the Land of Woods three separate times, but never in the fall. “What kind of designs?”

She smiles as if she’s trying not to laugh; his expression must be that of one who is exceedingly perplexed. He supposes it’s not an expression he wears often. “Well, they’re supposed to be scary, I think, but we don’t really do well at making them that way. They’re more funny or decorative. Sai makes pretty good ones, I guess, mean faces with sharp teeth.”

“...What do you carve?”

Her eyes twinkle. “I tried a leaf, the first year, and a crescent moon the second. Sai and I teamed up to carve one for Kakashi-sensei, too, last year; a scarecrow with a cat.”

A crescent moon is not at all what he would have guessed she’d gravitate towards; he thinks immediately of the Six Paths Yin Seal that once adorned a hand he no longer has. Then he comprehends the final part of that sentence.

“...A cat?”

“Oh. Yeah, he got a cat.”

“...His summons are dogs.”

She giggles. “Yeah, Naruto and I thought it was weird at first, too, but he does kind of seem like he’d be more of a cat person overall, the more we thought about it.” Sakura shrugs. “He’s in the village most of the time now, being Hokage, so I guess he thought he could be around enough to take care of one? They’re more low-maintenance than a dog would be. I usually get tasked with feeding it and changing its litter, when he travels to watch the Chunin and Jonin Exams.”

Momentarily, he wonders if Sakura knows what’s under Kakashi’s mask; their old sensei allowing her into his space in his absence may have given her opportunities for some form of low-key reconnaissance on the matter.

Then his brain seizes on another notion, one that’s far more amusing, because she said she teamed up with Sai, and that can only mean one thing.

“...What does Naruto carve?”

Sakura’s grin widens as if she perceives exactly what thought he’s just had. She probably does; she knows him well. “He’s terrible at it. His never look like anything; just orange mush. He loves it, though, and Hinata puts it on their front step anyway.”

He snorts. Figures.

A bell dings, so they peer back in, and sure enough, their food is ready. Sakura steps forward to collect it, thanking the worker, but as she turns, she pauses.

Sasuke follows her gaze, and sees none other than their third teammate in the street, walking their direction and waving emphatically. He’s wearing a different pair of pants, knees absolutely covered in dirt and grass stains.

“Oi, teme! Sakura-chan!”

Sakura glances up to him before swiveling towards the road, their food in hand; Sasuke trails close behind, pushing apart the hanging banners of the stand as he steps beyond the threshold of the restaurant.

“Naruto,” Sakura greets when they’re out in the open.

“...Dobe.”

“Looks like you’ve planted everything,” Sakura says more than asks, gesturing to his pants as evidence.

“Hehe, yep, all of ‘em! It was work, but it will be worth it, later in the year.” Naruto scratches his head, grinning. Sasuke lets those words sink in, too, drenching dead roots.

“And now you’re getting Hinata yakitori as a treat?” Sakura pushes, seeming incredibly amused.

“Well…” Naruto looks away bashfully, grinning ear to ear. “Yeah. Gotta repay her somehow. She has good ideas. I just follow her lead.” He looks back to them, then. “Did you tell teme about all our awesome plans?”

Sasuke’s focus falls to Sakura, who is flushed, biting her lip in a smile.

“I may have started to.”

“Well, good, because our yard is going to be totally the best, and if he thinks he’s getting out of it...” the dobe points at him accusingly, “Then I’ll kick his ass!”

Sasuke scoffs. “As if you could.”

Sakura shakes her head, pink locks fluttering with the motion. “Always with the physicalities... Anyways, I’m sure it will be lovely, when everything finally comes together.”

An uncommonly stretched pause passes where blue eyes zero in on the food container Sakura is holding, before they travel up to the two of them.

The grin shifts to something remarkably tender.

“...Yeah. I’m sure it will be.” He says it with the utmost confidence, like he is as certain about it as he is about the sun rising tomorrow, and Sasuke gets the sense that he is no longer referring to gardening.

The moment passes, and then Naruto is punching them each on the shoulder respectively and sidestepping away towards the yakitori stand. “Anyways, gotta go, so I’ll catch ya later! I’m guessing you have plans of your own.”

Sasuke blinks as their teammate disappears into the restaurant, ears burning a little. When his vision travels down to his right, Sakura is blushing a dark red. She meets his gaze, smiling sheepishly.

They turn to go to her building. The entire way there, Sasuke considers everything in the beginnings of a green that seems endless, nurtured by people from all walks of life. He has been noticing it this whole time, since his return, but now he's thinking about how dull it would be without it, whether it’s dirt roads or lifeless grey granite. This is not the wilds, where seeds sprout unabated. Here, one must put in the work to grow things, find suitable locations and till the soil.

When they reach Sakura’s apartment, his eye lingers on her plants as he follows her inside. She sets the takeout on the table by her window. A shadow of a leaf from the jasmine above them is cast hazily out of focus on her left cheek.

“Would you like any sauce with yours? I could make some teriyaki sauce quick, or I have lemons I’ll be cutting up anyway for mine.”

“...Lemon?” Citrus complements chicken, he knows, but he understands that to mean she’s planning on putting it on hers, over top of the yakitori sauce.

Her lips curve upwards. “I like it on other things, too. It’s good on yakitori.”

So Sakura slices a lemon and it sits on the center of the table between them as they eat. She drizzles her yakitori with three of them, and he takes the other three. The chicken is pretty good, tart with the citrus and seared alongside green onions. It’s still warm, as it wasn’t a long walk to her place at all, a convenient sort of sustenance.

“...What else do you like lemon on?”

She chews thoughtfully, swallowing before answering. “Hmm, a lot of things. Fish, even ones that are usually served with lime. Pork. I like it on vegetables, too. Salads, pasta, rice. Most desserts that include lemon I like, as well.” She pauses again, and adds, “Lemonade, if it’s homemade.”

No wonder they’re always in her fridge. “...And tea.”

His heart flips at the way she smiles at him.

“...And tea,” she agrees.

They watch the streets fill and empty from her window, finishing the meal in a companionable reticence, smelling faintly of citrus rind and shadowed by greenery from above.

He helps her prepare decaffeinated sencha after, trying not to stare at the freckle on her cheek. He’s pondering this morning further, the notions of impetus and yearning, and also the way she says his name, but this time uttered softly under a cherry blossom tree with an invitation into her office, if something hurts.

Sakura cares about him. A lot. Sasuke knows this, has known for years, but it’s the actions of her affection, the way she expresses it purely and simply as if it’s a true north cascading through her veins, that has inched its way into his bone marrow, engraved on the latibule he carved inwardly to avoid dry swallowing life’s more bitter medicines.

As she stirs sugar and honey into her own cup, she asks, “Care for a chess rematch?”

He doesn’t even have to think about it; he nods his assent. It’s time to test something.

They arrange the board together at her table. The first round, Sasuke cautiously plans every move, surveying alternating squares and attempting to predict what strategy Sakura will employ. In some instances, he mirrors her, moving a rook a turn after she does, shifting a pawn out of imminent danger, and so on. It’s a very involved way to play, requiring attentive calculation of each move.

It’s a prolonged match that he eventually loses with a final sweeping motion of her remaining bishop, but it’s fairly close.

“...Again?”

She grins and wordlessly starts setting up the pieces she has captured, so he begins to set up hers. It’s an interesting task, a message of opposites, her setting up his dark figures and him setting up her light ones.

The second round, he simply follows his instincts, negating planning ahead farther than a couple of turns. If he gets an impulse to shift a pawn one way, he does. If his gut tells him to move the knight into her territory or to retreat a rook, he goes with it.

It drags on for the better part of an hour, and ends in a stalemate.

The smile she gives him is breathtaking, a broad and warmhearted validation.

“You’re good,” she comments, jade eyes dancing with joy. He gets the impression that it is not often she gets forced into a draw. He wonders who else she plays with. It can't be Naruto, but maybe Sai or Ino also play.

“...So are you.” He is somewhat reassured now. His impulses used to be ruinous, stemming from anger and anxiety and loss, but perhaps his journey helped in that regard. He just needs to make sure they're rooted in the right things, whether it be logic or affection, and then the major task becomes to feel rather than to overthink.

When he kisses her good night in her entryway, another movie watched and plans for tomorrow later, he doesn’t reach for the freckle the first time, though his hand twitches with the longing to. It’s treasured, this tender pressing of lips that feels like dipping a toe into still water. It is imbued with both of her hands resting on his shoulders again, ten fingertips that have him in her grip more than she could possibly fathom.

He studies her eyes when he pulls away, staring down into soft depths of viridescence. He will drown in them someday, he thinks, slowly but surely working up the courage to wade into the deep end.

The second time he kisses her, he lets himself graze her cheek to truly appreciate the difference, allowing acknowledgment of the impulse, compelled forward rather than backward as if bound by some metaphorical form of northern star situated on the rise of her cheekbone.

Sakura leans into his touch once more as she did yesterday, but this time, she brings up her own hand and delicately lets her fingertips rest atop the outside of his, as if she encourages the caress, thumb brushing against his knuckle as his lips gently brush hers. Her other hand stays resting on his clavicle, a tender embrace, osculant in a way he has hoped for countless times, inclusive of this morning.

It is exactly what he needed, a catalyst of encouragement comprised of a heat that is gentle, coaxing, but still brands him all the same.

Maybe it's okay to want to skim her freckles and more, to allow the affinities he has to breathe. They’re together now; it stands to reason they'll one day venture into territory more uncharted, if he can concede to that kind of vulnerability. Not that he’s anywhere near ready for that - he’s not - but his instincts don’t appear to be all disastrously calamitous. Touching her cheek is something she clearly welcomes.

Sasuke gave in to darker tendencies once. Perhaps it's okay to give in to lighter ones; nothing grows in the absence of light, after all. He brushes a thumb across the high point of her cheekbone once more with her hand encompassing his before they part, embracing a new habit prior to whispering good night.

The way she smiles up at him, skin aflush and glimmering eyes, is everything.

XXX

He inspects the stone and the soil surrounding it for a long while, heavy-heartedly trying to ignore the encyclopedia of names in favor of envisioning what it would look like with lilies surrounding it. Less lugubrious, probably. The trajectory of the tree’s shadow would touch the stone in the evening, he sees, now that he’s here in person. He only ever haunts this place after nightfall when there's less chance of someone happening upon him. He wishes it was more secluded for that reason; maybe healing happens in the sunshine, and that’s why he still struggles with coming here after so many years, creature of the night that he is.

Evenings with Sakura feel like healing, though, and they linger after hours consistently. Maybe next time he’ll visit his dead kin at twilight, a brittle sort of compromise.

He'll see if the impulse still grips him tomorrow, and then decide. He knows his mother would like them. Itachi would, too, although it never feels like he's here, not the same way that it feels like the rest of them are, the air weighted with an accursed brand of perfume pouring outward in all directions.

White lilies may be able to touch the light in his stead for the time being. Even if they don’t grow, he at least will know he tried, and there is always next year. By then, he may have the capability of asking Sakura if she would help him; she’s clearly a capable gardener, and there should be less sediment, if he puts in the work.

By the time he leaves for his apartment, a thin layer has loosened.

[kaialone]

Kirby Planet Robobot Translation Comparison: Facing Mecha Knight

This will be a comparison of the original Japanese version and the US English localized version.

Specifically, this will cover the cutscene where Kirby encounters Susie for the second time, and ends up battling Mecha Knight.

You can also watch this cutscene for yourself in English and Japanese.

For the comparison, the usual points apply:

Bolded is the original Japanese text, for the reference.

Bolded and italicized is my translation.

Italicized is the official NOA translation.

A (number) indicates that I have a specific comment to make on that part in the translation notes.

As you read this, please keep in mind that with translations like these, it’s important not to focus on the exact literal wordings, since there is no single “correct answer” when it comes to translations.

Rather than that, consider the actual information that is being conveyed, in which way, and why.

--

Meeting Susie Again:

Secretary Susie:

おーお〜 いーだいな ハールトマン〜

Oh, great Haltmann~  (1)

Noble Haltmann, we adore him

Secretary Susie:

おーお〜 いーだいな ハールトマン〜

Oh, great Haltmann~

Noble Haltmann, we adore him!

Secretary Susie:

永遠にー 果てなくー 栄えよ〜

May you prosper, unending, for all eternity~

Every day we wish him glory!

Secretary Susie:

……おっと、 たいへん しつれい いたしました。

...Oh dear, how terribly rude of me.

Oh! Pardon me.

Secretary Susie:

われらが カンパニーの すばらしい社歌、

「銀河に名立たるハルトマン」。

That was our company's marvelous theme song,

"Haltmann, Famed Across the Galaxy".

That was our company's wonderful theme song, "The Noble Haltmann."

Secretary Susie:

ついつい 口ずさんで しまいましたわ。

I was just overcome with the urge to sing it to myself.

Sometimes I just find myself singing it out loud. It's so catchy!

Secretary Susie:

さて… また、お会いしましたね。

Now then... It appears we meet again.

At any rate, I must say, how nice to see you again.

Secretary Susie:

秘書スージーでございます。

It is I, Secretary Susie.

I'm Susie, but I'm sure you remember me.

Secretary Susie:

そうそう、 ワタクシ 最近…

Oh yes, just recently...

Let me tell you a story.

Secretary Susie:

とーっても ステキな 方に お会いしましたわ。

I met with the most wonderful person.

Not long ago, I met someone who impressed me very much.

Secretary Susie:

いさましくて クールで、 ハイレベルな剣士様…

Valiant and cool, a truly high-class swordfighter...

He was strong and full of confidence... A knight of the highest order.

Secretary Susie:

で、せっかく お会いできたの ですから、

And, since I was fortunate enough to meet him,

I was so impressed...

Secretary Susie:

ちょっぴり全身カイゾウして…

I have subjected him to just a tiny full-body reconstruction...

I gave him a complete remodel!

Secretary Susie:

わが社の セキュリティマシンと させて いただきました。

And given him the privilege of being a security machine for our company.

And I hired him as a company security guard.

Secretary Susie:

ウフフ…

Uhuhu...

Heehee! I wonder what you'll make of him?

Secretary Susie:

お気に めして いただける かしら？

I wonder if he will be to your liking?

Please allow me to present...

Secretary Susie:

プロダクトNo. M-７１１０、 「メタナイトボーグ」よ…

Now, Product #M-7110,  (2) "Meta Knight Borg"...

Model #M-7110. Mecha Knight...

Secretary Susie:

おゆきなさい！

Get to it, please!

ENGAGE!

Translation Notes:

I translated the lyrics that Susie is singing here directly, so they don’t go exactly with the melody in my translation, but they do in the original Japanese.

There’s actually a Japanese pun in Mecha Knight’s product number. The number “7″ can be read as “na”, the number “1″ can be read as “i”, and the number “10″ can be read as “to”. When put together, this spells out “naito”, which is a Japanese transliteration of the English word “knight”.

--

Comparisons & Thoughts:

This cutscene is another one without many differences.

If you were to really pick it apart it’s arguably a bit looser than the previous cutscene, like having Susie add a few extra comments, but nothing big.

We do get the first mention of the Haltmann Work Company’s theme song, and there is a lot to say about that.

-

Now, the company’s theme song is hard to talk about without directly addressing details that will come up later in the game, so keep that in mind.

First of all, in English, the song is simply titled “The Noble Haltmann”, whereas in Japanese it’s called 銀河に名立たるハルトマン/Ginga ni Nadataru Harutoman.

I choose to translate the Japanese title as “Haltmann, Famed Across the Galaxy”, but it could also be translated as “The Galaxy-Famous Haltmann” or the like.

So, there’s a bit of a difference between the titles here, with the English version feeling a bit more grounded and reserved in its worship of Haltmann, but that’s not all there is to it.

The Japanese title of this song is a subtle reference to the Japanese title of the “Milky Way Wishes” mode from Kirby Super Star, where it’s known as 銀河に願いを/Ginga ni Negai o, which roughly translates to ”A Wish Upon the Galaxy”.

The reference is definitely intentional, considering how Planet Robobot features several important callbacks to Milky Way Wishes.

The English version lacks such a reference, but it might have been difficult to come up with one, even if the localizers noticed this detail.

Next up, there’s the song’s actual lyrics, and that’s where things get a bit muddy in English.

Basically, in the Japanese version of this cutscene here, Susie is singing the first line of the song. In the next cutscene, she will sing the second line.

Then, the pause screen during Haltmann’s battle will show the full lyrics of the entire first strophe. And lastly, the final unlock of the game is the music video that features a previously unseen second strophe.

Because of that, in the Japanese version, the player ends up slowly being shown more and more of the song as they play through the game, culminating with the music video.

It’s clearly supposed to be an important build up, considering it’s also the main theme of the game that was specifically written to represent it and its story.

The English version is a lot less consistent with the song and its lyrics.

Here in this scene, Susie is singing “Noble Haltmann, we adore him! Every day we wish him glory!”.

This doesn’t match with Haltmann’s pause screen and the music video later on, where the first line is given as “Noble Haltmann, we adore him, kingly lord of time and space!“, instead.

To make matters more confusing, the former actually goes better with the melody of the song, it seems.

The English version of Haltmann’s pause screen description also only features part of the first strophe, rather than all of the first, and the lyrics that Susie will sing in the next cutscene are taken from the second strophe, which isn’t supposed to come up until the music video.

It’s kinda messy, honestly.

I can only assume this is a result of how game translations usually work.

Things like the text from in-game dialogue, the text from in-game menu screens, and the text from additional extras like the music video are normally internally stored in different places, and often you end up with different people having to translate them, with very little context.

Note that I wouldn’t blame the translator(s) and localizer(s) involved here, because they can’t really help their working conditions.

But whatever the case may be, as a result the English version lacks the neat progression of slowly getting to know the song, the way it’s presented in the Japanese version.

-

With all that general stuff out of the way, let’s have a closer look at the lines Susie sings in this specific cutscene.

In Japanese, she sings “Oh, great Haltmann~ May you prosper, unending, for all eternity~”, while in English she sings “Noble Haltmann, we adore him! Every day we wish him glory!”.

Just like with the song’s title, the English version of this line is a bit more reserved when it comes to practically worshipping Haltmann.

It’s not even like it’s not revering him, it’s just that the Japanese version goes even further with it.

But translating lyrics like this is also something that’s especially difficult, since you need to match the melody of the song, so more differences are to be expected with those.

-

Really a minor thing, but I want to point out this section:

And, since I was fortunate enough to meet him,

I was so impressed…

I have subjected him to just a tiny full-body reconstruction…

I gave him a complete remodel!

And given him the privilege of being a security machine for our company.

And I hired him as a company security guard.

In the Japanese version, the way Susie says that she gave Meta Knight a “tiny full-body reconstruction” is of course a bit of a joke, talking about something so drastic like it’s just a small little thing.

The English version doesn’t retain this directly, but it gives Susie’s dialogue a similar energy here, having her declare that she gave him a complete remodel like it’s something to be excited about.

A bit of a stronger difference is the fact that Susie says she made Meta Knight a “security machine” in Japanese, rather than a “security guard” like in English.

In the Japanese version, there is a stronger impression of Meta Knight being literally turned into an object or product as far as Susie is concerned, and that that’s a good thing in her eyes too.

In English it’s more like she makes him an employee against his will.

-

Finally, Mecha Knight’s product number “#M-7110” is a pun in Japanese, as I explained in the translation notes above.

I think it makes sense that the English version didn’t try to adapt it and just kept it the same, because in English you just have a lot less to work with as far as number puns go.

I can’t help but wonder what might’ve worked though, perhaps something like “#M-98”?

-

And that’s it for this cutscene.

Not a whole lot of differences here again, but more subtle differences are starting to crop up and will continue to add up over time, and we will get to that later.

I want to say that I do really like the localization in this one though, particularly the way Susie’s “swooning” over Meta Knight is written.

It stays close to the original without sounding awkward in English, and captures the basic mood the original version was getting at.

All in all, pretty good.

And with that, feel free to check out the next part!

--

< Previous Part | Start | Next Part >

--

[kingofkingdom-archive]

So Much Like Stars - Part TWO

Pairing: Boba Fett x Female Reader

Part TWO (Read Part One HERE)

Rating: Explicit (18+ ONLY)

Summary: During a trek through the mountains, you discover new things about both Boba and yourself.

Warnings: Explicit sex, p-in-v sex, hand feeding, breathplay, choking kink, power dynamics/power play, royalty kink (?), dom/sub dynamics, pool sex (kinda you'll see), unprotected sex, coming inside (do not do this in real life), age difference, dirty talk, spit kink, offscreen oral sex, AFAB reader, safe to read if triggered by pregnancy

Word Count: 10k+

A/N: Major apologies in order for the delay on this one! It's been up on AO3 (here) for a hot minute but it took me a bit longer to get around to posting it here. Anywho... here it is. Let me know what you think! I love to get reblogs/comments/messages so very much. As always, no use of Y/N, and please heed the warnings. <3

The early hours of the following day fly by like ash in the wind.

You and Boba leave as soon as you are able, gathering necessary supplies into packs and preparing for the grueling trek ahead of you. You notify your father of your departure - he is not happy about it, but he learned long ago that he has little sway over the decisions you make.

You also find Boba a cloak that fits over his armor and that doesn't hinder his ability to reach his weapons. It's thick around his neck, which is why you'd insisted he wear it.

He'd stopped complaining once you were about a kilometer out from the village gate.

The howling wind swirls around the two of you, snow and ice collecting on your clothes. The journey is not an easy one, but with Boba's natural strength and your knowledge of the terrain the two of you handle it better than most.

Boba's steps are always audible behind you, even when the air around you seems to be screaming. You appreciate his closeness, because far too often people have been lost and never found because they fell too far behind.

It's easy to become lost in a place like this. Being found tends to be a matter of life and death.

The sheer cliff faces and shifting dunes of snow present the most hazardous challenges on your journey. One single misstep could have either of you tumbling down, and as you walk you only gain elevation, increasing the distance between you and the ground below. It's terrain that you've traversed plenty of times, but you don't know how well-suited Boba is to such harsh elements.

You glance back at your companion when you come to a turn, sheltered from the biting wind and driving snow.

"Faring alright back there?" You have to yell to be heard, but Boba nods.

"I'm doing just fine, princess. Seen worse than this."

You raise your brows, even though he can't see your face through your mask. "If you say so. We'll be on this trail for the rest of today and most of tomorrow. Then we'll turn off and find the source."

There is, of course, the risk of encountering an ongrol. The idea of it looms over your journey like a dark cloud, and you keep alert to any shift in the wind or in the landscape ahead. The constant drone of air around you would typically mask the sound of any movement, but your ears have become attuned to listening for things outside the wind. Footsteps, especially those of a creature larger than yourself, will be obvious. The ongrol are not known for their stealth - if they want to attack, they'll do it with a thunderous leap and a swipe of razor-sharp claws.

You'd been telling the truth when you told Boba it was rare to escape an encounter with one alive. Boba had shown you the fire-blaster on his arm, and the two of you have no shortage of weapons, but still you worry. You keep alert, listening to the world around you.

Though your focus has a tight hold on your mind, you can't help but let your thoughts wander to Boba, and to the events of the previous night.

In all your life, you've never met a man quite like Boba.

Not only did he sense your needs intrinsically, it seemed as though he saw right through you the moment he laid eyes on you. You recall seeing his visor tilt toward you in the meeting room; you hadn't known it then, but now you can imagine what he'd been thinking. Boba saw your presence at that table and immediately knew what kind of girl you are.

It doesn't speak well to your sensibilities as a village leader, if you're being honest with yourself. This is the first foreigner to visit your people, and you let him into your home, between your legs? You suddenly feel rather guilty about it, but a small voice in your head reminds you how good it felt.

How good he felt.

Maker above. Nothing in your life could ever compare to the things he made you feel last night. Armor against skin - ice against fire, rough edges against smooth curves. The smell of him in your nose as he pleasured you, unkempt and raw. The splay of his hands on your hips as he took, and took, and gave you so much in return.

Boba knew exactly how to take you apart. And you'd only met him that day.

You didn't delude yourself into believing this could continue. He does not belong here, and you certainly can't leave. Above all else, your people need you, and to leave the planet would be to abandon them.

You steel your heart into acceptance. You'll enjoy Boba's company for as long as he's here, and then things will return to normal. You'll figure out how to hide the kyber and no one will bother you. Your people will live on in peace.

Whether you will ever find peace after knowing what it is to be with Boba Fett is another matter entirely. But you can't dwell on that, or you might decide to do something drastic.

You let that thought slip from your brain quickly, replacing it with memories of last night. Despite yourself, you smile beneath your mask, surely blushing as well. Though your steps forward are certain and sure, your center heats up at the thought of his hand around your throat, of his thick cock moving wickedly inside you.

From the depths of your mind float up a few words he'd said, a phrase you'd forgotten until just now.

Come for your king.

Odd, his choice of wording. It sends a shiver down your spine, but then you give it a moment of thought. Surely he didn't mean king in the context of you, of your village - that wouldn't make any sense. But then again, he couldn't mean --

You furrow your brow. Yes, it was the heat of the moment, but he still said it.

There's a possibility of something more there, something much more than just a bounty hunter in search of a handful of credits and some relief for the night. You remember how he'd asked if you knew his name, like he'd expected you to.

Do you know the name Boba Fett, princess?

Boba Fett. No, you have no knowledge of that name outside the armored man trekking behind you.

Who is he?

You frown, but decide to keep your questions to yourself for now. You're nothing if not careful - keeping your cards close to your chest is a skill you've more than mastered.

Boba Fett, no matter who he is, will be none the wiser to your doubts.

-

That night, once darkness begins to envelop the air around you, you lead Boba to a small, secluded, empty cave safe from the cold wind. There's a dark scorch mark on the ground, evidence of a past campfire.

"I've used this cave a number of times," you explain as you take off your pack, setting it on the ground with a groan. The weight on your shoulders never gets lighter. "The cold shouldn't reach us here, especially once we get a fire going."

Boba hums, unrolling his bedroll, which is a collection of mats and blankets identical to yours. "I know a few other ways we could stay warm, princess."

You look over at him. His back is turned to you, large and imposing in the dim light.

"Do you?" you ask, light with a hint of a sly smile in your voice. You lean your staff against the cave wall and crouch to begin extracting your own bedroll.

Behind you, you hear a gruff chuckle. The deep, rumbling sound of it makes your breath hitch. Boba Fett may be an enigma to you, but that doesn't mean you feel any less strongly for him now than you did last night.

In fact, the close quarters of this cave mean his words are more than just teasing.

You turn and spread your bedroll out beside the spot where you'll set up the fire, and you see that Boba has set his up so that it's perpendicular to yours, the corners overlapping.

Next you take out the meat and bread you brought along, as well as flint, some firestarter, and a few bricks of coal that will burn through the night. You prop yourself on your knees to get the fire started, and once the flames have sprung to life, you lean forward to set up the small spit to cook your meal.

You're just arranging the cut of meat on the metal spike when you feel movement behind you. The fire beneath you is searing, so hot that when you feel hands on your hips, you lean back into them to escape the heat.

Boba's hands grip your hips tighter and you yelp as he drags you backwards. His fingers land on your thigh, grasping at and arranging you until your back is flush with his chest. Your legs are tucked in between his, which are spread out in front of the two of you.

You look up at him. You're seated in his lap, but the layers of clothes and metal between you prevent you from feeling anything distinct.

He reaches a hand up to tug at your face mask.

"Let me see you," he murmurs.

You let him remove the cloth covering your mouth and nose, and then he slides your goggles off of your face. You're sure you've got marks around your eyes from wearing them for so long, but Boba doesn't seem to mind.

In return, you place your hands on the bottom of his helmet, fingers curling under. He allows you to press the small latch beneath your index finger and slide his helmet off, the warmth of his breath ghosting across your face as soon as you can see his mouth.

You lift Boba's helmet all the way off and set it to the side. He puts a hand on your waist, firm and grounding, fingers curled tightly into your ribs.

"I've been many places in my time, but I admit I've never met anyone quite like you, little one."

His words are smooth as silk, soft and tender in your ear. You smile and raise your brows, glancing from his eyes to his lips and back again.

"Surely you've met more than a few pretty girls in your travels," you reply.

Boba scoffs. His grip on your thigh tightens, pulling you close.

"I have. You…" he shakes his head, and you watch as his gazes slips down to land on your mouth. You bite your lip and your heart races at the way his pupils dilate at the sight of it.

"You're different, sweetheart."

The new pet name makes you shiver, subconsciously pressing closer to him. "Is that right? I can hardly believe I'm much different from anyone else."

You're baiting him, goading him into saying something more. You've never been one for compliments - they've always felt forced, almost disingenuous. Not with Boba.

"The girls I've known either want my head on a pike or can't look me in the eye," he tells you. You chuckle softly - you don't blame them.

"Is that 'cause you'll shoot them if they do?"

Boba grunts and pinches your side, making you squeal. You laugh, full-bodied and silly, at your own joke, spurred on by Boba's tickling.

He leans down, large body curling over you. Your giggles peter out as his lips press against your ear.

"What if I said yes, little one?"

You blink. Slowly, you turn to face him, so close that your noses are brushing.

"If you said yes?" you whisper into the air between your lips.

He hums.

You take a moment to study the scars on his face before grinning, soft and lazy. Your hand, resting on his knee, gives a gentle squeeze.

"Then I'd tell you there's more than a few men in that village who can't look me in the eye."

Your words seem to take Boba by surprise for a moment, from the way his eyebrows bounce up. It's true - when you were younger, boys in the village would try things, stupid dares and pranks you took none too lightly. There's one in particular who, if he looked at you funny, would get a blaster shot to the knee thanks to the shit he's pulled in the past.

They've learned their lessons.

"Is that so?" Boba's voice has gotten slightly deeper. It rolls through you like thunder, filling the small cave with its resonance.

You nod, a smirk playing at the edges of your lips.

His eyes flit down, gaze following the subtle movement of your mouth. It's too much - the closeness, the heat of the fire and of his body and of the way he's looking at you. You bring your hand up to rest on his shoulder, gripping his armor.

And you kiss him.

You press your lips against his, open and pliant, unable to save yourself from how much you want him. Boba groans and returns the kiss, tongue sweeping into your open mouth, licking into you like he's a man starved and you're his next meal. You savor the taste of him, because you can't pinpoint exactly what the flavor on his tongue is, and you know that must mean it's something uniquely Boba.

He shifts his hands to rearrange you, placing your legs on either side of his own so you're straddling him. Your palms come up to rest on his neck and jaw as his land on your hips, pulling you down so you're sitting right on his codpiece. You gasp at the feeling of it through your clothes. Boba bites at your bottom lip, pulling it between his teeth, before releasing you.

You open your eyes, not having realized you'd closed them. Boba is staring at you, but you can't read the look in his eye.

"What?" you murmur, searching his expression for any hint of what he might be thinking.

He hums, hand on your hip flexing, squeezing. "Nothing, sweetheart, just…"

You wait for him to finish his thought. His brows furrow ever so slightly as he looks back at you. Behind you, the meat sizzles from the heat of the fire, filling the space with its aromatic scent.

Boba shakes his head. "Nevermind."

Before you can respond, he presses forward to kiss you again. You want to encourage him to share what he was going to say, but it only takes a swipe of his tongue against your own to have your eyelids fluttering shut and your thoughts quieting.

He kisses you like the sun - hot and insistent, reminding you how fleeting it all is. You've only ever seen the sun a few times in your life, but its brightness seared your mind in a way not dissimilar to the way Boba's laying his mark on your heart.

You let him kiss you deeply, unhurried, until your brain clicks on long enough to remind you that there's food cooking behind you.

You extract yourself from Boba's hold, which makes him grunt in displeasure until he sees what you're doing. In your pack there's a plate and a cloth, both of which you retrieve and bring back to the fire. Carefully you take the meat off of the spit and put it on the plate, along with the bread.

Boba watches, legs still spread as he sits, leaning back on his hands. You take the plate and sit between his thighs again.

You make to tear a piece of the tender meat off, but you feel a hand on your arm, preventing you from doing so. Confused, you look up at Boba, who simply rips off his own bit of meat. But instead of bringing it to his lips, he raises it to yours.

Wordlessly, you lock eyes with him and open your mouth. His stare is hot, intense, as he feeds you, your lips closing around his index finger and thumb, tongue licking the excess juices off his skin. You take a moment longer than is strictly necessary to taste the pads of his fingers, hollowing your cheeks and sucking his digits like you might something else of his.

You chew the meat once he's pulled his fingers from your mouth. He watches intently until you've swallowed, and then he takes a piece for himself.

As he eats, you find yourself full to the brim with curiosity about him. Once he's finished with his bite, you ask the first question you can think of.

"Last night you mentioned your father. I'd like to hear about him."

Boba raises his brows. He tears off another chunk of meat, offers it to you, and you take it. He speaks as you chew.

"His name was Jango. I -" he seems to consider his words, eyes darting down to the ground as he thinks "- he wasn't technically my father, but he raised me as his son. I traveled with him as a boy, until he was killed by a Jedi."

You frown. "What's that?”

Boba looks at you funny, tilting his head. "You've never heard of the Jedi?"

You shake your head no. "Are they human?"

"Some are," he explains. "They're Force-users, claiming to fight for peace and justice in the galaxy."

His voice is bitter, but you don't blame him, if what he says is true. "But they killed your father."

Boba nods. "They will tell you they fight for what's good and right. But they are no worse than those they call enemies."

"Who are their enemies?"

"The Empire. Dark users of the Force." Boba studies you as you take in this information. You've heard of the Empire, and the Republic, but clearly some information was omitted from your village's records.

"And the Force is…?"

Boba shifts, grabbing some more meat for himself, which he eats before replying.

"I've never fully understood it myself, but from what I gather it's an energy present in all things. The Jedi and the Sith can manipulate it to their will."

You have so many questions, but you know asking them will only make you more confused. Energy in all things? That sounds… well, it sounds overwhelming, to be truthful. It sounds like magic, which your father always told you was the stuff of fairy-stories.

Boba feeds you another morsel and you eat, thinking.

"Can they 'manipulate' blaster fire?" you ask once you've swallowed.

"I don't think so. They tend to deflect it with their lightsabers, which are swords powered by kyber, coincidentally."

You wrinkle your nose. "Swords? I'd take a well-timed blaster shot over a sword any day."

Boba laughs, hearty and full. He wraps an arm around your shoulders and pulls you close, pressing his lips to your temple.

"That's my girl," he mutters. His words send a shiver down your spine.

Boba continues to feed you as he tells you about his father and his own travels. You learn about his time on Kamino, where Jango's DNA was made into clones, and that Boba himself is an unaltered clone of his father. You learn about Obi-Wan Kenobi and Anakin Skywalker, legendary Jedi who proved difficult for both Boba and Jango at various points through the years. He tells you about meeting Fennec Shand on Tatooine and about another companion of theirs, a man who just goes by the name Mando.

He doesn't tell you about the scars, so you don't ask.

When you're falling asleep, eyes drifting closed as your head rests on Boba's chest, you wonder at the life Boba Fett's led, how such excitement and pain ultimately finds him here, holding you close.

All you've ever known is this planet, your people. Perhaps the universe, in its vast, unknowable expanse, is really here beneath you, in Boba's stories and his scars. You think maybe it's okay that you aren't meant for more than your cold village, because at least you can travel through the galaxy just by listening to him.

At least you can know the taste of the stars just by kissing him.

-

The next morning is decidedly less relaxed than last night. You and Boba pack up hastily and you're on the trail when the first light of the morning is just beginning to show.

Hours pass in much the same way that they did yesterday. Snow and wind beat at you, but you press on until you reach the area you're no longer entirely familiar with.

You see the map in your mind's eye as you lead Boba across the rocky terrain. You're sure of your path, even though it's beyond any place you've been to previously. Somehow you just know, like the trail is programmed into your feet. Everything seems normal until the wind shifts and you catch the sound of something else on the air.

Throwing an arm out, fist closed, you immediately come to a halt, and Boba follows suit.

You're in an open expanse of snow and ice, still trekking upwards, but now a good distance away from any sheer cliff faces. You tighten your grip on your staff and listen, ears drowning out the howling wind to pick out the other you'd just sensed.

Something's ahead of you. Something large. You can hear the shifting of its weight, the silence of the space it takes up.

You glance back to Boba and nod. Carefully, quietly, he walks up to stand next to you.

"Up ahead," you tell him, voice as low as possible so as to not be heard by anyone - or anything - other than him. "Something big. It has to be -"

Your mouth snaps shut when you see it. Up ahead, a pair of glowing blue eyes emerge like beacons out of the fog, looming over you even before you can see the rest of its body. The ongrol moves forward, massive steps fading in and shaking the ground under your feet. You clench your jaw and ready yourself for what you know is coming.

You look over at Boba, and when the visor turns to face you, an unspoken agreement passes between the two of you, perfectly clear despite lack of words and facial expressions.

The ongrol doesn't allow you a moment longer, though. Its massive form is now visible through the driving snow - white fur with glowing blue stripes, pointed ears with long, flowing tips, and massive fangs.

You draw your blaster.

The moment it senses the two of you, it looks down and roars. Immediately it's charging forward and you fire off a volley of shots, though they don't seem to do a whole lot of good. Boba's hand comes down like durasteel on your arm and he jerks you back, positioning himself between you and the monster. He aims his fire-blaster at it, hosing it down with a torrent of flame. The ongrol yelps, then snarls, and you watch as it raises its massive paw, claws extended, piercing blue gaze zeroed in on Boba.

In that split second there's a feeling that comes over you, a gut instinct that pours over your body like warm water. It fills your skin, your nerves, your bones, so fully that your mind goes quiet in the wake of your body taking control.

As if you'd done it a thousand times before, you plant your feet and thrust your hand towards the beast, palm open. A feeling like electricity surges through you - not painful, but equally powerful and all-consuming.

The ongrol flies away, launched through the air, as if pulled by some invisible force.

Its cries echo against the mountainside as it falls, tumbling and rolling down a cliff face you can't quite see.

Boba whirls around to look at you, and the last thing you see is his visor coming closer as you collapse and the world goes dark.

-

The first thing you notice when you wake up is the warmth surrounding you. It's everywhere, like you're lying in front of a fire, and your immediate instinct is to turn over and fall back asleep. Your tired brain wants nothing more than to bask in the heat and enjoy it for as long as it will last.

But then your eyes flutter behind their lids, and you catch glimpses of something glowing, bluish-green in a way you've never before experienced. With considerable effort, you open your eyes wide, and the sight before you brings your mind to full awareness. You struggle to tuck an arm under yourself and push up slightly, getting a better view of where you are.

You're lying atop your bedroll, your staff on the ground next to you. Immediately in front of you is a pool of water, still and steaming, that glows a bright, shimmering combination of blues and greens. No, wait… the water itself isn't glowing - rather, it's reflecting light from the walls.

Walls lined with crystals.

You still feel exhausted, despite having just woken up, but the sight of the kyber makes you jolt to a sitting position. Your head swims, dizzy and drained.

From behind you, you hear Boba's voice.

"Woah there," he murmurs, a hand coming to rest gently on your shoulder. You squeeze your eyes shut to block out the rocking motion of the world around you.

When you open your eyes again, Boba's sitting to your left, facing you.

"What happened?" you ask, your memory of the events of this morning still foggy and distant.

Boba hums. "Well, you tossed that cat across a mountain with your mind."

You frown and look up at him incredulously. His helmet's off - in fact, he's also taken off the rest of his armor as well as the top half of his flight suit - he's left in his pants, undershirt, and boots.

His arms are bare. It's the most of him you've seen - his biceps bulge, large chest straining against the tight shirt he wears.

Your thoughts circle back to what he just said.

"Run that by me again," you mutter, searching his face for any hint of a lie. Boba blinks, raises a brow, and stares back, keeping the eye contact.

"You used the Force to kill that lion, princess."

His face is stone-straight. He's not lying to you, not that you can tell.

You groan, squeezing your eyes shut and rubbing the heels of your hands across them roughly. Stars erupt on the back of your eyelids, and for a moment, your nausea abates. It comes back to you in flashes - the creature's eyes, the sound of its roars on the wind, the feeling that overcame you when you watched it raise its deadly claws at Boba.

It's nothing you've ever felt before in your life.

"So…" you pause, trying to sort through the situation. "So - does this mean… how is that possible?"

Boba puts a hand on your calf, firm and grounding. "You want my theory?"

Hands still pressed to your eyes, you nod.

"The water. It's infused with kyber, which is what has healed your people, but it must have also awoken a Force-sensitivity in you."

You take a few deep breaths, the exhaustion and nausea slowly leaving your body with each exhalation. Boba's thumb rubs your skin softly, a simple back-and-forth motion that brings your racing mind back down into your head.

Carefully, you take your hands from your eyes. The world has finally stopped spinning. You look over at the pool to your right, into its calm, tranquil waters. Steam rises from its surface and dissipates before it can reach the cavernous ceiling above you. Kyber dots the walls, green and blue all around you, mesmerizing and radiant.

Sweat is beginning to gather under your eyes and on the back of your neck and between your breasts. You belatedly realize Boba has undressed you to your undergarments, so you sit there in little more than your underwear and a sleeveless top.

You stare at your hands, fidgeting between your thighs, and look up at Boba again. A million questions are floating through your mind, but you're not sure he'll be able or willing to answer them all. You bite your lip, brow furrowed.

"Does this mean I'm a Jedi?" It's the most pressing question on your mind, because if what Boba says is true, you're not so sure you want any part in your newfound gifts.

Boba shakes his head. "No, little one. All Jedi are force-users, but not all force-users are Jedi. Or Sith, for that matter."

In your lap, you turn your hands so your palms are facing up, cradling one another. Nothing has changed about them - still the same jagged patterns of lines as always. Still the same, but with this new… sensitivity, they feel foreign.

The Force feels like a new limb, a new sense that's now made your body a stranger to your mind.

"What do you remember from yesterday?" Boba asks, rough voice a soothing balm to your racing heart.

You tilt your head, trying to gather your memories together. "I remember walking up the mountain, and then there was the ongrol. I tried to shoot it, but that didn't work, and then you pushed me behind you. You threw your fire at it, and then it -"

Suddenly, you feel yourself getting choked up. It washes over you like a gust of cool air, returning to the emotion you felt in that moment on the mountainside. You blink a few times, swallowing down your panic and fear at the thought of it.

"And then it raised its paw, and I thought you were going to die."

Boba says nothing, just waits and lets you continue.

"All of a sudden this feeling came over me, like an instinct, and then there was this… this buzz that I felt. I just did it. I don't know how I knew how to."

Boba nods. He's looking at you with an expression you can't quite place, soft and severe all at the same time. It makes you shiver despite the heat that surrounds you.

You avert your eyes, instead focusing on his hand where it lay on your leg. His fingers nearly encircle your calf. You reach out and take his hand in yours, drawing it close to you, running the tips of your fingers over his knuckles, his wrist, the silvery scars that interrupt his tan skin.

"From what I understand," Boba murmurs, curling his fingers into yours ever so slightly, "it's supposed to take years of training for a Force-user to wield that sort of power, princess."

You glance up at him. He's smiling at you now, dark eyes sparkling.

Something about his expression, combined with what he just said, hooks into your brain and sours the taste on your tongue. You recall your doubts from earlier, doubts about who he is. Why would it matter if you - a village girl from a desolate snow planet - have more of a gift than most? Why would he care?

Your immediate reaction is that he's flattering you, like he did the other night in front of the fire. For some reason, your instinct tells you this is different, that he's got motives beyond those he's revealed to you.

Instinct has proven to be on your side lately, so you follow it headfirst.

"Why did you call yourself a king?"

Boba's smile vanishes, and the tension between you grows tenfold.

You grasp his hand firmly. Your faces seem so much closer now.

"What?" he asks, even though you know he heard you perfectly well. You narrow your eyes, not liking whatever game he's playing at. Boba Fett doesn't seem to be the type to play dumb, and you're certainly not the type to fall for it.

"You heard me," you say, voice calm and monotone. "Why did you call yourself a king when you were fucking me?"

Boba chuckles, a deadly sound that would have unnerved you if you were anyone but yourself.

He raises a brow. "Interesting question. Didn't you like it?"

"I liked it a lot less when I realized you had no reason to say it, bounty hunter."

Your voice is acidic, like venom hissing out from between your teeth.

"Or am I mistaken?"

Boba hums, but it feels more like a growl with your close proximity to him. "You sure you want to fall down that sarlacc pit, little one?"

You clench your jaw, giving your answer in the way you stare unwaveringly into his eyes.

His eyes flit down to your lips and back up again. You lean back slightly in response, refusing to let him distract you.

"It's not an official title, if that's your concern," he says.

"What sort of title is it, then?" you ask, guarded heart racing once again.

Boba tilts his head to one side, taking a long moment to look at you. His breathing is slow, steady, and you try to match your own to it, but his next words throw you off balance.

"A stolen one."

You blink, a fluttering sensation erupting in your chest - and not in a good way. It's as if your heart has tripped over itself in an attempt to flee him.

He brings his free hand up to cup your cheek, tender and authoritative as he runs his thumb along your lower lip. "I killed the man who last sat on my throne, so the title is now mine."

You frown, despite the digit near your mouth. "What's your kingdom, then? Who are your subjects?"

"Those like me," he responds, without hesitation. "Hunters. Mercenaries. People who are willing to do most anything for some credits."

The dots are beginning to connect in your brain, and you're not sure you like the picture that's forming.

"Criminals. You're - you're a crime lord," you mutter.

Boba chuckles again, a smirk forming at the edges of his lips. "Something like that."

A conflicted feeling rises in your chest. You twist your chin out of his grasp, looking away and into the waters beside you. Had you known this was the man you were dealing with, would you have let him between your legs that first night? You'd like to think not. But then again, a voice in your head reasons vehemently, you knew he was a bounty hunter, and how is that any better?

You purse your lips. At the moment you're not entirely sold on what your conscience is telling you to do, which is to cut him off now and end whatever it is that exists between the two of you.

In your lap, you're still holding his hand in both of yours.

"I want to trust you, Boba," you admit. He puts his other hand on your thigh as you turn back to face him. "But I'm not daft."

He opens his mouth to speak, but you aren't finished. "I know it may not be in your nature, but I would appreciate some clarity here. What does this... this Force sensitivity really mean? I'm not some spoiled, naive princess, either - despite what you may say."

Boba is silent - his brown eyes are as intense as they are unreadable as they look at you. It drags on long enough that you get restless. You let go of his hand and turn away, tucking your feet up under yourself to stand.

The water has been calling to you each time you’ve looked at it, and you can no longer resist its draw. Tentatively, you touch a toe into the shimmering pool, marvelling at its warmth.

You walk forward. With each step, you feel as though you're gaining life, absorbing energy you hadn't known you'd lost.

The water is up to your thighs when Boba finally speaks.

"The Force will die in you if you remain here for the rest of your life, princess."

That gives you pause. You turn around. Boba is shirtless now, but he's still reclining as he was. It takes a major effort not to let your eyes drop down to his abdomen, enticing like a beacon in your periphery.

"You want to know what I’m thinking, is that right?” He asks the question like he half expects you to say no.

You nod. Around you, the warm, steaming water is rippling with your movements, but it shimmers in a manner more than can be described as distinctly natural. Almost without thought, you step backwards, submerging yourself further in its enticing warmth. Your fingers and palms skim the surface.

"I wanted to ask you to join me. To come back with me."

It almost makes you laugh, the way he says it so seriously. A disbelieving smile crosses your features.

"You know I can't leave my people," you reply. "You've known that since the start."

Boba sighs. "I have. I was still tempted to ask, regardless. Ever since the tavern."

That's interesting. This whole line of conversation is peculiar - you get the feeling he rarely needs to explain himself in such a way to anyone.

"Why? What use am I to you?"

He stands, but does not follow you into the water. Instead, he walks over to another part of the cave and leans against the wall, observing you.

"It's always been selfish," he admits. "At first I just wanted you as a crew member. You have a way for negotiating, or at least the type of negotiating that would be useful for my sort of operation.

“But then you revealed yourself to be this needy little thing, so desperate for me to fuck you, and I could just picture you in my ship, or in the palace, spread out and wanting me wherever I am.”

Those words, low and promising, cause a certain sort of wetness to pool in your underwear, one that can’t be blamed on the water that surrounds you. By now, you’re up to your collarbones in it, hands no longer visible to him as they remain at your sides.

You hook a thumb under the waistband of your panties and slide them off, slowly floating down as the water pulls them from your form. When they get low enough, you tuck them under your heel to hide the garment away.

Boba gives no hint that he sees, so you assume he cannot tell.

“You wanted to bring me back as a rare specimen, to show off to the criminals who work for you,” you retort, though something deep within you preens at the idea.

Something hidden and unknown until that night in front of the fireplace.

He just hums. “Yes.”

You can’t decide if his blunt honesty is a fault or a virtue. Right now, it’s mainly serving to bring heat to the space between your thighs. To hide your arousal, you narrow your eyes, trying to focus on why exactly he thinks he can just… whisk you away to some strange planet.

“And now,” you reply, “what's your reason for asking me to come back with you?”

He shrugs. “As I said, without training, the Force will die in you. I have connections to nearly any type of creature in this galaxy, Force-users included. I am your only hope if you want to keep your gift. If not, we go back down this mountain and it’ll be as though I was never here.”

That does present an interesting twist. The gears in your mind turn a bit faster, thinking on what exactly this may mean for you.

You consider where you are in the present moment - the reason Boba is even here in the first place. You consider your duty to your people, and you consider the long life your father has ahead of him.

How much time you have before you'll need to take his place.

How little time you might have if someone else realizes what this mountain holds.

"You said this kyber puts out some sort of signature, one that others can pick up on."

Boba raises a brow, and you see that he catches on to what you're proposing.

You continue, because if you don't, you'll convince yourself the idea is foolish. "This Force-user could teach me to hide the signature, no?"

"I don't see why not," Boba replies. In his eyes you see a glimmer of humor, like he thinks he's got you wrapped around his little finger. The way you're talking, you're on the verge of agreeing to return with him. He's got it in stone - his negotiator, this girl who needs him so strongly.

You see through him, though. He's tough to read, but you're learning to look between the lines.

Boba Fett is a criminal. For your whole life, you've studied law and order, learning the diplomatic ways of other planets and societies. To go with him would be to align yourself with everything you should hate, everything you should fight against.

But you are, after all, more than just a meek princess. You're a leader, a role model, a strong woman and lover of your people. Are you willing to dispense with your morality in favor of this Force training? In favor of following this man who has stolen your heart like he stole his throne?

"Say I did go," you start, and he doesn't even bother to hide his small grin. "Say I go with you. What does that look like for me? I will not be reduced to some pleasure slave, hidden away in your palace."

Boba shakes his head. "You will be free, my dear. You and I will work together, for both of our benefits. When I need a kind, unrelenting negotiator, you will speak on my behalf. In return, I find your training."

It sounds too good to be true, especially considering the major aspect to your relationship he has not yet mentioned.

Your eyes finally flit down to his chest, broad and thick in a way you never knew you'd like so much. His arms and shoulders are equally as enticing, the knowledge of how strong he is only serving to make his body more attractive to you. He is scarred, long-healed gashes across his skin the echoes of unimaginable pain and fire. As your gaze drops lower, tracing the skin of his abdomen as it disappears into the waistband of his pants, you feel something tighten in your chest. In the space between your hips.

Seeing him like this is intimate, almost more so than that very first night, and he hasn't even touched you.

"And what else might I expect, traveling with you?" You ask it knowing he sees the way you're looking at him.

Boba hums, as though he's giving the question some thought. He pushes off from the stone wall he was leaned up against.

"You know where this will go, princess."

His hands drop down to hook into the front of his pants, fingers toying with the clasp there. Your eyes follow the movement, entranced. The tendons and muscles in his arms flex and ripple as he works his hands, movement capturing your eye like a mouse to bread.

"I do," you reply, "but I want you to tell me."

His gaze darkens at your words. You watch as he deftly unfastens his trousers and pushes them down, stepping out of them and towards you. He moves unhurriedly, but with clear purpose.

You feel like you're one of his bounties, caught in the crosshairs of his rifle. Trapped.

Excitement courses through your veins.

"The first place I'll fuck you will be the ship," Boba says as he walks forward into the water, his thick thighs flexing with each step. You're too caught up in watching him approach to think to respond.

"Before we even leave this planet, I'll have you screaming against the durasteel, begging for my cock."

Your brain goes a bit fuzzy at his words, at the force of the arousal that hits you. It's like the moment he starts speaking to you like this, all higher function in your mind shuts off, full only of the images he conjures with his voice.

Boba's getting closer, and before you know it, he's within arm's reach.

All at once his hands are on you, rucking up your top to search out your bare skin, warm under the water. You reach up and put your hands on his shoulders, savoring the heat of his skin on your own.

"Once we get to Tatooine," he continues, pressing his lips close to your ear, voice like honey flowing over you, "I'll get you the most expensive dresses credits can buy, and we'll go to the clubs and cantinas and everyone there will want what's mine."

Your grip tightens, nails digging into his flesh. Boba finally pushes your top all the way up and off. He absentmindedly tosses it behind him, landing with a wet smack against the stone floor of the cave. His palms find your breasts and he squeezes them, kneading, flicking his thumbs over your nipples.

The feeling of it, like sparks shooting through your chest, makes you gasp, light and breathy.

"You'll sit on my lap at the sabacc table, and all those filthy criminals will know exactly how much you love getting fucked."

Boba runs a hand down your side, the other still toying with your breast, and you watch his face as he realizes you're no longer wearing your panties.

His jaw clenches as his fingers curl into the meat of your hip. He dips his head down so his nose brushes against yours, his breath cool compared to the heat of the water.

"You're a temptress, little one."

You can't help the small smile that floats across your lips. "What was that about how much I love getting fucked?”

He hums, dark and deep, the sound nearly a growl with the way it reverberates around you. Boba slides his hands down beneath your ass, and then he's hauling you up and pressing you against the wall to your left. You squeal at the sudden movement, legs locking around his waist and hands gripping his shoulders even tighter to keep from slipping away.

You feel the heat of a cloth-covered bulge against your burning, most sensitive skin. The sudden pressure of it makes you gasp, smiling, breathing in the air he's just exhaled with how close your mouths are.

Boba holds you with such ease. It's as though you're floating, featherlight in his arms.

"Watch it," he mutters, leaning in to graze his lips against the shell of your ear, the broad plane of his chest covering your own.

"Or what?"

It’s clear that Boba is more turned on than annoyed by your teasing, despite his words. He adjusts his grip so his broad palms fit even tighter around your hips, pressing his erection solidly into your bare core once again, rolling his hips wickedly. The water enhances everything - the throbbing in your cunt is amplified tenfold and you can hardly contain yourself.

His words only serve to drive you madder, lips and teeth pressed against your neck.

“Or I’ll make sure every last man in that village sees the limp in your walk before I take you away,” he growls.

You moan at the thought of it, at the thought of walking past your friends and fellow townspeople in such a state. The things they'd say - the whispers - would never get back to you, for you know they respect you too much, but oh, would they talk.

Boba shifts, reaching down to finally free his cock from his underwear. Almost immediately, you feel the hot length of it pressed up against your pussy.

“Yeah,” he mutters, moving his hips and torturing you with the drag of his dick. “They’ll all see how well I’ve fucked you - how good their little princess takes a bounty hunter’s cock.”

Your eyes slip closed as you cry out, shaking with how much you need him. “Please, Boba!”

His shoulder muscles ripple under your palms and he groans. "I need to get you ready for me, little one --"

"No," you cut him off, voice little more than a whine, pulling him closer as best you can in your desperate state. "I can take it. Right now, I need it, I need you, Boba--"

With a grunt, Boba lines himself up, hands like durasteel on your hips as he pulls you close in tandem with the thrust of his cock. You moan, high-pitched and uninhibited, when you feel his hot member pierce your cunt. Your folds part easily for him, the head sliding into your pussy like it was built just for this.

Your legs tighten around Boba's waist as he starts fucking you, dirty promises and filthy imaginings rolling off his tongue. His voice strains with each thrust, and it all just feels so divine.

You think you could live like this, if he'd let you. Get addicted to the way his cock moves inside you and never spend another day without it.

"That's it," he mutters, teeth bearing down on your neck, surely leaving marks that'll turn black and blue in a day or so. On a particularly sharp thrust, you're jolted back, legs trembling in his hold.

"Maker, Boba." You open your eyes and see the way he's looking at you, teeth slightly bared and brows furrowed. He looks vicious as he uses you.

"You're so tight, princess. My fat cock fits in your little cunt so well," he grits out, your body still jostling with each thrust. Your eyes are fixated on his face, on his mouth, watching the words spill out from behind his lips.

For a moment, your brain provides a sliver of sass, making your eyes sparkle with mirth, even as your tits bounce against Boba's bare chest.

"You fuck pretty good for an old man."

Boba growls, a deep chuckle combined with a moan sounding from somewhere deep in his chest. His thrusts slow and he leans back, taking in the way your body is wrapped around him. Your hands fall to your breasts, pressing them together and flicking your thumbs over your nipples.

He snaps his hips up, hard, slamming his cock into you and forcing a whine from your throat. You can feel his balls smack your ass, even under the water. "You're desperate for it, princess. Desperate for this old man to fuck you like you need."

He rolls his hips again, rhythm slow and steady and deep. The air around you seems to rock in tandem with him.

"Yeah, you'll love Tatooine," he drawls, exhaling through his nose. "I could take this sweet pussy right on the throne and no one would say a thing. They'll all watch their King fuck a woman young enough to be his daughter."

You moan loudly, silken walls clenching and fluttering around his cock as it pounds into you.

He hums. "You like that, huh, little one?"

Despite yourself, you nod, squeezing your eyes shut again. Boba's left hand comes up to grip your chin, fingers like iron against your jaw. His thrusts get shallower, lazy, like he's become distracted from the fact that he's currently balls-deep inside you.

Your hands find his chest, getting your fill of his searing hot skin against your own.

"Open," he demands, and you do, tongue resting on your bottom lip.

Boba hesitates for a moment, and in that split second, the world around you is still once again. "This mouth," he murmurs, "is just begging to be filled, isn't it."

The words make you clench around him, an involuntary reaction to the thought of putting his cock in your mouth, of laving it with attention and worshipping it like it deserves.

Your eyes are still closed, so you can't see as he closes his mouth and works his jaw for a moment, gathering saliva on his tongue. You only feel the jarring sensation of spit landing in the back of your throat, filthy and debasing.

"Swallow it, little girl."

Eyes fluttering open, you do as you're told, and you know you'd do it a million more times if it means he'll look at you like he is right now, eyes dark as space itself.

"Thank you, my king."

You don't know what compels you to say it, other than the fact that it just feels right. Boba smiles, a sly thing that makes his dark eyes sparkle with something dangerous, and he begins fucking you again.

His hand slips down to your throat. Not tight, just resting there, a reminder.

Boba Fett licks his lips before speaking, the steam from the water around you making his face look almost eerie in the glow of the kyber. "You take me so well, my queen."

He picks up the pace again, and soon he's jackhammering into you with the same fervor as before. Your mind melts into a puddle inside your skull, only able to focus on the push-pull within you and the building crescendo that accompanies it. Boba's fingers tighten ever so slightly on your neck, and you respond in kind, curling your nails into the meat of his pecs like claws.

The fire within you is licking up your legs, winding through your ribs, and you gasp when it feels so close it's unbearable.

"Boba, I'm gonna - I need --"

He cuts you off with two simple words: "Touch yourself."

And so you do, the fingers of your dominant hand flying down to rub your clit and draw your orgasm to its inevitable peak. You press the pads of your middle and ring fingers to the bundle of nerves and frantically work to bring yourself off.

The sparks that shoot through you at the feeling of your own touch, combined with Boba's continued movements within you, force you up and over the edge of your climax in rapid succession. You cry out, the sound of it echoing far above your heads.

There must be something about the water, because the sensation is unlike anything you've ever experienced before. Your whole body seizes, straining against the hand that's wrapped like durasteel around your neck, and a tingling sensation shoots down your arms and legs to your toes. You've heard tales of the afterlife, of nirvana, of pure euphoria, and you think this must be it, because you can hardly comprehend the full-body pleasure that engulfs and drowns you.

When it passes, you go limp in his arms, head draped against his shoulder.

Boba finishes not long after, spilling into you. His spend is hot where it fills you, hotter than the water, and it's like an ancient lock has been fastened shut inside your cunt.

Your king carries you back to the dry stone floor. He lays you down and kisses you softly, heatedly, passionately. He kisses you as a lover should, like you're consummating a bond. A contract, signed in the twist of his tongue against yours.

The two of you do not leave that cave for a long while, taking the time to explore one another's bodies in every way you can dream up. You finally taste his cock, swallow his cum and find you love the taste, and Boba likewise licks and eats your pussy like he's a man starved.

When it's time to depart, you do so a changed woman. Boba Fett's body has left its touchmark on your soul. Now that you know true pleasure, the gratifying gift of submission to him, you couldn't imagine not going with him for at least some time. Leaving with him has become a need more than a want. You'll return someday, to rule and guide your people as you should, but not before you explore life with Boba for a while.

He promises so much, so many experiences and pleasures and truths. You can't let those promises go unfulfilled.

-

When Din enters the throne room, he surveys the space, as he always does when he walks through a doorway. Little is out of place.

Boba is seated upon the throne, conversing with a supplier, helmet betraying exactly as much emotion as Din's own does. From the grip Fett has on the arm of the throne, however, it's clear the negotiations aren't going to turn out well for the snivelling merchant.

Shand is leaning against a wall, jar of spotchka clutched in one hand, gesticulating with the other. She's smiling, which is rare for her, as she speaks in a tone Din can't quite hear.

Next to her is a girl Din's never seen in the palace before. She's dressed rather strangely - a thick cloak with fur trim over dark clothes, pants tucked into leather boots and some sort of shirt-tunic on her torso.

Certainly not suitable for the weather on Tatooine. In fact, Din would wager that's the clothing of someone from a snow planet.

He walks further into the room and catches the attention of Fennec and her friend. They both look at him; Fennec only for a second, but her companion's gaze lingers. Din thinks he sees something akin to curiosity - perhaps surprise - in her eyes, but it's hard to tell.

Her head turns to look directly at Boba, eyebrows raised. The other bounty hunter dips his head in acknowledgement.

Din stops in his tracks, unsure of the dynamic he's just walked into.

"You're excused," Boba barks, waving a hand at the supplier, who yelps and scurries out of the room.

He then rises from his seat and makes his way down to where Din's standing. He removes his helmet - an action that still makes Din tense up, even with everything that's happened - and tucks it under an arm. He sticks his other hand out and Din shakes it, nodding once.

"It went well, I assume?" Boba's almost smiling, which is a rare sight to see on his usually sullen visage.

Din nods again. "Yes. He's doing… he's doing great."

If he took his own helmet off, Din's smile would be clear as day.

Boba claps his hand against Din's shoulder, an amicable gesture that Din must remind himself is a sign of friendship, not posturing. Old habits die hard.

"I've got someone I'd like you to meet, Djarin," Boba says, turning towards the women who stand, watching them, not too far away.

They walk over. Fennec takes a sip of her spotchka, while the girl glances between him and Boba. For the life of him, he can't figure out where she might have come from, or what her role will be here. She's pretty, that much he will readily admit. Her eyes are bright and alert in a way that tells him she sees more than she lets on, and her stance is simultaneously relaxed and braced for conflict. He knows it well - it's as easy as beskar to spot.

She holds herself like a warrior.

She’s also young - certainly the youngest in the room.

Boba's voice pulls Din out of his thoughts. "This is our newest crew member. She'll be helping us with our… over-the-table dealings, in exchange for training."

Confused, Din tilts his head. "Training? What kind of training?"

"That's where I'd hoped you'd be able to help," Boba tells him. The girl looks from Fett to him, eyes focused right on his own through the visor.

"I need guidance in the Force. Boba said you have connections to people who could help me master my Force sensitivity."

Well, he supposes that's at least somewhat true. Ahsoka may be willing, but given how it went with Grogu, he wouldn't count on her.

"I'll see what I can do," he responds. As is his habit, he props his hand on his belt, hip jutting out just so.

The girl's eyes flicker down and back up again.

Boba clears his throat. "In the meantime, the princess and I have other matters to attend to."

He reaches out to her, and at first Din thinks he's going to grasp her shoulder in his firm grip like he tends to do with all of his close acquaintances.

Din quickly sees that this girl is much more than just a close acquaintance.

Boba’s hand finds its place on her neck, thumb tucked under her jaw and fingers wrapped around the base of her skull, tangled in her loose hair. As if they’ve done it a million times before, they lean towards one another. The girl’s eyes flutter closed, a soft smile on her face, while Boba’s study her unabashedly.

Their lips connect, heatedly, and Din knows his surprise shows in his movements. He glances over to Fennec, who just smirks at him.

The couple in front of him kiss one another completely without shame. Boba’s grip tightens to the point it looks almost painful, but the girl simply presses closer in response. She brings a hand up to rest on his chestplate, the only bare skin visible besides her face and neck.

Despite how warm his cheeks feel, Din can’t look away. He feels a rush of blood out of his head at the sight in front of him.

Boba and his lover kiss for another long moment before pulling away. He slides his hand to her hip, casually pulling her along as if he’d simply taken her by the hand.

She falls into step beside him, looking more comfortable than Din’s ever seen anyone next to Boba Fett. As they walk away, the girl glances back at Din, her observant gaze piercing right through him. Right through the beskar of his helmet.

And then she turns back, content in the embrace of the most feared bounty hunter in the galaxy.

[letsperaltiago]

supercut, i’ll be your favorite scene

Here it is: THE KITCHEN COUNTER FIC™️

Hope you guys like this pile of filth and feel free to share your 😌thoughts😌 in the tags or in my indbox/ask! I’d really love to hear them!! For context: takes place during Season 6, Episode 6: The Crime Scene!

Also do I need to make a disclaimer saying that I know Jake would never intentionally neglect Amy yada yada...? You know the drill.

Enjoy!

READ ON AO3 HERE (RATING E)

It had been going on for weeks now and by then it was safe to say that Amy was getting fed up with the situation. Ever since this mysterious, seemingly unsolvable case had started consuming Jake’s every thought, move and decision, Amy had felt somewhat neglected. Her husband was of course still, as always, sweet and caring but lately the case had completely overtaken his life and Jake spent more hours twisting and turning every clue than he spent being paying attention to Amy – or anything that wasn’t case files or clues, for that matter. It’s not that Amy needed attention, like some child screaming for affection, but she was worried for her husband’s health and, even if it felt silly to say, their intimate life.

Sure, they’d kiss good morning, goodbye and hello but especially the past few weeks Jake had more often than not fallen asleep atop of the case files at the dining table rather than in bed with her. Naturally Amy felt many things: impressed by her husband’s dedication and hard work but also worried and frustrated… in more than one way.

One night, another one of those spent alone in bed with Jake sitting at the dimly lit dining table, Amy was done being cool and reasonable; fact was that she missed her husband and she was shamelessly horny. It didn’t take long for her to make a decision: tonight, four drink-Amy, minus the drinks, was going to make an appearance.

“Hey, babe,” she spoke softly with a sweet, curious air, keeping her ulterior motives hidden, as she wandered into the living/dining-room in her pajamas and pink nightrobe. Her steps brought her up behind him and when he finally came within her reach, she made sure to slide her hands onto his shoulders with extra grace and tenderness, softly squeezing them to hopefully give him a taste of the tender touch he surely had a craving for though he currently was too stressed to act on “What are you doing?”

A beat of silence.

“Just working the case,” he mumbled tiredly sounding unaffected by her presence.

It was going to take more work than what she’d originally intended to put into it, but Amy was more than willing to put in the extra work; she did love a good challenge.

“I see that,” she added bending over to wrap her arms around his torso and rest her head on his shoulder as to get a closer look at his work… amongst other things. He was only wearing his flannel and boxers, perfect, she couldn’t help but think.

“You’re working so hard, babe,” she stated sweetly making sure it went straight into his ear. “Don’t you want to relax a bit?”

Her hands stroked his chest smoothly sliding over to play with the top buttons of his flannel, the same flannel he’d worn yesterday, she couldn’t help but notice. Alas this wasn’t the right moment to mention this.

“I can’t,” he flipped over a page to scribble down whatever information crossed his mind. “Not right now.”

“But that’s what you’ve been saying every day for the past few weeks now. Working yourself too hard won’t do you any good, you know… It can affect your way of thinking.”

A peck to his neck was basically Amy begging for his attention, for some kind of reaction to both her words and actions, but it never came.

“I’m fine, Amy. I just need to get this done.”

Scribbling and flipping of pages continued even so, as if she was air, and Amy, more than ever, was now growing awfully frustrated about the situation. Never before, at least while they’d been together, had Jake been blunt and cold towards her like this. Of course, she knew it wasn’t personal, and that it was all tied to the case and the promise he’d made to the victim’s mother, but still she couldn’t help but feel rejected. Rather than letting it get her down, it did the exact opposite and fueled her inner flame.

This problem was only not solved because it was demanding new, more bold, methods.  

“But…” she swiftly as ever popped open a few buttons of his flannel “… don’t you think you would be able to think clearer…” she slid a hand down his now revealed chest before continuing to lure him in with sultry words and notes “…if you just let me help you feel good for a bit.”

Gosh, his skin felt so soft and so good, even after all these years, and oh how she just wanted to bite into it, scratch it red and raw with her fingers till both their hearts exploded.

“Amy, please. I love you but I need to keep working on this.”

Ouch. Her hand froze just above his belly button before removing itself. At least he said something kinda nice, she thought referring to the I love you, but this wasn’t enough. I love you wouldn’t have her writhing and screaming till climax.

First attempt was a lost cause but luckily, in a twisted way, Amy was furious and desperate. Vanishing back to their bedroom without another word, boiling with both lust and frustration, the woman proceeded to plan B; and plan she hadn’t really planned but quickly came up with.  Said plan was hiding in a paper bag in the back of her closet and she’d actually planned on revealing it to him on Valentine’s day but enough was enough: now would have to be the right time.

Said plan started ten minutes later when she waltzed down the hall and back into the dining/living room wearing the same night robe as before. Only this time she was wearing something else underneath: something fiery red and shamelessly lacey.

“If you’re going to stay up all night drilling this…” Smooth, Amy. She planted a few candles on the table before him before lighting them, making sure to bend over just enough for the dip in her robe to reveal what was hiding underneath, “…then lets at least make it nice and cozy for you.”

“Thanks, babe, but no need to. Just go back to bed and I’ll join you there later.”

He didn’t look up, not as much as a quick glance and Amy could feel her blood beginning to simmer in her veins from wanting her husband’s attention and touch so badly. He couldn’t be serious? He couldn’t not notice how she was basically begging for him, could he?

With a firm grip, in one smooth motion, she pulled out the chair besides him and sat down before slowly untying the knot of her robe as her eyes watched him, attentive, hoping see his reaction when he saw the surprise she was presenting him.

Slowly, oh so slowly, she peeled apart the robe and let it slide off of her like ice cream melting on a sunny day. The fabric fell to the floor without a sound and there she sat, half-naked and more inviting than ever before in her life.

Not that she’d tried to be discreet before, but she was now so very obvious about her intention that he couldn’t possibly let it slide. And if she wasn’t obvious enough then the way the red silky fabric enhanced her skin’s warm undertones while the black, soft lace complimented the curves of her breasts and thighs certainly were. All things she’d considered upon picking out the set. The gleam from the candles danced in the reflection of the silky fabric and Amy Santiago was more than impossible to overlook.

“Why don’t you join me in bed… now?” She bit her lip smiling while her fingers played with a lock of her dark hair.

“Babe, I’m really trying to work here. Please.”

He almost sounded annoyed with her as he scrolled through his phone, looking for whatever could be more interesting than her.

Anti-climatic was not the word; this was way worse, Amy was sure of it.

How could he do this to her? There she sat, exposing herself, metaphorically and literally, and all he could think of was work! Maybe she should try to be reasonable, consider how he felt in his situation with this specific case, but enough was enough! She pushed herself out of the chair and stomped off to the kitchen. At first she didn’t know exactly why she headed to the kitchen… Perhaps she just wanted to get away from him but then again, she could’ve just gone to the bedroom. The doubt faded the minute she saw some unpacked groceries, more specific carrots, on the counter. Standing there in the kitchen in her very lingerie at 1 AM feeling like a sad, rejected porn star, she found her Plan C and felt that there was no other way. Amy Santiago did what she had to do: grabbed a bunch of carrots, picked out the tiniest, crummiest knife she could find, a cutting board and started chopping.

Noisily. Over and over again. Repetitive and loud.

“Ames, what are you doing?”

A reaction – good. She looked up, just barely, through her eyelashes only to be met by the sight of her husband still not caring enough to look at her properly.

“Felt like getting a snack, that’s all…”

She kept chopping, faster, harder and most importantly: louder. Carrot after carrot, way too many, but she figured they’d just eat it some other time. For now it was all about pestering him, getting on his nerves as he on hers. Ten seconds went by… Twenty… Thirty…

Chop. Chop. Chop.

“Amy-“

Another loud cut interrupted him. Amy didn’t even bother to cut into proper shapes or sizes. It was all about the sound.

Forty… Fifty…

“Amy, could you please stop!”

Finally.

She smiled to herself at the sound of his snarl, hearing the specific shade of Jake Peralta she’d waited for all night long. Her eyes were still glued to the carrots on the cutting board before her and, she knew, if she looked up, she’d see her husband stare right at her. God, she loved their open kitchen-dining room.

“Why don’t you come over here and make me?” She challenged hoping to make it the tipping point.

Then she looked up and as predicted, her husband was staring at her with a newly arrived squint and dark look in his eyes. It seemed as if his frustration had finally opened his eyes to what was really going on: his wife was in their kitchen almost completely naked, wearing only the skimpiest lingerie, and he’d been stupid enough to look past it. Their eyes met: his angry and storm full, hers playful and hungry, begging.

Right then and there a pin could’ve dropped to the ground and it would’ve made the ground shake and sound like an explosion. The tension was thicker than quicksand and it was only a matter of seconds, an unbearable staring contest, before the sound of Jake pushing back his chair cut through it like a knife.

He slowly walked, as if he was planning his every step, around the counter dividing the dining area and kitchen area, and Amy could feel herself beam with excitement at the muffled sound of his steps.

“What did you just say?” Jake’s voice was low, a few tones deeper than usual, something he only did when he was angry or during sexy timez.  “Think twice before answering me.”

His hands slowly slid onto her almost naked hips feeling the arousing sensation of the lace beneath his fingers. She was trapped between him and the counter before her, on purpose, she could tell and God, she loved him like this. After years of being together it was no secret to either of them that Amy, as much as she enjoyed being dominant and in charge, loved playing the play of the submissive one, the one getting told what to do. Something, if put in the right mindset, her husband handled very well. Key word: handled. Tonight, she needed to be handled. By him… With care? No, they were way beyond stage. Amy was buzzing with impatience. This needed to be properly balanced with the nature of the moment; a tempered Jake who would not put up with being told what to do. Not tonight.

“I didn’t say-“ her breath hitched interrupting herself when she felt him lean his body against her from behind, leaving no room behind him and her, and her and the counter, before letting his right hand slide along the top hem of her panties. “I didn’t say anything. I was just c-cutting-“

His index finger tugged on the elastic hem.

“Cutting carrots,” she breathed out nervousl and he picked up on it.  

“Is this cool? Safe word?” he quickly added.

“It’s perfect and ‘Manhattan’ as usual.”

“Okay good,” he pecked the shell of her ear as a sign of approval before picking up where they left off.

“Hmm,” he hummed removing his finger knowing it’d disappoint her. “I don’t think that’s entirely true.”

“Oh,” she whimpered in reaction to his words being breathed against her sensitive neck. While being distracted by his breathy taunts Amy had completely failed to notice the hand sliding down the right leg of her panty. Here, when down low enough, his index finger had crooked itself around the center section of the garment to pull it to the side and reveal her forlorn womanhood.

Tonight wasn’t going to be a long night of slow fucking, they both knew, but Amy was still surprised when she almost right away felt two fingers part her folds, automatically coaxing her into submission.

“I have barely touched you…” he spoke with a voice so soft and in no way is a match to the sinful activity happening further down her body, “…and you’re already this wet.”

No words, only sounds of strain and pleasure, were to come from Amy. Jake was in charge now and he would make the calls tonight. All she could do was wait and obey.

“You’ve been such an annoying little pest all night and I thought it was just because you were bored, when in reality- “

“Jake,” escaped her in the form of a breathy declaration, in a moment of weakness in reaction to his finger’s Godsent work, interrupting him and this usually wasn’t well received, not in a scene like the one they found themselves caught up in, but Jake was too pleased with the display of his effectiveness to reprimand her. Instead, he just smiled to himself and made sure to stroke the exact same spot over and over again feeling her get weak in her knees.

“When in reality you just, so desperately, need to be fucked.”

To prove his point, he leaned a bit more of his weight onto her forcing her midriff up against the counter. His fingers still had room to work thus moving with more and more ferocity.

“Am I right, Amy?”

Eyes closed, mouth agape and head bent back to rest against his shoulder, it was safe to say that Amy was in another world. Yes, she heard the loud rumbling that was the sound of his voice, but his fingers were louder than anything else happening at that moment. If it wasn’t for the fact that he had her trapped she would’ve been grinding for more, used her body to get a better feel of his touch. Alas she’d have to earn it some other way.

“Amy,” he scolded bringing her attention back to his demands. “Tell me. Am I right?”

His hand not stroking her heat slowly started playing with the upper edges of her panties, pushing them down her curves in the process.

“Y-yes,” came out in a voice so breathy that the word was barely audible, and Jake could only just hear it because he stood as close to her as he did.

“Thought so,” he bluntly approved her answer and removed his fingers from her heat to allow himself to push the panties down entirely, letting them to fall off of her and onto the cold kitchen floor. Amy could feel the bulge in his boxers pressed against her now bare ass and it killed her to not be able to grind against it, to feel it properly.

“So…” he used his now wet fingers, glistening with her juices, making sure to trail them across her skin, to slowly push her hair to the side and leave him room to kiss the back of her neck. “Now that you’ve so selfishly interrupted me and the important work I was doing, just because you just can’t behave and wait to get fucked…”

Amy’s voice hitched, loudly even, in reaction to his words. Dirty talk had definitely moved up a few spots on her favorites list when her and Jake got together; he was so good at it and it made her want to play along.  

“… there are two ways things can go now: either you pull yourself together like a good girl, let me get back to work and wait in bed…”

Amy did not like the sound of that. Nonetheless she bit her tongue and instead of fighting him she focused on the soft feeling of her husband’s breath dancing against her sensitive skin as his hands stroked her stomach, slowly inching themselves upwards towards her breasts.

“… or I give you what you need. Right here, right now.”

There was a moment of silence where Amy considered whether she should actually answer or let him make a choice for her. Did he want her to speak up or was it a trap?

“Tell me, Amy,” he scowled at the exact same moment as his hands reached her chest and latched themselves onto her still lace-clad breasts. “Tell me what you need. I’m not gonna ask again.”

“N-now, p-please” her stutters were weak, but they were there and she could only hope it was enough. They held so much desperation and honesty.

Meanwhile Jake feverously caressed her breasts, pinching her nipples through the thin, lacy material. Then, quickly running out of patience, he basically ripped the straps and cups down as to finally gain full access to this part of her he loved so much.

“Okay,” he pecked the back of her neck. “Can’t believe you’re so desperate that I get to fuck you right here on the counter.”

Jake definitely sounded smug, pleased with the situation, and Amy would’ve been be lying if she’d said she didn’t feel the same way… even though she couldn’t say it. They’d had sexcapades in the kitchen before but never like this and Amy was filled to the brim with excitement.

“God, I wanna see you on your knees with your lips stretched around me so bad but you’re just so ready for me, Ames… It’s too good to put off for much longer. Can you feel how ready I am for you?”

In case she hadn’t already noticed his hard on pressed against her bare ass Jake grinded into her and Amy very quicky came to hate his boxers even more, wishing she could just rip them off of him, and definitely let out a whimper at the needed touch. The full control he had over her was both everything she wanted and everything she dreaded; all she could do was hope that he’d fulfill her wishes for her.

Finally, as if a shooting had crossed the sky and heard her wishes, she felt one of his hands move away from her breast and relocate to push down the cursed material that kept her from being able to feel him properly. An outline trapped behind fabric was always promising but nothing could ever beat the feeling of Jake’s freed length.

“So ready…” he mumbled under his breath as he, impressively so, used one hand to fiddle open the clasp of her bra while the other was busy stroking his length. Given their current position there were things he had to take care of himself – many things, apparently. With both of his hands being busy paying attention to something that wasn’t her, Amy honestly wasn’t too pleased with the situation even though she knew it would pay off; she could already imagine, almost feel, the cool surface of their marbled countertop pressed against her torso causing goosebumps to rise across her entire body.

Thud. Finally, the strain around her chest disappeared as her bra joined the rest of their (limited) garments on the kitchen floor, soon to be forgotten by both Jake and Amy. Jake did still have his flannel on, barely hanging on by one closed button, but the parts of them that mattered were free and ready for tonight’s purpose.

She felt him take a tiny step back, away from her, and she was just about to let out a whine when suddenly her entire body quaked in response to his right hand giving her ass a firm squeeze before allowing it to run all the way up her spine, slowly and with great intentions in mind.

“Bend over.”

If only Amy could tell herself from ten years ago that she would end up marrying a man whose words could make her body and world tremble… The perfect two words, said so bluntly, demanding, had her convinced the second they fell from his lips.

She obeyed, with his hand on her back guiding her forwards, and soon she found herself looking out at their living/dining room from her new position: bent over their kitchen counter.

Jake’s hand continued its journey up her back, all the way up to her shoulder where he gave it a tiny affectionate squeeze before leaning down and pecking the back of her neck.

“Okay, babe?”

“Y-yes, perfect,” she whimpered, impatient, struggling to retain her recklessness.

“You look so good.”

The unequivocal sound of his palm patting her full ass cheek echoed in the kitchen. Even when trying to convey the need to ask for more into grabbing onto the counter, to a point where her knuckles turned white, holding back a whimper was out of her hands.

“Soon, babe. I just can’t get over how fucking good you look bent over like this...”

Another pat, a strike more appropriately so, to her other ass cheek let Amy know that he was definitely testing her patience and willingness to stay silent. He loved the frustration he knew she was battling with inside; mainly because he knew she’d never break because Amy Santiago’s desire to please and obey was stronger than the feeling of despair and need.

“… Bent over and desperate for me to touch you.”

Jake’s low, rumbling voice, the way an almost animalistic side of him shone through his words, was enough to keep Amy going. Although she did quickly take a preference upon feeling a sudden overwhelming burst of warmth and stimulus shoot through her when his fingers switched their attention from her ass to her folds, slowly running two fingers back and forth through them as to assemble as much moisture as possible.

Pleased with himself at the sound of a high-pitched and dragged out Oh there was no stopping him. Slowly torturing them both, mostly her, he kept working her open with his fingers as small moans and squeals dropped from her lips. His other hand kept a firm hold of her hip. Amy was off in another world, trembling at the feeling of his fingers finally doing to her what she’d been craving for for so long now. Her hands slowly turned sore from holding on so tightly to the counter under her, but she didn’t care. Everything felt so good and she’d die if it were to stop if she disobeyed or accidentally disregarded Jake’s wishes and plans.

All of the sudden, ready to whine at the loss of his fingers but quickly interrupted, Amy felt a strong hold of her hips from both of his hands and then, even better, herself being stretched around her husband’s cock. To hell with the consequences, Amy let out the loudest “quiet” moan she dared. The sensation washing over her was too much, too good, to keep quiet about however it helped that she expressed herself cheek pressed down into the cool kitchen counter.

“Yes,” Jake hissed pushing himself all the way in. “Fuck, you’re the best thing, babe.”

She felt a hand, once again, run up the length of her back as he shuffled on the spot to adjust himself inside of her. The stretch ceased for a brief second but immediately came back, this time for good, repeating itself in a steady pattern that had the entire front of Amy’s body, from her knees hitting the lower kitchen cupboards to the face rubbing up against the cool marble, following the given rhythm. The sound of their bodies slapping together, Amy’s skin drumming against their counter to the beat of his repetitive thrusting as well, came together like an obscene symphony. Only one thing was missing, and he knew why: she was waiting for permission like the good girl she was.

Bending over her so far that his chest ran parallel with her back, almost skin against skin, Jake made a makeshift ponytail with his wife’s soft, dark hair and, keeping in mind to stay careful, forced Amy’s head off the counter and back. Amy hissed, the pain and pleasure coming together, and she was finally in the perfect position for him to whisper into her ear.

“I know for a fact that you can be a hell of a lot louder than that.”

The observation, rather the implicit demand, went straight to her already extensive drive and with her head held up by his hand in her hair, Amy allowed her sounds of pleasure to fall freely from her lips and accompany the repetitive sound their body’s coming together, over and over, skin to skin, skin to wood, skin to stone.

“Oh- oh- ohmygod yes,” came tumbling out of her like the world was collapsing inside of her and having straightened back up, still with a hold of Amy’s hair, Jake could only admire the scene before him as he felt the stressful case and immense pressure melting away. After this he would definitely have to apologize for being so absent lately but for now, they probably needed this more than anything else.

“Y-yes, baby. Feel so good around me.”

Every word, every sound, every move was punctuated by a thrust, one after the othert, speed and force slowly increasing as a momentum built and both parties fell into and drowned in an endless pool of longing and passion.

“Was this what you wanted when you decided you were going to act like a fucking brat?”

A tug on the makeshift ponytail demanded that Amy listen even though she knew he might not necessarily want an answer from her - at least not a vocal one.

“Was is worth it? Tell me.”

Another tug on her hair, definitely demanding an answer, and his fingers digging into her fleshy hips earned him a small cry of submission that almost had him coming right there on the spot. Alas he stayed focused and steady. He wasn’t ready to let go yet, and neither was she. Just the way he wanted it and the way she loved it.

“Y-yes,” she just barely managed to stutter between thrusts, too far gone to make out a longer sentence, even though she was dying to tell him just how good he made her feel and how she’d missed him inside of her.

“Can’t believe all it takes to shut you up is a good fuck,” he accused her, but she could tell he was not so secretly loving it, simply saying it, making it sound filthy, because he had needed it just as badly as her. “So desperate you’ll take it anywhere…”

He trailed off, out of breath from snapping his hips back and forth into her with hefty momentum that had both his and her legs shaking. Although, he knew, he wasn’t quite done with her yet. There might’ve been beads of sweat running down her arched back, red marks on her arms from the rubbing of the counter and beginning knots where he held onto her hair, but it couldn’t be over yet.

Using the last surge of energy, he had left in him, Jake decided to let go of his wife’s hair and used the now freed hand to give her ass one last spank, one whose loud snap and following whine bounced off the kitchen walls. Besides that, nothing was said and Jake was pleased.

“No complaining, huh? You just know that you always look so much better when I mark you up.”

It was hard to tell since her entire body jerked every time he reentered her however Jake was sure: she nodded. He stroked the fresh redness of her ass before hunching over her still very much bent over figure. The new curve of his body to ran along hers, his chest to his back, and gave him the opportunity to take a hold of her hands where they were still clinging onto the kitchen counter’s edge for dear life. Now he could help his thrusts by pulling into her.

“I’m so close, Ames. So fucking close.”

He readjusted as to be able to whisper directly into her ear.

“You look so good bent over like this… All for me…”

“O-only for you,” she managed to stutter.

“But I want to be able to see your face when you cum.. So hard like never before,” he marked his point by gathering some extra force to thrust just a bit deeper and the small scream it derived was worth it. Although he had already (kind of) warned her Amy felt like dying the second he so brutally pulled out of her completely. It was all soon forgotten though; the second he pulled her back up straight, spun her around and lifted her, almost entirely by himself, up to sit on the counter. Before Amy could fully comprehend what was happening, he had her face cupped in his hand and their eyes locked.

Amy could’ve sworn what he did and said next was the sexiest thing he’d ever done to her: without letting go of her face, neither her eyes, he used his free hand to push her thighs apart and around him.

“Now don’t you dare look away.”

Without further explanation he grabbed his cock and guided it back into her, once more appeasing her with the feeling of being filled to the brim by him. It was far from as easy or smooth as their previous position, but they fell back into a enjoyable pattern of movements. Before they knew it Amy was back to whimpering at every thrust, her magic spot struck over and over again. She was shrieking her pleas as he kept their eyes locked and there was no escaping it. The hand holding her face snuck a thumb across her dry lips, furthermore, causing them to part and welcome his finger past the edge and into the mouth he was dying to kiss.  

“Do you have any idea how fucking hot you look like this?” he praised enjoying the wet sensation around his thumb and the muffled effect on her whimpers it had before removing his hand, to her disappointment, only to then please when he put it to better use down between her legs. “And you’re going to look even hotter when you fall apart around me, understood?”

“Y-yes,” she croaked with eyes slowly beginning to flutter closed. “I- I’m so close, baby.”

“Me too,” he breathed heavily as he saw her eyes shut as his fingers played with her clit, wishing and yearning to take her where they both wanted to be. “Now look at me,” he demanded using his free hand to once again grab her jaw and reposition her face as to be sure she was looking directly into his eyes as he felt himself come closer to his climax.

He picked up the pace, the slaps of their skin becoming louder, and Amy immediately reacted by grinding harder onto both his cock and fingers meanwhile her mouth let every deep, sinful emotion pour out of her as a messy ode to her own climax.

“R-right there, ugh- yes! Faster, harder-“

“I’m gonna cum, babe. Right now,” he exclaimed.

“Y- yes, inside of me. Keep going,” she begged afraid that his climax would interrupt God’s work he was doing on her.

“Ye-“ he was cut off by his own climax which caused his head to shoot back and a groan from the deep of his gut. Although Amy had nothing to fear: even through his climax Jake kept up his pace, mostly with his fingers, and not too long after he had Amy writhing and gasping for on the counter.

“Come for me, babe. All over me.”

He was slowly coming down from his own climax and passionately coaxed his unravelling wife through their shared euphoria, listening and staring into her eyes as she crumbled around him.

After a few moments of aftershock in the shape of shuttering, gasping and whimpering, the room fell silent and time seemed to stand still. By then Amy had slumped forward, completely drained, leaning her head onto his shoulder meanwhile the cool night temperature of the room started to get to her. Small goosebumps danced all over her body.

For a bit they just let it be, let the moment stand on its own, giving Jake the time to run his hands all over his wife’s shaky, beautiful body that he loved oh so much.

“I’m sorry I’ve been so absent lately. I hope you know that it has nothing to do with you.”

Although it was a statement and a fact rather than a question, Jake definitely wanted and needed to know if she knew that it was so.

“I know.”

He could feel and hear her smile because that’s how stupid well he knew her.

“Good. Still want to say I’m sorry though,” he smiled into the top of her head before pecking it and getting a small taste of the sweat they’d both built up. “…And I promise that I won’t let work control me like this again.”

Silence. A beat.

“I really appreciate you saying that. Thank you…”

She turned her head so that she could kiss his lips and, just an hour ago, Amy might’ve thought he was the most annoying, stubborn human on earth and maybe he was… But now she was also once again sure of the fact that no one could or ever would love her like her husband does.

[escxpedes]

loopholes (cont.)

I literally can’t even begin to tell you how much everyone’s support meant to me on the last chapter. All your comments and tags were so sweet, it was seriously the highlight of my day. I’m sorry for the delay, I meant to get this out a couple of days ago, but I’ve come down with a bad cold. This part, while fun, was so hard to get right. Angus Macgyver is a genius, his mind goes a mile a minute, and I wanted to do my best to replicate that. This part is a little slow in getting to the Macriley stuff, but I wanted to show how much he really thinks about things. He’s such a complex character, that if I didn’t do him justice, I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself. Also, there’s dialogue in this one! Sadly, Jack isn’t mentioned in this chapter, but he’s there in spirit. Clearly, we all love and miss him. I hope you guys enjoy, the last part will be out soon! x

~

loop·hole

noun | A loophole is an ambiguity or inadequacy in a system, such as a law or security, which can be used to circumvent or otherwise avoid the purpose, implied or explicitly stated, of the system

~

Riley finally moves into her new apartment, but struggles to adjust after the events of Codex and the realization of her feelings for Mac. When Mac finds her passed out over her keyboard after a late night of coding at Phoenix, he decides a talk is long overdue. Just some slightly angsty soft!macriley to help you cope with this season 5 hiatus.

~

of lips that i am yet to kiss (and eyes not met my own.)

It's highly unlikely that you'll find Mac walking down the halls of the Phoenix Foundation so late at night. Without the bustling energy of his coworkers fetching important documents or discussing the best way to break down one of the many mysteries the foundation deals with, the darkened hallways and quiet atmosphere can be unnerving.

Sure, he spends nearly every waking hour employed there, but he'd rather be outside the office in different countries, doing hands-on work and saving lives. When you work in his profession, It can be difficult to separate business and pleasure, but that only makes it more important—if only to conserve what mental health he has left. 

However, in the haste of putting together last-minute preparations for yet another meeting with the Department of Justice and trying to make it back to his house in time for something Desi whipped up, he managed to forget his cellphone.

It's funny, mainly because of how little the small device truly matters to Mac.

It only goes to show how insignificant material objects, or even human beings in general, are. The idea that something so meaningless can affect someone's life so much when, if they just looked past that obsession and considered its part in the profound scope of the universe, another perspective would take shape.

It's fascinating stuff, really.

There's a concept essential to understanding Japanese aesthetics, otherwise known as an ancient set of ideals important to Japanese society, called Yūgen. When applied in the right context, Yūgen underlines this deep awareness of the universe and the experiences we have within it. It's often the feeling interpreted when you gaze at the stars late at night or watch the sunset dip behind a hill.

Mac wouldn't think twice before breaking his phone, or rather, breaking the phone of his nearest friend, open for an obscure part that might make one of his many homemade devices come together. However, when he's the only person able to communicate the scientific specifications of an unheard-of-until-recently base plan for saving the planet, he's practically on call 24/7.

He remembers having it in the labs earlier that day when he stopped by before his meeting to remind Bozer to come by his house on Friday for the team's new weekly attempt in group-bonding.

After the betrayals that surfaced during the climax of taking down Codex, the team collectively decided to spend more time as a group in hopes of eliminating any lingering doubts. 

They used to hang out all the time before the government dismantled the Phoenix Foundation.

Mac still can't believe that, after everything they had been through, he allowed his friendships to dissipate over the year they had been separate.

Bozer is his childhood best friend, and Riley had become a solid foundation in his life. He didn't have anyone outside his team at Phoenix, and while he deeply cared for Desi, their first relationship was proof that too much time—and too little communication—with each other can do severe damage to one's sanity.

If Russ hadn't brought them back together, would they have tried to reconnect at some point?

Mac wants to say they would have but wouldn't blame them if they didn't; they all lost something they cared about, and each served as a constant reminder of it.

It would've been hard, but part of him feels like living without them is a lot harder.

When he manages to access the lab, flipping his shiny new I.D. card over his fingers and into its place in his wallet, his eyes scan the room. It's empty, which isn't unusual at this time, but years of military training have rewired his brain to notify him of threats, even if there aren't any.

Just like he thought it would be, the device sits untouched a few tables behind Bozer's workspace where Mac had been sitting.

Quickly, because he left the house in a hurry and forgot to leave a note, he scoops up his phone and makes his way towards the exit. There's a couple of missed calls, but it doesn't seem like he missed anything too important.

Not that they would let him. 

At any rate, they would probably show up on his doorstep if they couldn't get a hold of him. With days off so few and far between, that's the kind of interaction he's hoping to avoid. Hence, why he came to pick up his phone when he realized it was missing instead of waiting until the next day.

He's nearly made it to the end of the hall when a light flashes in his peripheral vision, coming from the I.T. department.

His body is tense with apprehension; his mind races with several different kinds of possibilities and outcomes. He slows his pace, his movements fluid, silent, and controlled from years of stealth practice.

The light is soft, he notices, as if only one or two monitors are in use.

When he gets to the doorway and nudges open the door, hands at the ready, his entire body sags in relief to see the dark wavy hair he's come to associate with one of his closest friends.

"Riles?"

The nickname falls from his mouth before he can stop it, and even though the light from the monitor creates a halo above her head, shadowing her features, it's unmistakably her.

She doesn't move. 

It becomes abundantly clear why as Mac moves towards her and notices the monitor's screen filling up with a sequence of letters that look nothing like coding despite his lack of knowledge in programming languages.

Her elbow balances precariously on the edge of the table, her arms creating a makeshift pillow for her head. The weight of her forearm bears down on the keyboard, causing the side of her hand to press down multiple keys at once.

He shakes his head a little, amused by the situation unfolding. 

Her cheek rests comfortably on her hand, a serene expression masking the signs of exhaustion that showed on her face.

Mac's lips curved into a soft smile, seeing Riley in any state that wasn't cloaked in layers of worry or anxious determination always washed away any doubts he might have about working in such a stressful field.

The scars that covered his body, the secrets he has to keep, and the pain he has to endure are so unbelievably worth it as long as she out of harm's way and able to sleep peacefully.

Of course, he couldn't imagine anyone else by his side on a mission, knowing they share the same love and passion for kicking ass and saving lives.

However, he also knows that more lies underneath the surface.

He wouldn't wish the hardships of this job on anyone. Seeing it affect someone he cares about, watching it break them down slowly pulls at his heartstrings and fills him with a knowing sadness. 

When a piece of hair falls into her face, his fingers don't hesitate to gently brush it behind her ear, lightly tracing her cheekbone and caressing her cheek.

Kneeling, his hand drops to her shoulder in an attempt to gently wake her.

After a couple of shakes, the expressive brown eyes he's come to look forward to seeing begin to flutter open and nearly render him speechless.

She blinks a couple of times, inhaling slowly, "Macgyver."

Her voice is full of sleep and breaks from misuse, but the way she says his name—like there's nobody else she'd expect to see when she wakes up —has him grinning from ear to ear.

"Good morning, sleepyhead."

Rising from her position on the table, she scans the room before meeting his eyes and scoffing, "It's hardly the morning."

He laughs softly, holding back the urge to mention that technically it is morning considering its past twelve. Instead, he focuses on the matter at hand, or more likely, the question at hand.

"What are you doing here so late?"

She's more alert now, sitting back in her chair and lifting her arms to stretch out the muscles that stiffened while she slept, glancing at her work on the monitor.

Her face drops into a grimace when she notices her mistake, "Matty and I were talking about updating the foundation's firewall and spyware," she yawns, "I must have been more tired than I realized."

Mac's eyebrows scrunch in thought, remembering something Bozer said earlier about Riley spending quite a few nights this week working late.

Between going over his mother's scientific data, trying to patch up whatever relationship he had left with Desi, and making sure he didn't go off the rails with grief, his effort to check in on everyone decreased significantly.

"Yeah, you've been doing that a lot lately," his hand returned to her shoulder to emphasize his point, "Everything okay?"

She waves him off, "There's too much work that needs to be done around here before we can get things running the way they used to."

Riley doesn't lie to him—if you overlook the whole situation with her ex, Aubrey, that is, but the movements she's making indicate otherwise.

Her eyes refuse to meet his, flickering down and to the right. When she talks, her head shakes lightly, and she purses her lips in an attempt to give off a careless impression. Maybe someone who doesn't know her or didn't train to pick up on it would believe her, but he knew better.

She was definitely hiding something from him.

Part of him understands that if she wanted to talk about it, she would. However, his instincts urge him to press harder, locate the problem, and bring back her contagious smile that always seems to fill him with warmth.

As much as he doesn't want to admit it, you can't patch some things together by sheer will and sellotape, so instead, he stands up and drops his hand from her shoulder.

"Let's get you home."

[theshinsun]

oh Kise?

oh worm??

Why I like them

I’m actually gaining a whole new appreciation for Kise these days; underneath the airy smiley surface he’s a really nuanced character, and every time I rewatch/reread KNB I notice something new about him. I love how his passion for basketball grew when he decided to devote himself to it, and how he’s inspired by Aomine and motivated by losing to Kuroko and Kagami, how he’s desperate to improve and play to the point of overwork and injuring himself, and still keeps going. He’s got a very satisfying arc when he learns to appreciate his team and respect his seniors, and I’ve learned to appreciate and respect him for it too.

Why I don’t

All that said... sometimes he can still be a little grating. He’s a little too superficial sometimes, especially dealing with his fangirls, and he seems to get the anime trope treatment disproportionately often compared to the other GoM. Much as his arc and motivations are well-written, I feel like they could be pushed just that little bit further to make him more compelling, but that’s honestly getting into nitpicks, he’s still a great character for what he ended up being.

Favorite episode (scene if movie)

This might not seem like a very important scene, compared to some of his others, but I just fuckin... love the restaurant scene after the first Seirin/Shuutoku game, where he sits at the same table as Kagami, Kuroko and Midorima, and talks about why they play basketball and how losing changes them. (Midorima looking at him and saying he’s changed “your eyes... they’re strange”, before realizing he’s actually gone back to how he was before the Teiko finals is... Important to me) 

Favorite season/movie

Season three Kise can GET it. The ultimate glo up, he’s so awesome in the game against Haizaki’s team, and rematch against Seirin; I love Kasamatsu being like “go give them a greeting” and he just squares tf up it’s so badass. Side-note -- he’s also one of the only characters the Last Game treated well, after being considered “the worst of the bunch” he totally earned his moment to be the best, most powerful member of the GoM for a little while.

Favorite line

That moment in the Seirin/Kaijo game when he gets off the bench despite his coach’s disagreements and goes back into the game, because “I love this team”. I cry every time. “I liked being Kise of Kaijo” is a close runner-up.

Favorite outfit

Okay all his model outfits slap, but hear me out... season one when he shows up at Seirin and goes one-on-one with Kagami, still in his suit pants and shirt and he still kicks ass... iconic.

OTP

Um... so KiKasa or KiKuro seem like obvious choices, and they do have some great development... but I’m actually weaker to KagaKise I think. I don’t know why there’s something about their dynamic, they’re just such friendly rivals (by season 3 at least) and seem to bring out some really good things in each other (and I love the concept of Kagami being able to get Kise to loosen up and be more human, see Two if by Sea by tormalyne) their relationship is just so interesting to me. KiKuro is also up there but I think KagaKise beats them out by a hair.

Brotp

MidoKise. I have seen the light. I could also see them work as a romantic pairing, but the way they play off each other and banter is the Actual Best no matter the context I love these guys.

Head Canon

Kise strikes me as like, the worst enabler in existence. I feel like he shrugs off serious topics and plays things off as no big deal all the time, and he just does whatever he can to minimize discomfort and drama, if it means avoiding difficult conversations, or placating people with material things to get them off his case. He lets a lot of things slide and turns a blind eye when there might actually be something wrong, and it’s not very healthy how he constantly dodges people’s efforts to help him.

Unpopular opinion

Not really an unpopular opinion as much as a lack of understanding, but I just don’t... get AoKise. I mean I get it, but I don’t Get it, you know? Like they’re alright, they’ve got history and some chemistry and you all know I ship Aomine w literally everyone, but I just... still can’t get myself to see it as anything more than a casual fwb deal, or at best an unrequited love. I don’t see the compelling star-crossed romance other people seem to see, I don’t know why. (If anyone wants to try to convert me, I’m all ears, I’m mostly just perplexed by the popularity of this ship). 

A wish

I sincerely wish Fujimaki had the balls to make Kise gay. Not as a device to set him up with people so my ships can be canon, far from it, I just think he’d be a much more compelling character if he was, and out of everyone in KNB (except maybe Mibuchi) he’s the one with the most pieces laid out. It’s right there, and it would add so much depth; having to put on a hetero performance for the sake of his modeling career, trying to differentiate between genuine admiration and attraction, worrying about not being accepted by the friends he’s been able to make if he were to come out... it’s just a shame we weren’t given that bc Fujimaki insists on having everyone but the caricatures be straight. 

An oh-god-please-dont-ever-happen

I think the worst thing that could happen to Kise is for him to get bored with basketball. Because that will mean there probably isn’t anything he can get into that he won’t tire of eventually, and it leaves the rest of his future looking pretty bleak. I don’t know how likely it is to happen, but at his rate of improvement he very well might face an Aomine-esque spiral one day, and that is... a troubling thought. 

5 words to best describe them

Bright. Flashy. Idyllic. Pursuant. Ravenous.  

My nickname for them

Golden Boy. I also tend to call him a labrador retriever in my head, which, if you know the parallels I draw between him and Mr Peanutbutter...

[3cf]

Underrated Character - Deke Shaw "I'm a damage person from a damage world" "that's just me, guy from the future who doesn't belong"

He comes from a dystopian future where he has lost his parents, lives in a world of daily violence and hunger, a kill or be kill environment, with no nature, no real freedom, and for him nothing to be hopeful for. He is quite desillutioned, especially about the whole prophecy idea because he has lost his parents because they were 'believers'. He may seem quite selfish, when rating out for instance, but he has only been able to count on himself for a long time and he is in a context of survival which doesn't necessary reveal your best side but the other brighter side exists. He does not take him that long (compare to a life time) to be ready to help this group of strangers even though he starts a bit shyly, proving that he is not selfish to the core. As he says it himself, he’s seen people willing to kill for someone else but never to die for before, and he becomes one of them. At the end he takes huge risks (his little survivor life) to enable the team to come back. Sadly, his father will never know Deke took on his legacy and Deke, who left in complicated realtionship with his father, will not have the chance to hear him recognise his actions and that it makes his father proud.

Once in the 'past', where he arrives instead of dying, seeing him dicover just the tinniest bit of the new world is refreshing. It's his unique position that makes him the one who sees hope and beauty that he shares to comfort or to help other refocuse on what they need to preserve (at a moment where the team and its members are in some personal hard times and team conflicts). One of his fear turn to matter has litteraly said "You should walk away, you know what happen when you care about someone".

Then he leaves SHIELD, because he thinks he might die very soon and if he doesn't, the Earth would likely be destroyed and he wouldn't really have taken his chance to explore the world (which basically is the biggest inaccessible dream where he comes from). Plus, he is longing to belong and to find a place but it's not something he has really finds in his time with SHIELD (and his afraid to find there as the risk of losing SHIELD people is high) and maybe out there he will.

Obviously, when he is seen again he is pretty annoying but during his CEO time, he remains polite and treat people with respect and even if he is about making money he is also concern about creating a better future. The whole sexualizing Daisy in his game is more than problematic and he has zero excuses for it. Soon enough he is willing to take risk to help others as Sequoia. A lot answers of his choices of douche bag behavior are given when he explicitly says that he doesn't understand why he is not more love or approved now that he has does want society tells you is the most valued and popular, making lots of money, being quite famous en social media, being a boss...

He is clearly desperate to find a place, to obtain approval and to feel loved but he may not have followed the best path to do so, but maninly by being misguided (which happens easily for him as he is out of 'time' and has grown up in a different world, in some ways he lack tools to have enough judgment on those fields of life). Of course he is responsible for himself and accountable for his own actions, but he is a lost, lonely person evolving in an environment he never had concrete helped to apprehend correctly. He would really benefit if someone takes the time to talk with him calmly, if someone listen to him and explains to him with patient why they have a problem with his behavior; because what he tends to get are mumbles, coldness, annoyance and second degree remarks that he does not understand.

Following 'Code Yellow' his new word is violently ripped apart. Obviously, there is the Sarge situation that is there and they have the world to save and they dissaprove of his behaviour, but still, he got no consideration, nobody seems to care enough to realise it and to simply acknowledge it, which is quite harsh for him. He keeps to feed some weird ego pleasing, 3rd person talk, flattering himself words but it feels like he does it to provoke some recognition of his actions, not understanding that doing do it will not play in his favor. It also shows is continous search for approval is far from over. 

His relationship with Snowflake is really one of two lost souls who wants more warmth in life and more belonging. "Snowbunny she gets me. She said that my soul was like a butterfly that was just dying to escape. And you know what? that's exactly how I feel."

In the end of the season, he expresses a stronger desire than before to be part of it (and share the pain and fight when they occur) and to stay at the lighthouse by choice (the base is litteraly where he has leave his whole life and accumulate all his trauma in his 'original time', so staying is a big choice).

All of this always imprinted by the special Deke touch (that you naturally appreciate, or not, or only from time to time).

.

Overall, I feel like he fits the underrated character category because of his general relationship to the team (with Jemma being quite an exception). But also because I feel like he deserves a bit better in terms of storytelling on the show. He has some nice light scenes and a few more serious ones but in the end I feel like I often kind of rejoy on crumbs when it comes to his character (compare to others with less or the same amount of time) though they managed to make me care about him and be curious to where he goes and how is arc evolves.

The show is really great at characters and at dynamics (main SHIELD ones but secondaries, frenemies, enemies, guest stars.... too),  definitively its greatest asset to me. So... I hope to see (soon!) some more quality Deke content in season 7.

[hellomynameisbisexual]

A Letter for Parents from a Parent

Dear Parent,

If you are reading this you are most likely trying to be a good parent in an extremely confusing situation and are probably getting lots of conflicting information. You are doing the right thing and can get through this.

I am not an “expert.” I am a father of five and a private music and martial arts teacher who deals with many kids. I grew up in a family with several bisexual individuals and I’ve dealt with these issues directly and indirectly all of my life.

Take a deep breath. Read slowly. You may need to read a little bit at a time and walk away to think. You may be reading this because you suspect, or have discovered, that your child is bisexual, or because your child or someone else has told you so. (Do not assume anything about your loved one based on someone else.) If your child has spoken to you, be understanding and provide a safe, accepting atmosphere. If your child has not, create an atmosphere in which he or she can do so when ready.

By bisexuality, I simply mean the physical and/or emotional attraction to both males and females. Most people who identify as bisexual consider it an independent sexual orientation, not a subset of other more widely-recognized categories. Don’t think of bisexuality as a little bit gay (homosexual) and a little bit straight (heterosexual) but as its own orientation with its own characteristics. People often ask why anyone would choose to be gay or bi (shorthand for bisexual). Most people do not feel that their sexual orientation is a choice; you probably don’t. Our best course of action is to respect the identity of our family and friends, assuming nothing.

I have no clue how many people experience bisexuality or identify as bisexuals. From what I’ve read experts don’t know either; estimates range from only a few to a whole lot of people. The fact is that scientists define bisexuality in many ways. Until they can agree on a definition, these studies are just good ways to spend grant money.

Some bi people are out and open about their sexuality, but many are in the closet (hiding their sexuality), mainly for fear of familial, spiritual and social rejection. Imagine how hard that must be. A bi person—especially a young one—often feels alone, but as a parent, you can help your child find safe ways to discover that he or she is not.

Some bi folks have an almost balanced attraction to the genders, while others prefer one gender and are only occasionally attracted to the other, or have a shifting preference. Some people shift their sexual identity and may have long periods where they identify as straight, bi, or gay. Other people drop labels altogether.

What you have done as a parent has not made your child bisexual, but what you do as a parent can contribute to how comfortable and healthy your child is. There isn’t a cure since it isn’t a disorder, but some people will assure you that it can be cured or is just a phase. That phase thing is confusing, because some people have felt some bisexual tendencies and then gone on to assume a completely homo- or heterosexual identity. This doesn’t mean that everyone who experiences bisexual feelings will. It only means some people experience bisexual feelings that they may or may never act on and identify as gay or straight. Other people live a perfectly happy life identifying as bisexual with feelings that they may or may never act on. Many bisexual men and women have happy monogamous relationships, while some bi people prefer more alternative relationship styles. There are no rules in this area, so I can’t tell you what to expect.

You may have some phases of your own. People finding out that their child is bisexual have been known to experience anger, disbelief, denial, grief – and pretty much every other unpleasant emotion – and some pleasant ones. I can’t tell you what you are feeling, will feel, or should feel. If at any time you or your child are uncomfortable with what you feel, talk to a friend or a professional. There are also support groups.

It may help a lot to talk to your child, who will know more about their feelings than all of the websites, books, and experts out there. You could even help each other through your mutual concerns. If you don’t know how your child feels, tell them so and ask. You may want to consider sharing with your child any bisexual feelings or experiences that you may have had.

As far as letting others—even another parent—know, your child should decide who will know and when, even if it puts you in an awkward situation. Ultimately each person must decide how out he or she wants to be and as loved ones we should respect that. Some people are out in a very “we’re here, we’re queer” way (queer has been adopted by many people with non-mainstream sexual or gender identities) and wear the t-shirt, while others are less expressive.

Sexuality differences also make for social safety issues. Like it or not, kids experiment, so you might consider ensuring that your child has a safe place to bring a date even if you have to stretch your own comfort level. Nobody wants a late night call from an angry parent who just found your child making out with theirs. Trust me: It is far worse when the children are the same sex and this was the first inkling that the other parent had. When straight kids are caught making out in the back seat of a car or in an empty gym, cops, teachers and security guards handle it with one approach; but when those kids are of the same sex, hurtful things are often said or done—sometimes even dangerous things. An ounce of prevention can save a lot of embarrassment and harm.

The scariest thing for me is the suicide rate among gay and bisexual young people. I watched one of my children die at birth and I will do anything to never see that happen again. If that means that I have to get over any of my own issues I will, and I have. Suicide is preventable. Be there for your kid even if you are confused. Don’t be silent because you are afraid that you might say the wrong thing. Bisexuals, especially young bisexual men from the age of fifteen to twenty-five years of age, take their own lives at an alarming rate. Don’t let it happen in your family.

As you look around, you may notice that bisexuality is not very visible in our culture. Given how many experience bisexuality or bisexual feelings at some time, you would expect more. But as a culture, we tend to think in terms of a hetero- and homosexual duality; bisexuality just doesn’t come up and isn’t considered in legal, educational, social and health areas. Some groups have also had specific political agendas to exclude bisexuals and have made an effort to institutionalize biphobia (fear of bisexuals) within our culture. This context has a lot to do with a person’s choice to be out about their bisexuality or to stay in the closet, which makes it rude and even harmful to “out” someone (inappropriately inform others about someone else’s sexual identity).

Another common misconception about bisexuals or any LGBT (lesbian, gay, bi, and transgender) individuals is the issue of promiscuity. Just because your child has a non-straight sexuality or gender identity does not make him or her any more promiscuous than straight kids. And yes, your son or daughter may know his or her sexual orientation and still be a virgin. Your child’s sexual orientation doesn’t matter: You need to talk to him or her about safer sex. If you haven’t, you should be researching that and talking to your child.

You may also be wondering about gender roles and gender identity. Simply put, “Is my son going to start acting like a girl?” “Is my daughter going to start acting like a boy? What should I do?” Do nothing yet, because you may be confused. Gender identity is how a person identifies their own gender and leads to what gender role they fill through behavior. Most bi people maintain their birth gender identity and the accompanying social gender role. People who are shifting their gender identity away from their birth gender and behaving according to the social roles of the non-birth gender are transgender; this is not linked to homo- or bisexuality. A transperson may be bi, gay or straight. But as a good parent, you may want to explain this detail to your child, because he or she might think there is a certain way they’re supposed to act, such as queeny (stereotypical Hollywood character idea of effeminate gay), butch (stereotypical masculine dyke image) or even androgynous (displaying gender role elements from both masculine and feminine social images—the classic rock star stereotype). Your child is allowed to be as feminine or masculine as he or she feels. And those feelings may change with time.

Bisexuality as an identity was identified by name in the 1800s, though we know that it has been around since Sappho and Alexander the Great. In the last few decades it has strengthened socially. There was an unfortunate time when there was tension between bisexuals and the gay and lesbian community. You will run across remnants, but those wounds continue to heal. In recent years, there has been a lot of growth toward community. There are now organizations, such as PFLAG, to help bisexuals and their families.

By reading this you are doing what every parent of every GLBT child should be doing: learning and trying. As long as you are willing to keep learning and trying, you will ultimately get it right. You will make mistakes, but you can fix them. Love your child, not your bisexual child. Love your child who is a person who feels and loves and hates and hurts and dreams and wonders, and who happens to be bisexual.

Sincerely,

Robert L. Barton

[honeymoonjin]

enjoy your stay - chapter four

A/N Word count is around 3.7k. Warnings: cursing and mentions of sexual content.

ENJOY YOUR STAY ↳Boss!Namjoon, Chef!Jin, Receptionist!Hoseok, Bellboy!Jimin, Bartender!Jungkook, Accountant!Yoongi, Photography student!Taehyung ↳Some inappropriate language and cursing. Later chapters will have sexual content.

SUMMARY ↳Working the graveyard shift at a hotel isn’t the most exciting job in the world, but your coworkers are certainly happy to have you here.

CHAPTER FOUR ↳Blackmail does funny things to a person, but is it really as doom-and-gloomy as you think? You learn some interesting information about certain workers in the hotel that change your perspective about your own situation.

Things have been tense within the wallpapered halls of the hotel.

Not that sweet oblivious Namjoon would have the slightest clue.

Ever since Tae’s extremely inappropriate version of blackmail, you’ve been trying your best to keep your distance from both him and Jimin in the hopes that they’ll hook up on their own and save you the grey hairs.

Part of you wants to just go to Namjoon yourself and tell him what happened with Jin. Tae’s acting like you had sex with the guy, but it never got past kissing, so maybe you could survive with a slap on the wrist and go on your merry way.

But even though Jin and you both knew what happened, there weren’t any security cameras in the walk in chiller and even if there were, Tae was right. You didn’t think you could handle the look of disappointment on Namjoon‘s face when you told him you went behind his back, and took this long to tell him, too.

Your only hope was to get Tae to live out his bellboy fantasies and leave you alone. Hopefully sooner rather than later.

In the meantime, you had been putting all your brainpower between the hours of 11pm to 7am into your job. It was almost the end of the month, which meant reports were due soon, and Yoongi was around the hotel a lot more, just like he was that first night.

It was crazy to think you’d been here almost a month, and Yoongi’s returned presence in the hotel made it feel like more of a milestone.

He still stuck to the bar, although he never drank, and he was always in a sharp suit with mussed-up hair, like he had come straight from a day at the office. Whenever you would do your rounds and come upon the glorious sight of his back hunched over, white dress shirt taut across his shoulders, you thanked your lucky stars you worked in a place where even the accountant was one of the sexiest men in town.

This morning, he had been here before you started working, and was still poring over pages and pages of figures and tables and charts at 3am.

You had promised yourself that you would look after him just as much as you did the other staff members while you were on duty, and so you found yourself with a mug of decaf coffee in one hand and a little bowl of fries you got Jin to put through before he headed home.

As usual, Yoongi didn’t look up when you approached, trusting that you’d call out to him if you needed him. It wasn’t until he heard the clink of the plate and mug against the glass top of the bar that he put his pen down and glanced over.

He always looked tired, but you couldn’t help but furrow your eyebrows in concern when he made eye contact. The bags under his eyes looked more like smudges of charcoal and his gaze was glassy and unfocused.

You knew he had a pair of glasses; you had seen them when you visited his office that night, but he hated wearing them and so just suffered the headaches of eye strain.

You clear your throat a little and shoot him a friendly smile. “You’ve been here for a while so I thought I’d get you some food to keep you going. I didn’t know how you took your coffee so I brought a couple packets of sugar in case. Oh, and don’t worry, it’s decaf, so you won’t have trouble sleeping when you finish up.”

He raises his eyebrows in bemusement but graces you with a small, close-lipped smirk. “Accountants are sharks, darling. We never stop swimming or we’ll drown.”

You blink, struggling to process what he means when you were so caught off-guard by the pet name. “Uh, we have normal coffee. I can come back with-“

“Decaf is fine. I’m just messing with you.”

“Oh.” You nod slowly, waiting for him to say thank you, but after a moment of silence that begins to get uncomfortable, you turn to leave. “Anyway, I better get-“

“You know what I can’t work out?” You freeze, mouth still half open from before you were interrupted. He waits for you to shrug before continuing. “Jin has always spent the most each month, that’s no surprise, but normally it’s because he buys expensive ingredients or wants to try new dishes all the time. But this month, he’s gone through an entire 20L tub of vanilla ice cream in less than two weeks. He’s brought two of them. Normally it takes about five weeks to go through one.” His eyes are hard, staring deeply into you, and all of a sudden you decide he probably wasn’t just joking when he said all accountants were sharks. “Why is that?”

The air is sucked out of the room. “I’ll- I’ll ask Jin for you and let you know what he says.”

He holds your gaze for a moment, then like magic the domineering energy fades away, and he rubs his eyes tiredly. “That would be great, thanks. God, report week turns me into a demon. I swear I’m not usually this harsh.”

You don’t trust yourself to reply with the rate that your heart is beating, so you let out a nervous laugh and leave as quickly as you can.

In Namjoon’s office is a list of all the employees contact details, and you track down Jin’s number while Namjoon is distracted with sending emails, sneaking out the back of the empty kitchen to call him.

Part of you feels guilty, since when he finally picks up after eight rings, his voice is a few octaves deeper and rusty from being woken up, but the two of you need to get your story straight before somebody catches you in a lie.

“I’m sorry for waking you, but it’s important.”

“You didn’t wake me. You can call me anytime, you know. I’ll add your number to my contacts after this so that I always know it’s you.”

Even though he lied about being awake, his words bring a blush to your cheeks. “Okay, if you’re sure. Anyway, Yoongi’s at the hotel sorting out the finances and he’s a little suspicious that you went through the ice cream so quick.”

“What? I haven’t gone through it already. I’m not that miserable.”

You sigh. “That’s not what- Look, all Yoongi can see on the receipts is that you bought a tub, and then two weeks later, bought another one even though you should’ve been barely halfway through the first.”

Jin swears, and if it wasn’t for the unfortunate context, you would’ve loved to hear it again in that raspy tone. “What did you say?”

“I said I’d call you and ask. We need to sort out what’s going on so that we don’t expose ourselves for misconduct. I know the ice cream thing is small, but Yoongi isn’t the only one that’s suspicious. Namjoon’s little brother was in the kitchen when I left. He knows something happened and if he knows we can’t guarantee he won’t tell Namjoon. And then what?”

“Namjoon won’t fire us.”

“Maybe not fire us, but he definitely won’t be happy if he finds out.”

Jin grunts. “If he gets mad, he’s a jealous hypocrite.”

Your response dies in your throat. “Wh- What? What do you mean?”

You hear a whistling in the static background of the call and figure he’s probably making himself a cup of coffee to wake up fully. The guilt at ruining his sleep returns again but he replies before you get the chance to feel too bad.

“Look, I wouldn’t tell you this if we weren’t already in this situation, but Namjoon isn’t going to think any less of you for being romantically involved with colleagues. It doesn’t happen often with the night shift since we’re all dudes, but Namjoon and I... we were together before my girlfriend and I even met.”

You thank your lucky stars you didn’t make this phone call while still in Namjoon’s office. “Together together?”

Jin sighs and takes a sip of his drink before continuing. “I worked here for a couple of years before he bought the place and saved us from shutting down. When he came in, he was barely 21. He didn’t know what he was doing, really, and he relied on me a lot since I knew more about the hotel and how things ran. I was grateful to him for saving my job and my career, and... things just went from there. We were together for just under a year.”

You bit your lip, dragging your teeth over the skin as you processed that information. “Okay. So it doesn’t matter if he finds out? Wait, why did you guys break up? Will he be mad that you went to me instead of him?”

He makes a strangled sound in his throat. “That’s personal, I’m afraid. I’m only telling you this so that you can sleep easy knowing your job isn’t on the line. I’ll handle Namjoon if he does find out, okay? Just tell Yoongi one of the kitchen hands left the tub on the bench and it melted so I got a new one. He’ll get grouchy that I didn’t just re-freeze it but he thinks I’m stupid anyway.” You stay silent, not wanting to admit you had completely forgotten about the whole ice cream ordeal in the wake of the news Jin had dropped on you. “I’m going to see if I can get some more sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow. If you want, you could come a bit early to work and I can make you some dinner after the service ends?” He would never admit it to you, but the way his sentence lifts at the end belies his nervousness.

“Yeah, that sounds great, Jin. I’ll be sure to send my compliments to the chef.”

He laughs. “Bye bye, now.”

“See you, Jin.”

You hang up and take a few moments in the musty closet to compose yourself before heading back down the hallway to the bar.

Recently, when going down to the lobby to check up on Hoseok, you’ve been as quick as you could manage without Hoseok getting suspicious, and you’ve successfully managed to leave before Jimin makes it over to the reception desk.

Tonight, however, Hoseok seems to have cottoned on to your desperate attempts, and is making you change the receipt rolls in the eftpos machine even though you know full well he can do it himself.

“Ah, so the new roll just goes in there, I see. Thanks for your help, muppet.” Hoseok is sitting at his chair, one elbow on the table, stroking his chin and nodding thoughtfully.

From the corner of your eye you see the bellboy ominously approaching and grimace. The last thing you need is Jimin bringing up your conversation about Tae. From the way Hobi grins at you when he thinks you aren’t looking, Jimin’s possibly told him already.

Although you studiously avoid looking up, you can see the brilliant smile stretched across Jimin’s face as he makes more progress than he has in the past week.

“Well, considering there’s literally no other place for it to go, and it was where you got the old one out, yes, Hoseok, that’s where the roll goes.”

He pulls a face at your attitude but doesn’t say anything.

Jimin calls out your name, and you stand up slowly in resignation.

“Feels like ages since we’ve spoke!”

Now that you actually look at him, you feel a little bad. Yes, he’s a shameless horndog who’s ass is so good you’ve been blackmailed into setting him up, but he doesn’t know about the whole Tae thing, and it’s clear from the way his smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes that he’s upset with the way you’ve been treating him.

You melt a little inside with shame. “Namjoon’s been super stressed with trying to get everything sorted for the monthly report, that he’s got me feeling anxious by association. I’ve kind of been running around like a headless chicken lately.” Both of those points were true, if not actually related.

“You get off in like an hour, right? Us three should go get breakfast after the day staff come in. Jennie’s usually here on time, although the receptionist lady is like twenty minutes late most of the time. I think she has kids to drop off to school, though, so what can you do?” He laughs shakily, catching himself from rambling too much.

Hobi jumps in to save him. “The coffee shop across the street does bagels, I think. We could go there, it’s pretty quiet before 8am.”

The angelic hope in Jimin’s eyes and the warning stare of Hobi make it impossible to say no. And a small part of you thrives on the attention the two men always give you. Okay, a pretty big part of you enjoys the attention.

“Only if you let me shout the coffees, I owe you for being a little distracted lately.”

The jingle of the doorbell means Jimin’s services are required, but he wraps you in a tight bear hug and whispers a goodbye in your ear before you go.

You breathe out heavily and lean against Hoseok’s desk, the two of you quietly watching Jimin chatting up the small family that have walked in, making conversation like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

“He’s got the biggest crush on you.”

Your observations are interrupted by Hoseok’s sudden comment. “What?”

He sways lazily back and forth in his chair. “I mean, probably all of us on the night shift are into you, we’re not blind, but he seems to really really like you. He was so upset when you weren’t speaking to him.”

“I knew you were acting all dumb to get me to stay at the desk longer.”

Hoseok blinks. “Huh? Oh, no, I actually did need your help with the eftpos machine. Normally I call Namjoon down to do it for me, so I’ve never done it myself.” He puts on a bright smile as the guests finally finish with their luggage and turn to approach the desk. He pauses. “Wait, what do you mean dumb?”

You snort, pat his shoulder, and leave him to deal with the guests.

It’s not until you are sitting across from Jimin in a cramped little cafe that you realise the implications of your previous conversation with Jin. This whole time, you were avoiding Jimin because of Tae’s perverted version of blackmail, but if Namjoon wouldn’t do anything should Tae tell him, then there was no reason for you to hold up your end of the deal.

Who needs to share, anyway?

“So, Jimin, what do you do outside of working?” You were a little sore that you had offered to pay for breakfast; the coffee was way too hot to even touch, and the bagels were soggy.

He lit up when you asked. “Actually, I’m a dancer.”

“Oh, no way!” You gave yourself a mental reminder to check him out once he stood up to see if he had a real dancers body. Up until that point you had only really paid attention to his gorgeous face and perfect ass.

“Yeah! Work’s a little rare for a dancer, though, so I’m posting some stuff on YouTube in the hopes that it’ll take off and go from there.”

Hobi, who was the only one of the three of you devouring his bagel, hummed enthusiastically around a mountain of cream cheese and jam. “He’s really great! You should check it out!”

Jimin’s smile softens and his cheeks heat up with the praise from his coworker. You get him to write the channel name on a napkin and promise to watch his videos when you get home. Even if you weren’t interested in his dancing, you were at the very least curious as to what he looked like out of his bellboy uniform and in some regular clothes.

The three of you spent almost an hour in the cafe, the two of them sharing stories about Jin setting a tablecloth on fire when serving a flambé dish, or Jungkook thinking that a scotch on the rocks used actual stones in the glass and you talking about the time you had to call a locksmith into the hotel at 2 in the morning because Namjoon somehow managed to break off the handle on the inside of his office and get locked inside.

By the time you parted ways, promising to find a better place to eat next time, it was well into the morning, just about 9:30, and you regretted choosing a coffee rather than something that would allow you to get some sleep.

Both men had already disappeared into the crowds, Hobi walking to his block of flats and Jimin catching the bus to his parents house, and instead of heading home yourself, you decided to return to the hotel, wide awake and ready for confrontation.

You went straight to Tae’s room rather than checking the bar or restaurant, and as luck would have it, he opened up a few moments after you knocked on the door.

He had the same sly grin on his face as he usually wore when he let you inside, leaning against the back of the door with his arms crossed.

“You have news?”

“Not the news you’re expecting.”

He frowns at this, tilting his head in confusion. “He’s not interested in me anymore?”

“I’m not interested in you anymore,” you counter. He scrunches up his face even more. “I’m not going to play matchmaker anymore. If you want to get your dick wet, you can do it yourself.”

You watch him curiously as he pushes off from the door, saunters past you and collapses onto the bed, one arm propping up his head. “Might I remind you that your job is on the line here?”

You shrug. “I would disagree with you. Fuck the bellboy, be my guest, but I don’t want to be a part of it.”

He shifts onto his stomach, grinning again. “Even if you aren’t helping me anymore doesn’t mean you don’t have to be a part of it. I already told you that you’re welcome to join.”

You scoff, but his intense gaze still has you flustered. “Thanks for the kind offer. I think I’ll pass.”

“Well, I suppose chefs are more your pay grade.”

A choked gasp of protest leaves your mouth. “Listen, mister, we didn’t have sex, we just kissed! And besides, it’s none of your business.”

For the first time since you’ve met him, Tae actually looks caught off guard. “Wait, you aren’t fucking him? Oh,” he mutters, “never mind, then.”

You stare at him incredulously. “How are you at all related to Namjoon?”

He sits himself up on the end of the bed. “I just thought...”

“You thought I was the hotel slut that slept with any living body within its walls?”

He rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah, kinda.”

“Well, that’s just...” You trail off, not sure how you could possibly respond to that. “You’re wrong. I’ve only worked here for a month.”

He smirks at you again, but more cheeky than sly. “So, what I’m hearing is that you’re not the hotel slut yet?”

Your lips twitch and you desperately try to keep a straight face. “Have a good day, Mr Kim.”

“Should I ask again in a couple weeks, or...?”

You turn to the door quickly but you know he saw your incredulous grin by the sing-songy way he calls goodbye.

[medilea]

My thoughts on The Legend of Heroes games.

I love them. Sky SC and The 3rd are probably some of my favorite games of all time. After playing through every game (minus Cold Steel 4) in the span of 2 and a half months, I feel compelled to tell every I know that likes JRPGs that they have to play these games. Buuuut that doesn’t mean I think these games are flawless. There are some things I really hate about this series. And I want to talk about the things I love and hate about the series.

Let’s start off with the positives.

1.) First and foremost, this series has a world that feels like it is alive and will continue to live even if the protagonists do nothing. My favorite way this was portrayed was in the Crossbell and Cold Steel arcs. Events in Cold Steel 1/Cold Steel 2 and Ao no Kiseki happen simultaneously. In Cold Steel 2 you get to see what’s happening in Crossbell from Erebonia and vice versa, albeit a bit weaker in Ao until the very end.

Another one of the ways it does this is by having in game readings of news articles, fiction, non-fiction, and reports. I love reading. This game is meant for people who like reading. It doesn’t matter what you like to read, but just know that if you play these games, ya gonna have to read. These readings paint the picture of a much broader world than the area you inhabit.

The world also feels alive is on a smaller scale. And that’s how towns have npcs that don’t even matter that still have their own little arcs and lives to live. Sometimes these characters will have a sidequest that will be the culmination of their arc but if the player doesn’t interact with them, the payoff won’t be there. This felt strongest in the Cold Steel arc, especially since CS1/3 takes place in a military academy, so you get to experience the stories of other students.

2.) This series is great for what it is when it comes to things like imperialism, class struggle, and war. The politics of this series is insane. Things that happen in game have happened or are happening in real life. I don’t want to spoil anything so I (and this pains me) won’t explain in further detail. Please just play them to find out.

3.) As a game, the combat is really fun. I’m a sucker for turn based fights and I love turn based combat even more when it shows the turn order. Also there are no random encounters so you’re mostly in complete control when determining when you want to fight.

4.) While on the topic of it being a game, it has something that I think should be standard for most games and definitely all JRPGs. It has a fucking fast forward mode! I love that. Going back and forth between areas isn’t a hassle, easy fights end in literal seconds, and you can fast forward through camera pans.

5.) Most of the characters are really cool! And there are a lot of them. The protagonists are dope. The antagonists are dope. It’s great. Of course there were a few I didn’t quite care for (sorry Millium) but there were also some characters I cared a little bit too much for, like Renne. So when I got to Star Door 15 in The 3rd lemme tell you I was literally sobbing.

I think the Crossbell arc was great with characters because unlike the other games, the main 4 party members you have are the ones you keep.

My favorite characters in the series are Kevin Graham, Randy Orlando, Estelle Bright, Wazy Hemisphere, and Crow Armbrust. If you have any intentions of playing this series don’t google anyone, and honestly, just don’t look at the wiki at all. Even if you think you’re safe because you’re not.

6.) Journey before destination. I got spoiled on so many things yet it was never ruined for me. Honestly they make it pretty obvious too with some things too that I want to believe that they’re just messing with us, because even if we’re spoiled or if something is predictable, it’s still a great journey. That being said, I know I mentioned that I didn’t want to spoil some things in #2, I just don’t wanna be the one to do it to you. I just believe that this series is best enjoyed blind. If you’re curious and accidentally learn something however, that’s still fine.

EDIT:

7.) The music!! How could I forget the music! Falcom’s music team puts out some absolute bangers. Here’s one of my favorite battle themes they put out.

Bonus.) I just want to give a special shout out to Trails in the Sky FC. It’s the very first game that starts off this grand interconnected story and I’m so happy that the main character is Estelle. I think it’s huge because for a JRPG that came out in 2004, Falcom made their main character a loud, brash, rude, and strong ass young woman that grows into an incredible person (that is still loud, brash, and rude). I just love them for that. Estelle’s the best...elle.

And now about some of the things I hate. For some of these I understand that there are cultural and ideological differences, but they still made me, ah, uncomfortable.

1.) Homophobia. Right off the bat. While it’s never direct with its homophobia, LGBT characters’ sexuality is often responded to with a 😅 from all the characters. But that’s not the main issue. The issue is that two out of the (potential) three LGBT characters, (If there are more I’m sorry but I only caught the outright stated) Olivier and Angelica, are constantly portrayed as predatory and I think that’s just a bad look honestly.

I do have to give props however for their portrayal of some characters’ gender. It’s not outright stated but from context clues I was able to assume that a certain main character in Crossbell was non binary. Being non binary myself that could be me projecting but idk it seemed pretty clear.

2.) In the Cold Steel arc it feels like a lot of the women there are supposed to be part of the Rean’s harem. They’re all wonderfully written within their personal storyline but when it comes to romance it’s just kinda cringe. Especially when in CS3 where Rean is an adult, a lot of them are minors. Hell, while we’re at it, while infrequent, there’s also sexualization of minors in general. It mostly comes down to some temporary outfit designs and I would say there’s nothing inherently sexual about most of them, but that’s if they were real people able to make their own choices...which they’re not. Someone designed those.

Finally I just have to mention why the hell do the characters act like if Tita and Agate were to date that’d be fine. He’s 28 and she’s 16 (CS3). They’re not together thankfully because only she has a crush on him, but like I said, characters think it would be ok and that’s an issue for me.

Now on to topics about the game/story itself instead of shitty things like these

3.) Within the first bit of CS1 there’s one of those “oops we fell and accidentally ended up in a unique position” things and I just hate those. Stop that. It’s treated as an interpersonal and a communication issue that lasts for hours of game time.

4.) In some story battles you’ll do great only to see the cutscene afterward show you losing, only to be saved by a stronger ally. It kind of made me feel like what I did was useless. Sometimes you also are supposed to lose a fight but you don’t know it.

5.) Sometimes you could get swept up in a wave of exposition that lasts for half an hour or more. You don’t know when this will happen. This was no issue for me but that’s because I was unemployed when I played them so I had a lot of free time. Your time should be respected.

6.) Crossbell games haven’t been officially localized so if you’re impatient like myself then you have to make do with translations that are just ok.

I’ll have a final point that’s kind of a spoiler so as for now I’ll rate the games and show the recommended playing order with an explanation. Even the last place rank is a good game though. I’ll post the final point at the very end so if you’re reading this and wary of spoilers you can finish after the conclusion.

Ranking:

Sky SC > Sky the 3rd > CS3 > (Ao = CS1) > (Sky FC = CS2) > Zero

Play Order:

Release Order: Sky FC, SC, 3rd, Zero, Ao, CS1, CS2, CS3

How I played them: CS1, CS2, All of Sky, All of Crossbell, CS3

How I would replay them: Sky, CS1, CS2, Crossbell, CS3

Since the first 2 CS and 2 Crossbell games are happening simultaneously there are many things that overlap. In my opinion I think that the Crossbell games give away more things about the Cold Steel games than the other way around.

If you read this, thank you for taking the time to do so. These games are really incredible and I highly recommend them to anyone that enjoys JRPGs. If you do decide to play, enjoy. Please talk to me about them.

7.)

Character deaths aren’t impactful because no one in this damn series stays dead. It gets really annoying after a while.

[dannyphandump]

Dancing Around the Truth pt. 4

(Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | to be continued) (Read on AO3 | FFN)

Summary: The last thing Valerie wanted was to get caught up in Paulina’s plot to ask Phantom to the winter formal.  Unfortunately Paulina’s made sure she doesn’t have a choice.  Meanwhile, Danny just wants to finish his Algebra quiz.  For @phantombreadproject for the Christmas Truce 2018.

Other Notes: Finally back around to updating this!  I’m hoping to only have one chapter left after this one.

Today 4:27 AM

I’m sorry

That text hadn’t left Valerie’s mind since she’d read it upon waking up this morning.  Just two words from Danny, no context.  Of course, it wasn’t that hard to guess; he had to be apologizing for lying about dating her.  But 4:27 AM?  He should’ve been asleep, not worrying about something as dumb as that.  It didn’t matter if Paulina thought that Phantom wanted to date her, so long as she didn’t connect him to Danny.

She hiked her backpack up higher on her shoulder as she stepped off the bus and headed towards the courtyard.  It was always tempting to take her board instead of the smelly, packed deathtrap, but she only risked that when she was running seriously late.  After this whole fiasco with Paulina, she might not even be able to do it then.

If she’d flown here though, she might’ve had more time to talk to Danny before first period.  If he was even here yet… which he wasn’t, she realized after a quick scan of the area.  Sam leaned against a tree and chatted with Tucker, but there was no sign of their other friend.  Alarm bells went off.  What if Danny hadn’t been apologizing for what he’d said? What if he’d gotten caught in a ghost fight and he’d gotten hurt, or –

Or I’m completely overreacting, she thought, mentally rolling her eyes at herself.  She might not be used to Danny Fenton throwing himself into danger, but she knew Phantom was tough.  He wasn’t going to get himself hurt that easily.

She nearly jumped out of her skin when an incorporeal hand tapped her on the shoulder.  She spun, ready to summon her suit and blast whatever ghost had snuck up on her – when the wispy outline of Phantom faded into view.

“Sorry,” he said quickly.  “Can you cover me?”

It took a few seconds for her shocked system to recover enough to answer.

“I –  uh, sure.”

He grinned, an eerie look when his teeth somehow seemed more solid than the rest of him.  Then he touched down and stood behind her.  White rings split from his middle, leaving behind a perfectly human-looking Danny Fenton.  She gasped faintly.  She’d seen half-ghosts transform before, but never so close.  She could physically feel Phantom’s cold aura disappear as he changed back into the form of her friend.

She frowned as a thought occurred to her.

“Do you do that often?  Change in public like that?”

“Well, yeah, I guess.” He shrugged, far too nonchalant for someone whose secret identity could’ve just been blown.  “Only when no one’s looking, though.”

She scanned the courtyard.  It was true; everyone was busy chatting with their friends, but still.  She’d never risk her secret like that.

“You should still be careful,” she admonished.  “Especially around me. I don’t think Paulina’s going to just let me go now that she thinks you like me.”

“Oh.”  His cheeks reddened as he rubbed his neck.  “I really didn’t think that one through.”

She couldn’t argue with that.  She couldn’t blame him either, though; Paulina probably wouldn’t have left him alone for anything less.  The other girl had hardly let him go even after that.

“It’s fine.  I can handle her.”  She shrugged, trying to keep her voice casual as she asked, “So, that’s all it was?  Not thinking?”

“No!”  He said quickly, holding out his hands.  “I mean – yes, but – agh.  I’m really sorry, Val.  I didn’t mean to ask you like that.”

Her heart sped up.  Embarrassment still stained his face pink, but she cracked a smile.

“So how did you mean to ask me?”

His eyes widened.  “I didn’t – wait, did you want me to?”

Did she?  On one hand, her situation was too complicated for a dating life.  On the other hand, she had really liked Danny.  If it hadn’t been for the ghost hunting, she would’ve gone out with him forever ago.  She’d thought that was too dangerous to drag him into.  How ironic, she almost snorted.

“Nevermind,” he answered, kicking at the snow with the toe of his sneaker.  “It’s fine.  I shouldn’t have – you just barely found out who I am.  It wasn’t right to ask now.”

In spite of his words, she could see the light drain from his blue eyes as his shoulders drooped.  He really wore his heart on his sleeve – unlike with the A-listers, she’d never have to worry about where she stood with him.

“...I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she finally said with a small smile.  He looked up, lips pursed and eyebrows drawn together.

“What do you mean–?”

She lightly smacked his arm.  “Lighten up.  You’re not supposed to be the serious one.”

She could see the memory hit him, bringing a grin back to his face.

“So–”

“Shh, you didn’t even let me answer.”  She raised a finger and tried to hide the tight nervousness in her chest.  “One date, Fenton.”

His grin filled his whole face.  “Really?”

Like she could’ve said no to that face.  She hadn’t realized just how much she’d missed it.

“Yeah, really.  Just not to the dance, I wouldn’t want Paulina to–”

“You wouldn’t want me to what?”

Valerie saw Danny jump before she fully processed the voice. Of course.  Paulina just had to show up right behind her.  She turned slowly, not about to show weakness.

“Uh…” Danny’s face went redder than it had already been.  

“None of your business,” Valerie curtly told the other girl, before Danny could make up a lie that would get them both in even deeper trouble.

“Uh, when you’re talking about me it is my business.”  Paulina put her hands on her hips.  The bell rang for them to go to class, but she didn’t show any sign of budging.  In the distance, Sam and Tucker sent the three of them a worried glance, but Danny subtly nodded at them to go inside.  Valerie wondered what lengths those two would go to get Paulina off Danny’s back, if necessary.

Must be nice, she thought.  Having friends you can count on.

Well, now Danny was counting on her.  Unfortunately, her mind was just as blank as his.  

“I was just, uh, wondering if anyone had asked you to the dance,” Danny ended up saying before she could come up with anything.  To his credit, it was a believable enough story.  There were a million other boys at school who must be asking the same question.

Paulina’s face instantly hardened.  “That’s none of your business, loser.”

“Hey,” Valerie said.  “You don’t have to talk to him like that.”

“And I don’t have to talk to you at all, Gray.  Unless you want me to let slip something you’ll regret.”  Her voice barely tremored, betraying that she wasn’t as put together as she appeared.  Danny’s comment had hit her harder than Valerie had realized.  Either she was still bitter about being rejected in general, or she really had liked Phantom that much.  It was even weirder to consider now that she knew who Phantom was.

“Calm down, Paulina,” she said.  She couldn’t blame her for still being upset.  She could blame her for taking it out on her, but that wouldn't help right now.  “Let’s just get to class.”

She stood stiffly for a moment like she might argue, but finally spun on her heel and stalked off towards the school.

“That was… weird,” Danny said softly, in case Paulina could still hear them.  “I’ve never seen her so…”

“Upset?”  Valerie volunteered when he fished for the word.

“I was going to say mean, but… I really hurt her, didn’t I.”  He sighed. “You’d think I’d feel better after how many times she turned me down, but it still sucks.”

“You can’t make everyone happy.  I’m sure she’ll get over it soon.”  She hoisted her backpack higher up on her shoulders.  “Come on, neither of us can afford to be late to Tetslaff’s class again.”

He smiled a little.  “Race ya?”

She snorted.  “What are we, five?”

“You’re wasting time, Val!”  He said as he ran off towards the school, his purple backpack barely slowing him down.  She just laughed and raced behind.

XXX

It didn’t make sense.  None of it did.  But she hadn’t misheard — Valerie had agreed to go on a date with Fenton.  And she’d tried to cover it up, both of them had.  Maybe she shouldn’t have confronted them about it, but she was just so —

“Ugh!”  She squeezed her makeup brush so hard it almost snapped.  She’d resorted to hiding out in a storage closet and doing her makeup by her hand mirror and the flashlight of her phone; the bathroom was too risky right now.  She didn’t want to run into Valerie or even Star, not like… not like this.  But with enough work, she could cover up the redness around her eyes.  The redness that was rapidly returning as she fought to hold the water back.

She hadn’t meant to cry.  She didn’t cry; she’d trained herself better than that.  Even if Phantom was the only boy she’d ever liked, what did it matter?  Her papa would eventually have her marry some more prestigious man anyway, whether she wanted to or not.  Even if it meant sleeping with a man she would never, could never be attracted to.  Because — and only now would she finally admit it to herself — she wasn’t attracted to anyone.

But that wouldn’t have mattered to Phantom.  He was a ghost; he couldn’t, wouldn’t want her for her body, right?  So they could have been together forever and he never would have done what her last boyfriend had tried to do, what she was so afraid would happen again —

Stupid, useless gasping sounds leaked from her lips.  Tears smeared her half-done makeup down her face.  Useless.  She shouldn’t be skipping first period anyway, but at this rate she’d have to skip second too before she could pull herself back together.  And all over a stupid — a stupid boy!  She was the one who was supposed to have this effect on people, not the other way around.

But it wasn’t just the rejection that had gotten to her.  Valerie was going to turn down Phantom — and to go out with Fenton, of all people.  That meant she had another chance, right?  Phantom would be crushed, and then…

...That wasn’t what Paulina wanted.

She wiped her eyes on the back of her sleeve, for once forgetting about the mascara and foundation that would end up smeared there.  She’d never expected to feel like this… to feel sorry.  She’d done to Phantom what so many boys had tried to do to her: push and push until she finally relented.  She’d tried first to persuade and then to force herself into Phantom’s good graces.  But it didn’t work.

“I’m just a loser too now, huh?”  She whispered to herself, smiling a little as she sniffed.  

It was then that the door slammed open, flooding the storage closet with blue light.  The significance of that didn’t register; she was too preoccupied with the girl standing in the doorway.  Shock morphed into panic.

“Get out!”  Paulina practically snarled at Valerie.

“How was I supposed to know this closet was taken?”  She snapped back, shoving the door shut.  “I just need a place to change and I’ll be out of your hair.”

Valerie jumped into the air, her hoverboard sprouting from the soles of her shoes.  Despite her anger at the girl, she couldn’t help gasping in amazement as the suit slid over her.  If only Paulina had a suit like that, she could hide her puffy eyes with no problem.

“Wait a sec — did the ghost already come through here?”  Valerie asked. Paulina hadn’t even realized there was a ghost attack, though that explained the blue light outside.  The dark storage closet lacked the warning lights on the inside, apparently.

“Just get out, Gray,” Paulina repeated, hating the way her voice snagged.

“You’re… not planning to corner Phantom in here, are you?”  She asked dubiously.  Paulina let out a barking laugh, one she would’ve hated if she’d had the energy to care.

“What, you think he’s going to come looking for me?  After that?  And you think I want to see me like this?”  Paulina gestured to herself vaguely.  “You’re supposed to be the bright one, Val.”

Besides, even if she’d wanted to, how would she get him to come into a storage closet of all places?  The accusation didn’t even make sense.

“Then, why are you…?  Are you alright?”

Paulina sniffed; of all the people to see her like this, why did it have to be her?

“Doesn’t matter.  Go fight your stupid ghost, Gray.”

“I…” There was a long pause, and then Valerie’s board powered down, her suit retracting as she landed gracefully on the tile floor.  “I think I’ll let Phantom take care of it.”

This day just kept getting better and better.

“Oh, great.  Now you’d rather take out your anger on me than on the ghosts, huh? Is that it?”  Paulina scowled.  The phone flashlight barely illuminated Valerie’s face, but she didn’t seem to be scowling back… for once.

“No, I was just… worried about you, actually.”  Valerie took a seat on the ground next to Paulina.  “You took yesterday harder than I thought.”

“I’m over it,” she lied.  Valerie raised her eyebrows, but Paulina didn’t have to back down.  What could Valerie do, make her talk about it? ...Then again, Valerie was the only one she could talk to about this.  She was the only one who knew about her rejection.  If Valerie wanted to listen… would it hurt?  Paulina still knew her secret; Valerie couldn’t use anything Paulina told her against her.

“Paulina, I haven’t seen anyone cry this much since Dash lost the championship game last year,” Valerie said in that half-joking, half-deadpan tone Paulina hadn’t heard in so long.  It had been the perfect way to make fun of the boys without them catching on, and it had also been Valerie’s go-to method to cheer Paulina up.  In spite of everything, she hadn’t forgotten.  It was enough to make Paulina laugh just a little.

“He totally didn’t think we would notice, too.”  Paulina smiled.  “He tried to pass it off as ‘manly face sweat,’ remember?”

“Like I could forget that.”  Valerie chuckled; it echoed in the small space.  “This must sound rich coming from me, but… you don’t have to be like Dash.  It’s okay to cry.”

“You’re right.  You wouldn’t cry if you were me,” she said lowly, the moment of reminiscence broken.  “You’d be out there punching that boy in the face if he hurt you.  I guess you’ll probably end up punching him anyway, since you turned him down to go out with Fenton.”

Valerie’s dark eyes widened.  “You — you heard that?”

“Please, Val, I’m not stupid.  You two weren’t exactly being subtle.”

Valerie frowned at that, looking away.  “Well, I wasn’t exactly expecting eavesdroppers either.  You’re making it really hard for me to like you, you know that?”

“Then why are you trying?”  Paulina asked, not sure if she meant it sarcastically or sincerely.  Valerie held grudges; that was common knowledge.  By the time Paulina had realized the damage she’d done to the other girl, it had been too late to save their tenuous friendship.  Or at least, that’s what she’d assumed.

Valerie folded her legs under her, deliberately picking specks of dust off of her skirt.

“I guess because… I’ve ruined enough friendships by jumping to conclusions about people,” she admitted.  “I always thought you were just into Phantom because he was strong and pretty.”

“Handsome,” Paulina corrected; Valerie rolled her eyes, though her cheeks seemed a bit brighter in the dim light.

“Fine, handsome.  Anyway, I guess I didn’t realize you… actually cared.  Do you actually care?”

That was the last question Paulina expected to get called out on.  If it was about any other boy, it would’ve been easy to answer.

“...I did,” she admitted quietly, rolling her makeup brush between her fingers.  “I just… didn’t show it in the right way.  I acted like the entitled brat everyone thinks I am.”

Valerie nodded.  Paulina hadn’t wanted the girl to agree with her, but what could she expect?  

“Maybe that’s what it’s like to be in love.” She sighed.  “I guess I could handle not feeling that again.”

“It’s not like Phantom was your only shot at love, Paulina,” Valerie pointed out.  “You’re only seventeen.”

Paulina shook her head.  “Easy for you to say, Gray.  I’m… not like most other girls.  And not just because I’m unfairly beautiful.”

Valerie rolled her eyes.  “Then what is it?”

She debated whether or not it was worth sharing.  It would be a big risk, a potential disaster if her secret got out.  If all the boys found out she was off the menu, she could kiss the A-List goodbye.

But Valerie had already lived through that. Partly due to her unsettling vendetta against ghosts – but, in large part because of Paulina pushing her aside.  Maybe… if Valerie was willing, now was as good a time as any to start rebuilding their bridge.

“I don’t… I don’t really like boys,” Paulina mumbled.

Valerie blinked.  “Really?  So you’re like–”

“I’m not a lesbian,” Paulina grumbled, though she should’ve expected that.  “I don’t like anyone.  I meant it when I said the ghost boy was the only one I’d had a crush on.”

Valerie was silent for a while.  Too long.  Paulina was used to keeping others waiting, not the other way around.

“You can’t tell anyone, Gray,” she warned when the silence dragged on.  “Or your secret is as good as out.”

“Wha– why would I do that?  It’s none of my business if you like anyone or not.  I was just thinking about how it explained a lot.”

“Really?”  Paulina’s brow furrowed.  “Is it that obvious?”

“No, just – you never really seemed to understand why boys followed you around all the time.  You only talked about boys when someone else brought it up first, or if you wanted something out of them.  And Star and I were usually pretty sure you were lying about who you had crushes on when we were younger.”

“You – wait, you knew?”  Paulina gaped.  All this time, she’d been trying to cover it up, and –

“I didn’t know.  I probably wouldn’t have even guessed, honestly.”  Valerie stretched her legs back out.  “I don’t go sticking my nose into other people’s business.”

“Uh-huh.  Like you didn’t just come in here to bother me?”

“I was just trying to help,” Valerie held up her palms.  “But if you want, I can go now.  I’m still curious how you ended up getting a crush on Phantom considering all that, but that’s up to you if you want to talk or not.  I just want you to know that we don’t have to fight anymore.  I’m tired of holding grudges, especially over something like this.”

Valerie… didn’t care.  Not in a bad way, she just – she wasn’t like the gossipping A-Listers anymore.  It didn’t matter to her who Paulina liked or didn’t like.  It was such a foreign concept to Paulina, finding out a secret and not even considering using it.

“I guess we both have better things to do, huh?”  Paulina smiled sincerely. “I can’t explain entirely how I ended up crushing on Phantom… I think it’s because I knew he wouldn’t use me for my body, you know?  Since he’s dead and all.  I don’t think ghosts can do that, you know, physically.”  She shrugged.  “I didn’t expect to fall for him so hard.  I… wasn’t really thinking straight.  Especially when I was with you two last night, Val, I’m – sorry.”

“Huh.  So you do have a heart somewhere in there.”  Valerie punched her shoulder lightly.  She wasn’t one to be super sappy; that was enough for Paulina to know she was forgiven.  “We all make mistakes, Paulina.  Trust me on that one.”

“Is that your way of saying you’re sorry too?”

“I guess you could say that.”  She chuckled.  “I think we’ll both be sorry if we don’t haul our butts back to class soon, though.”

“Yeah–”

But before either of them could stand from the closet floor, a translucent figure came flying through the wall.

“Phantom?”  Paulina gasped.  Regardless of what she’d said, she couldn’t help her heart speeding up.  He was here, he was back, was he here to see her–?

“Paulina?”  He gaped back, his green eyes lighting up the room.  “Valerie?  What are you two– nevermind, sorry, I’m just gonna find a different closet.”

He was gone as quickly as he’d come, leaving Paulina blinking in confusion.

“Closet?  Why would Phantom be looking for a closet?”  She asked Valerie, who shrugged and dodged her eyes.

“Beats me.  Maybe he needed a mop to clean up some of the damage from the ghost fight, who knows.”

“Huh…”

Paulina followed Valerie’s lead in sneaking back out of the storage closet, forgetting that she hadn’t finished reapplying her make-up.  Whatever, she now had a bigger issue to deal with.

The last thing Valerie had told her had been a blatant lie.

[sophygurl]

WisCon 43 panel Antisemitism at WisCon

   Over the course of its existence, there have been many examples of antisemitism at WisCon—a trend often echoed in other leftist spaces, where microaggressions to naked hostility to just plain erasure keep occurring. Let's talk about why this continues to happen, why it's so rarely talked about, and what we can do to prevent it.

Moderator: Becky Allen. Panelists: Gerri Balter, Paul Goodman, Jessica Plummer

Disclaimers: These are only the notes I was personally able to jot down on paper during the panel. I absolutely did not get everything, and may even have some things wrong. Corrections by panelists or other audience members always welcome. I name the mod and panelists because they are publicly listed, but will remove/change names if asked. I do not name audience members unless specifically asked by them to be named. If I mix up a pronoun or name spelling or anything else, please tell me and I’ll fix it!

[Quick Notes: 1) This panel was created in large part (though not exclusively) due to a panel that I also attended last year and wrote my notes up about - which can be found here for my tumblr post and here for my DW post - each having their own replies/comments for anyone who wants to see those. The panel last year, called The Desire for Killable Bodies, went sideways when one of the panelists started spouting nazi apologism and other awful things. There’s a context for all of this, which is why I’m linking to my panel write-ups as they served as a space for others to share what they heard and experienced so that you can understand this context and also understand that this wasn’t just a couple of people upset - there was a large audience for this panel and lots and lots of us were upset, and lots of us made reports to the concom, and there is a consensus about what happened. 2) I add all of this because the panel I’m about to write up also had a disturbance in regards to what happened last year and I want to make sure there is full context for what happened with That, as well. 3) Also of note: I had to edit out the tags “nazis” and “antisemitism” for my linked post to appear in my own tags on my own tumblr blog so fuck that noise. I’m getting angrier and angrier about tumblr’s tagging rules - we should be able to tag shit like that for content warnings for fuck’s sake. Anyway, on to the actual write-up. 4) Well, one last note - the panel is, obviously, talking about incidents of experienced antisemitism at both WisCon and in other leftist spaces and it was hard for me, who is not Jewish, to take that all in. So be prepared that this is a difficult, but very important, conversation about to be reported on.]

Notes:

Becky began the panel by saying she was both sad and glad to be doing this. Everyone on this panel is Jewish, and everyone on the panel has experienced antisemitic microaggressions here at WisCon at some point or another.

Jessica said the incident last year was the most extreme one, but certainly not the first.

Paul introduced himself as a lawyer for public policy at a non-profit and said that he has experienced antisemitism here and in every progressive space he’s ever been in.

Gerri introduced herself saying that she is 74 years old and that she has experienced antisemitism her whole life. Her parents escaped the Ukraine after WWI and she grew up hearing horror stories.

Becky gave some background on what happened at the Killable Bodies panel last year. She added that safety did a good job at handling things after it all happened. 

Jessica added that she proposed this panel due to what happened at that panel.

At this point, someone in the audience popped in, asking if we were going to talk about the specifics of that panel and arguing about what was really said. It was clear that this person was friends with the panelist who said the offending comments last year and he was defending her and arguing with the panelists about their own experiences at that panel. Both Jessica and Becky worked to shut him down, and I noticed several folks in the audience standing up and getting ready to escort this person out if necessary. Becky finally said that if he kept on, he would have to leave - or he could be quiet and remain and listen. He chose to remain quiet, and remained so for the duration (at least to my knowledge - he was seated a bit away from me, but I didn’t hear any more interruptions, at least). 

Jessica went back to explaining about how she proposed this panel. She was worried there might not be enough people to be on the panel - some of the people she approached had said maybe, to go ahead and suggest the panel and put them on as possibilities. 

[As a side note - there are a couple of ways of staffing a panel like this. One, which is what Jessica did, is to suggest some possible panelists and programming can see about adding them to the list but other people can still volunteer to be on the panel. The other is to hand-staff a panel, which means the person proposing the panel has already specified who should be on the panel and it is otherwise closed to other panelists. This is often done when a panel absolutely has to have a certain demographic - such as a panel like this which necessitates an all Jewish panel or a panel about trans issues where you want everyone on the panel to be trans, etc.]

So, Jessica had gone with that first way and suggested some possible panelists, but there was a mix-up with programming and all of the names of the suggested panelists were listed as panelists, the panel was closed to volunteers, and private communication that Jessica had submitted to programming was also added to the published panel information. 

This was problematic for a number of reasons. One reason is that the people Jessica has suggested were all people in her own friend group, which included mostly people similar to herself. This was keeping voices different from herself from being on the panel, including people marginalized for other reasons. 

Another problem was the listing of names of people who had not decided if they wanted to be on the panel or not. For obvious historical reasons (and the panel gets into this in more detail a little later), public lists of Jewish people causes a lot of anxiety for Jewish folks. 

At this point, Becky and Jessica acknowledged that most microaggressions are not intentional. They don’t think, for example, that programming did any of this on purpose. 

Gerri said that she wasn’t here last year, but that she’s been coming to WisCon for a long time. She said WisCon used to be mostly people talking about books they’ve read. She remembers many years ago when she’d read Wandering Stars: A Jewish Anthology of Fantasy and Science and Fiction by Jack Dann and she was excited to be reading stories about Jews in space. 

Gerri recommended the book to someone at WisCon and that person kind of took a step back and said “I didn’t know you were one of those.” Everyone else in the group walked away, leaving her to confront this on her own. He then asked her if her name was her real name. 

Gerri was raised by parents who were always telling her to get ready for when she was no longer welcomed. But even living in a world with a lot of overt antisemitism, she didn’t really believe them about that until the moment described above.

Paul talked about how 11-20% of Jews in the US are POC, that Jews are poor and middle class at the same rates as everyone else, and that these are things people don’t always understand. He also said they were not going to discuss Israel on this panel, adding there could be a whole entire con just about that, but that one thing that happens, especially in leftist spaces, is a conflation of Israel with Zionism and Zionism with Judaism and Judaism with every individual Jewish person. 

Jessica told about a panel a few years back about Agent Carter. The focus was on the lack of diversity, which was true. But season two heavily implied that Howard Stark came from a Jewish family who had changed their name. The moderator of that panel waved it away as not very important. Jessica, in the audience, had tweeted using the # for the panel about how significant that representation was to her. The mod saw the tweet during the panel and apologized. 

Jessica also said that friends of hers who were not here shared their own stories about incidents involving everything from off-color Anne Frank jokes to serious incidents that were brought to safety. 

Becky said that they all kept repeating that they know most of these things are not malicious, but she wants to acknowledge that they still hurt. She wants people to think harder about these things, but she’s not trying to call specific people out right now. 

Becky added that as a white Jewish person, she’s in a liminal space of privilege and oppression. She notes that leftists do these kinds of microaggressions a lot, but they’re the ones that should care about Not doing them.

Gerri talked about how fandom began with a lot of Jewish people. So when she got into it, she felt it would be safe. Many cons used to have spaces for services programmed in and one even had a Passover room with food they could eat during the holiday. She’s not sure how or when that went away, but she misses it. Some of it might be the lack of ability to accommodate all religions.

Gerri also talked about conversations that end up leading to “those Jews and their banks”. She objects, but has been told she doesn’t understand because she’s Jewish. “I understand I didn’t have toys as a child because we were too poor.” People try and take it back and it can be hard not to just say it’s okay. 

Jessica talked about more of these things people believe falsely about Jewish people. One is the “Christ killer” thing. In a poll she saw, 60% of Americans believe that Jews killed Jesus. Actually - it was the Romans.

Paul said intent in these things doesn’t always matter. For example, he was told Jews make the best lawyers - this is supposed to be a compliment, but it isn’t. 

Paul and Jessica talked about some of the antisemitic dog whistles that people use such as “globalist” and “lizard people” - it used to be “Hollywood.” 

Becky added that there are a lot of fannish memes that use the lizard people one - folks don’t get that it originates from antisemitism. (Example: “I, for one, support our new lizard overlords.”)

Becky also talked about growing up in a small town where hers was the only Jewish family. She was asked if she had horns, and was asked to come to church with friends so that she wouldn’t go to hell. 

Becky said that Jewish people are always in fear of when it might be time to pack up and leave. Trumpism is making that fear feel very real right now. The idea of knowing there are people in her neighborhood who want her dead is hard. But it’s also hard that with the people she organizes with politically - events are often held on Jewish holidays. “I can’t organize on Yom Kippur - I’m too hungry!” 

Jessica talked about a time she was in France and didn’t want to go with friends to the Jewish museum because she didn’t want to telegraph her Jewishness. She grew up in Brooklyn and believed when she was younger that all white people were Jewish. Then she moved to NJ and heard her first Jewish jokes, and learned about “looking Jewish.” 

Jessica told a story about a boy she and her friend both had a crush on. But then she heard this boy make a joke about someone who was Jewish, saying “oh he must be hiding in the oven.” Her friend said it was no big deal and that Jews should get over the holocaust. 

Jessica said that the holocaust was the largest manifestation of antisemitic genocide, but that is because technology allowed it to be. Jewish history is full of examples of genocide. The joke about Jewish holidays is “they tried to kill us, they failed, let’s eat.”

Paul brought up the concept of generational trauma. Even if it hasn’t happened to you or in your lifetime, knowing your culture’s history and being told about it from your elders instills trauma all the same.

Becky posed the question to the panelists of how they would like to see WisCon and other spaces supporting Jewish people.

Paul talked about Jewish holidays not being recognized. Also - when antisemitic microaggressions happen - someone else needs to step in. It can’t only be Jewish people doing the work themselves.

Gerri said to simply think before speaking and if something comes out bad - apologize and mean it. Then work harder at it.

Jessica said she thought the idea of services was a good one. She added that she requested this panel be on a Sunday due to Shabbat.

Jessica would also like more recognition about the pluralism of Jewishness. And generally just more axis of diversity when it comes to all religions.She notes that even discussions of atheism tend to come through a Christian lens. 

Becky said that a lot of things that are considered to be secular or neutral are not. For example: Christmas.

Jessica added she’d like the removal of the phrase Judeo-Christian. It means nothing. If you mean Abrahamic religions, say that, and make sure you’re including Islam. 

Gerri advised asking questions so that you don’t unintentionally hurt people.

Becky talked about a panel this year about Crazy Ex-Girlfriend and The Good Place. Someone had said that Judaism was not used in the main character on Crazy Ex-Girlfriend. Becky had raised her hand to say that no, her Judaism was important. The panelist apologized and admitted they were out of their lane. It was a good exchange. If something is said wrong in good faith - it’s not an issue for it to be brought up.

Jessica added that one of the core values of Judaism is asking questions. 

That said, Becky said it was time for audience questions but set some guidelines first. No talking about Israel, as that’s a derail. No oppression olympics. The panelists are allowed to stop or to just not answer if they wish. And there will be no denying any of the panelists experiences. 

The first audience question was about how to better understand Jewish experiences. 

Gerri didn’t have a specific rec because each book or perspective is just one out of many.

Jessica talked about the difficulty in rec-ing a list of Jewish authors without creating a Nazi hit list. But she added that a lot of our pop culture is Jewish - comic books, comedy, musical theater, etc. 

Gerri rec’d an old movie - Gentleman’s Agreement with Gregory Peck. 

Paul said that a useful exercise is when watching media and a Jewish character is on screen - how are we being treated? Often, it’s not good. 

An audience member rec’d the wikipedia article on antisemitism. 

Becky said - what if we stopped having space Jews who are greedy, such as the Ferengi. 

Jessica said the only good Jews in space is Mel Brook’s Jews in Space.

Someone in the audience discussed the conspiracy theories about cabals and Jewish people having secret privilege. This undercuts the actual oppression of Jewish people. Antisemitism is getting bolder again, so we have to be more loud about confronting it. There is a culture of assimilation due to the fear of “being on the list” and the trauma around that. The audience member acknowledged they were layering questions within questions, but Jessica said “no, this is very Jewish, keep going!” 

Gerri said that when she was growing up, Jews were loud. Her mom would tell her to be more quiet or they’ll think you’re Jewish. She was like, well I am Jewish! But there can be a real fear that being loud might cause you to die. 

Paul recommends punching Nazi’s every day. 

Jessica advised allies to ask how to best support. She gave the example of the triple parenthesis issue on twitter, which was something supremacists were using to designate people they thought were Jewish. Some people started using the triple parenthesis on purpose in protest, but this was very upsetting to a lot of Jewish people due, again, to the issue of the list, being publicly Jewish, the generational trauma there, etc. Jessica said to speak for Jewish people when necessary, but never over them.

Becky asked the panelists for last words or rec’s.

Gerri said Isaac Asimov

Paul said there are lots of resources at Jews for Racial and Economic Justice.

Becky said Crazy Ex-Girlfriend, also the author Katherine Locke - specifically The Girl with the Red Balloon, a time travel book with Jewish characters. 

Jessica said there are too few YA speculative fiction books with Jewish characters. She does recommend early comics by Stan Lee, Jack Kirby, etc. Superman, Spider-Man, and others are all based on Jewish themes. She also recommended the first Independence Day movie and Rose Lerner’s romance novels. 

And that’s all I got! Also my last write-up for this year. The other panels I attended, I just didn’t get enough decent notes down to make a write-up worthwhile. Might make a round-up post and add some comments on the panels I was on, but not sure. 

[makingthetwinsrelevant-blog]

Why this year is different (although 5 game series are often skewed by sample size and who knows if it will even matter)

I’ve heard a lot of commentary about the Twins season. None of it is too optimistic about their prospects in the playoffs, and that’s understandable. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uLIt6xGSqek

That link is the game following the last playoff win in franchise history. It boils down to one mistake, leaving Joe Nathan to try for a third inning. Since then and including that game, the Twins are 0-13, with 10 of those losses coming against the Yankees, who the Twins will play this year for the Division series. But the Nathan mistake isn’t why we lost that series, nor is the Torii Hunter missed catch in ‘06 the reason we lost that series.

A lot of folks think we’re cursed, and that certainly would work as a narrative. A-Rod’s RBI double in 2004, or his home run in ’09 preceding Texiera’s walk-off. Curtis Granderson’s triple in ’10 comes to mind. But everything must come to an end- the curse of the Bambino did, as did the Cubs’, and the Twins aren’t going to lose every playoff game for the rest of their existence. It starts with one game, and I think the 2019 squad is built to do that. Here’s why:

2002 Twins 86-75

2003 Twins 85-77

2004 Twins 87-75

2006 Twins 93-69

2009 Twins 86-77

2010 Twins 92-70

2017 Twins 83-79

2019 Twins 98-64

 These are the Pythagorean records for all Twins playoff teams since I have been conscious, and it really validates what I stress when I talk about the 2019 Twins, which is that this is the first team I’ve ever seen that is actually GOOD. Like good good. ALCS good. Which is why we can beat the Yankees this year, legitimately, or at least take it to game 5. Let me explain:

 2002-2018: From Rick Reed to Addison Reed

The 2002 team had no fear. The playoffs were brand new and they won a weak AL Central with solid contributions from tons of guys- no mid 2010’s Detroit Tigers stars and scrubs BS here. 12 guys had more than 2 bWAR (a measure of overall value from baseballreference.com- 0 means totally replaceable, anything above 5 means a star player), including a career year for J.C Romero, who as a lefty pitched in 81 innings, allowing a total of 17 runs, with 3 home runs, 62 hits. bWAR for his season was 3.6. We also got nice above average seasons from Corey Koskie (How good could he have been not under the Twins slap hitting tutelage and minus his later concussion issues?), Bobby Kielty, Tony Fiore (91 good innings out of the pen), Kyle Lohse, Dustan Mohr; even Rick Reed was pretty good that year. The Giants and the Angels were better constructed teams, and it would have been a miracle for the Twins to go all the way that year. I couldn’t believe when they beat they A’s, and I couldn’t believe when Joe Mays shut the Angels down in Game 1. 8 innings, no runs and the Angels could not get a barrel to the ball to save their lives. We lost to the Angels because they were a better team (They won 99 games that year) but like the Astros in 2015, it was a good stepping stone for a solid core of guys.

The 2003 team was worse. There was no David Ortiz and only Brad Radke had an ERA+ (a measure of pitching that corrects for context, average score is 100) that was above average in our regular rotation. It was 101.  Shannon Stewart and Johan Santana had to save the season and lift us over the White Sox* and Royals, who had a magical season 11 years before they meant to- they had prime Mike Sweeney and Carlos Beltran, but their #1 pitcher (as I recalled but had to confirm) was Darrell May, who had a legitimately good season but would never do THAT again.

*I’m pretty sure the White Sox were the better team that year. They had prime Bartolo, Mark Buehrle, early ok Jon Garland and that one of year of Esteban Loaiza where he almost won the CY Young (226.1 innings of 2.90 ERA ball with a k rate of 8.2, his career k rate was 5.9). They also had prime Magglio Ordonez and Carlos Lee, and this was one of the years in the oughts where Frank Thomas stayed together and hit 42 bombs.

But the Twins prevailed with Shannon Stewart magic plus solid years from Mientkiewicz, Koskie and Pierzynski, won Game 1 against the Yankees because we let Johan Santana free (for 4 innings, as that was the game where he didn’t eat enough potassium and cramped out of the game), and then got swept the rest of the way, getting shut down by Andy Pettite Roger Clemens and David Wells. It was kind of an accidental bullpen game in game 1, but more on that later.

 The ‘04 Twins went back to being pitching dominant, with the first year of full season Johan (and his best year) and Joe Nathan joining the fold along with lights out Juan Rincon (watch him strike out Jorge Posada in the 8th in game 2). Radke was great, and Carlos Silva soaked up the rest. If Joe Mauer hadn’t gotten hurt that team could have been something, because the lineup was rough and relied a lot on career year Lew Ford (more on that later). Doug Mientkiewicz, Jacque Jones, Christian Guzman and Henry Blanco all struggled to various degrees. Morneau provided a spark in the second half, taking over for Mientkiewicz at the trade deadline and hitting 19 bombs.

As I inferred, I put myself through watching game 2 of the ALDS against the Yankees (up 1-0) recently and everything that I remembered from it came rushing back: Koskie’s double against Rivera that would have scored 2 but bounced into the stands, instead tying the game at 5. Then Hunter’s big home run in the 12th, and Nathan to all the world looking like he was out of gas in his third inning of work in the 12th - with 1 out he walked Miguel Cairo as well as Jeter to bring up A-Rod. What I didn’t remember was that Nathan threw a decent slider off the plate down and away, and A-Rod showed why he was one of the top 5 hitters of his generation and almost hit it out, poking a ground rule double (were it a regular double it would have been a walk off) to tie the game. After intentionally walking Sheffield, J.C Romero got Hideki Matsui on a soft fly out to Jones in right, and a good throw would have gotten Jeter. That didn’t happen, and one Carlos Silva start and a Rincon implosion later the Twins were done. The Twins hit well in the series after not doing that all season, but two decisions cost them: leaving Nathan in obviously, and giving Carlos Silva (and Kyle Lohse) a start. The lineup had gotten hot, but archaic ideas about how to use pitching in the playoffs cost them big- although those ideas wouldn’t truly be challenged until Craig Counsell took the Dodgers to 7 games in 2018.

I was jazzed about ’06. They had a good power and speed mix (On base percentages of Bartlett, Castillo and Punto: .367, .358, .352) with Morneau and Mauer both breaking out to post over 10 bWAR between them, Santana winning another Cy Young, and Francisco Liriano having his Greek tragedy. The bullpen was great, with Nathan having arguably his best year, Dennys Reyes giving up 5 runs the whole year and Rincon, Pat Neshek and Crain pitching in solidly.

But Barry Zito outdueled Santana in game 1, Mark Kotsay hit his inside the park home run on the ball Torii dove for but couldn’t keep in front in game 2 (right after we had tied the game with back to back jacks from Cuddyer and Morneau). And that was all the starting pitching we had- with Liriano done, and Boof Bonser pitching out of his mind in game 2, we had can’t-brush-his-teeth torn rotator cuff Brad Radke trying to gut his way through and running out of guts. And cartilage.

Maybe Craig Counsell or Kevin Cash could have made it work, but in 2006 there just wasn’t enough pitching.

In ’09 we had MVP Joe Mauer, Jason Kubel’s best year and Denard Span’s emergence. But the pitching relied a lot on Nick Blackburn and the mad rush to beat the Tigers in game 163 left us with Brian Duensing in game 1 against the Yankees. Brian Duensing was a nice pitcher that year, but he couldn’t handle that assignment. Game 2 was the Phil Cuzzi calling a fair ball foul game, the most errant umpiring call I know of next to the Armando Gallaraga perfect game disaster. Mauer singled anyway to start the 11th. So did Kubel and Cuddyer. Bases loaded, no outs, Delmon Young at the plate- he scaldes a line drive to Texiera at first for a loud out. Carlos Gomez grounds into a fielders choice at home, and Brendan Harris pops out. Kinda deserved that walkoff.

Who are you pitching with this team in a 7 game series anyway? And depth was an issue as well, otherwise Harris wouldn’t have come in for MATT TOLBERT, Gomez wouldn’t have hit with his .623 season OPS, and nor would Delmon with his .733. Blackburn and Pavano combined to go 12 innings, allowing 3 total runs between them in games 2 and 3, so even with those bonuses the fact that the team couldn’t even get to 4 games says a lot.

2010 could have been something, with a good offense led by Mauer and Thome, the one year Delmon Young was good, the year we had J.J Hardy and Orlando Hudson and Liriano had 200 k’s. But Morneau got his concussion, Nathan had Tommy John surgery, Kubel Cuddyer and Span all had bad years and it came down to Curtis Granderson hitting a clutch triple off of a cruising Liriano (The Twins led 3-0 going into the bottom of the 6th). Then the Twins realized that as nice as their seasons were, Carl Pavano and Duensing weren’t pitchers you rely on in the postseason- they pitched to contact and if their command wasn’t perfect they would get exposed. Guess what happened.

In 2017 the team wasn’t good. And they wouldn’t have made the playoffs if the Orioles, Angels and Royals didn’t all collapse while the Twins played .500 ball in September. Their starting pitching was average, with a great Ervin Santana season and a good Berrios one. But unlike the other teams on this list, the bullpen was suspect, with a not-quite-figured-out Ryan Pressly, sinker throwing Tyler Duffey and a Matt Belisle on the right side with a non-slider throwing Taylor Rogers on the left. Alan Busenitz and Trevor Hildenberger had career years but weren’t helpful in the Wild Card game, or really ever again.

The offense was the best of all the teams so far in a bit of foreshadowing, scoring 815 runs and featuring the last good Brian Dozier season, the start of Jorge Polanco busting out, and Joe Mauer having one last .300 season. Miguel Sano looked like a star for 3 months, then busted his shin and got a titanium rod inserted into it because he doesn’t care about baseball or something. Byron Buxton even had his first sustained period of excellence in the second half (and played 140 games!)

 Relying on the back end of the rotation

Those are the 7 playoff teams of the millennium. And here are the Game 3 starters for each ALDS team starting with ’02:

Rick Reed

Kyle Lohse

Carlos Silva

Zombie Brad Radke

Carl Pavano

Brian Duensing

 That group had a combined record of 0-6. This year the hope is that the new regime is smart enough to know that, even though they have 2 starters in Kyle Gibson and Martin Perez who are comparable to that group, and who tried hard and won double digit games, their best bet is to bullpen that game.

One aspect of the playoffs that teams are getting wise to but which have killed Clayton Kershaw in the past, is the inclination to “trust your guys” and “dance with the girl who you brought” or some other idiom about sticking with a certain pitcher out of loyalty or sense of obligation. Carlos Silva had a good ’04 season; of course Gardy would want to give him a playoff start. His results were quite a bit better than Kyle Gibson’s 2019.

But hitters hit .310/.342/.462 against Silva that year. You’re trusting your season to him continuing to get lucky. He gave up 10 hits and the series swung 2-1 to the Yankees.

 Results aren’t predictive

What we have in 2019 is the possibility that the Twins brass has learned from the mistakes of the past. You saw it in 2017 when they traded our closer, Brandon Kintzler, at the trade deadline. They knew that despite what the results showed, the team wasn’t good. Even though they got hot and made the WC game, they knew it wasn’t sustainable yet, and didn’t go crazy on free agents or win-now trades.

What the Levine Falvey regime did was take an objective view of their assets (is Mike Morin’s success sutainable? No? Ok then I won’t pitch him in the 7th inning of a playoff game. In fact, I’ll let him be the Phillies problem). They also threw all the “Twins way” shit out the window. No more getting benched for not going the other way, or for trying to hit a home run. And I know that point of view is very much a feeling and not really tangible- something inferred from David Ortiz’s comments years ago, a general sense watching games announced by Dick Bremer and Bert Blyleven, that power is nice but luxurious, as though wanting it too badly should be a sin. And then you have Joe Mauer, who embodied every aspect of that feeling- a guy who looked for his whole career like he could hit home runs, but didn’t because he wasn’t flashy, he didn’t want to draw attention to himself and must have believed that slapping singles and doubles to left field would be a more productive route in the end.

Here’s the big secret about Joe Mauer: As talented as he was- as a catcher, in his general coordination, in his eye at the plate, and his ability to slap an RBI single in some key spots for 14 years, he was kind of a moron. Seemed like he was a nice guy. But he has never in his life said anything remotely close to insightful and I truly believe that he earnestly and wrongly thought he could best serve his team by staying behind the ball and slapping it to left field. He was probably told that from a young age.

He mistook an illusion for a reality, and so did the Twins for 51 years. Every color guy on every team’s broadcast will talk about the importance of the fundamentals, getting the guy over, laying down a good bunt and going the other way. They will talk up players who do that for eternity, and constantly lament how the game isn’t played that way anymore. To every team trying to win, this is taken with a big fucking grain of Morton brand industrial sidewalk salt. They want 2-3 guys like that. To the Twins it was religion. They wanted 12-15 guys like that. They wanted Matt Tolbert, Nick Punto, Denny Hocking and Juan Castro. The did NOT want J.J Hardy or David Ortiz.

This has changed, hopefully, and with Mauer gone, it may have rinsed away completely. We set the freaking home run record. Mitch Garver openly admits he is trying to hit home runs. Max Kepler found out his power is to the pull side. Jorge Polanco found out he could take a rip early in the count. It’s all new; it’s all different. And I’m not saying the Twins will beat the Yankees in the first round because of this philosophy shift. What I am saying is that the 2019 Twins are NOT:

A Cinderella team getting their feet wet around 12 slightly above average guys (2002)

A decent offense with no pitching plus Shannon Stewart (2003)

A great pitching staff 1-2 with an average offense that gave starts to Carlos Silva and Kyle Lohse in the playoffs (2004)

A team with Boof Bonser as its #2 (2006)

A team that relied heavily on Blackburn, Pavano and Duensing in playoff games (2009 and 2010)

A lucky team with no bullpen and 1.5 starters (2017)

 So maybe they will.

  What’s different now

The best team out of the prior playoff teams is probably the ’04 team, whose struggling offense didn’t struggle in the playoffs. And with Santana being the best and Radke being HIS best, a modern manager could have used their decent bullpen to build something.

Now imagine the ’04 team, except their offense is much better. MUCH better. And despite having only two effective starters, can bullpen their way to wins with a pen that goes 6-7 deep. And unlike a Tony Fiore or a Ron Mahay, or a Matt Capps or Alex Burnett, this bullpen does stuff you can’t fake- stuff you can’t luck your way into.

Opponents are hitting .157/.223/.245 against Tyler Duffey in the second half.

They’re hitting .159/.220/.354 against Trevor May

(Both those guys were good in the first half, too)

Taylor Rogers gave up a .225/.273/.353 line for the year

To my count there are 9 relievers that can be counted on in different spots- Rogers, Duffey, May, Romo, Littell, Stashak, Dobnak, Graterol and Smeltzer (by different spots I mean that Rocco won’t throw Smeltzer into the 8th inning of a tie game to face Aaron Judge).

That depth can be leveraged to overcome the loss of Michael Pineda, and the fact that Berrios and Odorizzi are no locks to be effective. Stashak and Smeltzer can both give you 3 innings of effective mop-up duty that keep games close, and allows the offense to come back by exploiting New York’s middling starting pitching, and mercurial late inning relief (Namely Britton, Green and Ottavino).

 How to cope when Lew Ford leads your team in total bases

Almost as importantly, the offense isn’t going to need guys who had career years to continue thriving in the post when they were clearly playing above their true talent level. Lew Ford carried the ’04 team at times, but he was still Lew Ford, and he showed it against the Yankees and for the rest of his career. Same with Nick Punto in ‘06. Nelson Cruz is a force who scares the Royals as much as the Yankees.

Mitch Garver didn’t hot streak his way into a 1000 OPS; he’s kept it above .919 since April 9th. Check his game log.

These guys are actually good. So is Max Kepler, who I hope is ok. You don’t hit 36 bombs with reverse platoon splits by accident.

Marwin Gonzalez isn’t a great hitter but I trust he’ll take a good at bat when we need him too. You’ll appreciate that when you watch rookie Jason Kubel swing at two straight pitches at his eyes against Rivera in ’04.

Eddie Rosario is the wild card, and teams NEED* a wild card:

*Delmon Young on the Tigers, Yasiel Puig on the Dodgers, Alfonso Soriano on the Yankees, Eric Byrnes on the Diamondbacks. Rafael Devers for the Red Sox last year. That’s Rosario. Everyone needs an underachiever from the regular season to come up in the post.

Rosario, Polanco, Garver, Cruz, Sano and Kepler could all be game changing offensive players in a short series, which is not a quantity we’ve seen since Morneau went down with his concussion in ’10.

There’s no curse, the Yankees just exploited an obvious weakness of the Twins 4.5 separate times. That weaknesses boiled down to smoke and mirrors results that translated to good regular season stats, which led to Terry Ryan and Gardy trusting those results to be predictive. The 2019 team wasn’t built that way, otherwise Brandon Kintzler might still be part of it. The bullpen will have to perform for a lot of innings, the lineup will have to score, and one of Berrios and Odorizzi will have to perform to or above his talent level. As likely as it has ever been, this team could, say it with me here- take it to a game 5.

[lol-jackles]

If you got the time to be my fandom psychologist for a minute, explain to me why the fuck do we care about who or who isn't a lead? What, are there bragging rights with lead titles? Why does it matter if Misha's a lead or not? Is there some prize or something at the end of this race that I don't see? It all started because J2 said they were the only main leads, then somehow thongs started giving friction burns with the twists people got. Why care? Just enjoy the character if you enjoy them.

Why care?  The pursuit of happiness (it’s even in the United States Declaration of Independence starring Will Smith).  What is the prize? Not being a loser.  Maybe they know they can’t win, but they don’t want to lose either.

First, I think everybody knows that all actors want to play the lead.  No actor says they want to be the greatest second banana ever or be famous for playing third wheels.  Misha’s fans instinctively believe he wants to play a lead so they say he’s a lead and by proxy soothe their own ego.   Though the fans are projecting, this isn’t entirely unreasonable because everybody is lead stars in their own lives.  I remind my teenage niece and nephews that “your boy/girlfriends are not supporting actors in your life.  They are lead stars in their own life.  How would you feel if others only see you as supporting characters in their life where your only purpose to revolve around them?”

Second, lead = bonafide popularity.  Directors can choose whatever actors they want for supporting roles but they have very little say in casting lead roles in films and tv shows.   Producers and marketing people hold the power to cast lead actors who have proven track records, popularity, and how bankable they are, I think even the most casual fan knows this.  A studio does not want to risk millions of dollars on a film or TV show with no bankable stars in the lead roles artistic decisions take second place to the need to reduce financial risks.  So if Misha is a “lead” then that means according to the risk adverse industry he really is popular and not just popular among a set a minority shippers aka the losers.  What is popularity?  It’s a place of power.  How often do you hear sports fans say “we won!” when their favorite team wins a championship even though the fans were sitting on a couch at home eating pizza while their team suffers concussions on the playing field?  Same for actors’ fans.

But how can they still say with a straight face that Misha is the lead when legit numbers like Nielsen ratings and Q scores don’t back it up, you ask.  Bubble world and echo chamber aside, they can tell themselves it’s not Misha’s fault he’s not getting acknowledgment and respect he deserves as a “lead” because of “the thief”.

Let’s take the sport analogy further.

The year is 1996 and the fight for World Boxing Association heavyweight title is between Mike Tyson and Evander Holyfield.  The legendary Tyson was no longer in his prime and his coach predicted that if he can’t land a knockout punch early, “he’s going to try to disqualify himself, either by elbowing, or throwing a low blow, butting, or biting”.  That’s exactly what happened, Tyson bit Holyfield and lost the championship title due to disqualification.  Tyson can tell himself that he didn’t lose to a better opponent, he lost because the referee determined the outcome of the fight and “stole” his championship title from him and gave it to Holyfield.  The same thing happened when Serena Williams had her meltdown at the U.S Open and accused the referee of being “a thief”.  She can tell herself she lost the Grand Slam title due to disqualification, not because Osaka is the better player.

Ackles Army used to regularly accuse Jared of stealing the spotlight from Jensen who should have gotten first billing because he’s more popular according to their spam polls, not because Jared is better at playing the lead protagonist which led to his higher popularity score than Jensen’s.   Ackles Army created the Destiel shippers and passed along their anti-Jared obsession to them.   So in Misha’s fans pov, Misha isn’t getting the respect and acknowledge deserving of a “lead” because Jared’s Sam Winchester is “stealing” the stories and spotlight that belongs to Misha/Cas.   Lately it’s Alexander/Jack who is stealing Cas’s spotlight.  Now Misha and his fans are victims.  Being the victim, paradoxically, can place one in a position of power because people usually don’t want to disagree or challenge victims for fear of being seen as an uncaring bully.   The silencing of others provides the “victim” with a sense of power over others, and that feels good.

It’s why Misha’s fans both claim that Misha is lead while also a victim; double dose of power and that makes them feel good.  

Third, it’s really not about the actors and their status.  I’ve often said that actors, even leads, don’t have much power in the industry but even if most fans realize this it’s not the point.  People want to feel validated about themselves, which is expressed in the art they consume -  music, stories, and fictional characters.  The more popular their chosen consumed art, the more validated they feel about themselves.  Being popular helps people get attention and if they are insecure about themselves they need this attention to validate who they are so they can feel better about themselves.    A lot of people, especially teenage girls, want to be popular because they think it validates their existence.    Feeling validated leads to feeling happy.  If their surrogate is popular, that means they’re likable by proxy.  

As you can see, it all comes down to happiness.  Lead = popular = winner = power = validation = acceptance = happiness.   Popularity has a lot to do with our happiness.  

For all the talk how “popularity doesn’t matter after middle school high school, etc”, it certainly doesn’t appear that way.  Popularity is a part of life that we experience every day, in every type of social situation.   And the way that we experience popularity in one context tends to be related to the way we connect to others in all parts of our lives.   So this doesn’t mean being popular means having the highest ratings, winning the most polls, or having the most followers or “likes” and “retweets”.  For example, I had a colleague didn’t like to hang out and make small talks, he didn’t join clubs or fraternities and avoided lunches with business associates unless there was a definite business reason for the lunch.   Yet when he retired there were  four different retirement parties thrown for him.  Much to his surprise he was popular and didn’t know it.  ….or care.   The real trick isn’t just about being popular, but rather about being popular with the people that really matter.   Misha is popular with shippers, but they matter far less than the mainstream fans that Jared and Jensen have.  If Misha is the lead he has access to mainstream fans and then his fans are valued more than just a fetish club.

[avinrydarchive]

Silent Princess

Author: AvinRyd Fandom: The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild Rating: G Pairing: Link/Zelda Word Count: ~1700

He’s studying, studying me. “What’s wrong?”

“Twenty-three.” He says eventually, that quizzical frown only deepening. An enigmatical answer.

“I’m sorry?”

He sighs. Blue floods my vision as he truly meets my gaze once again. “The number of words you’ve said, to anyone, in the past two weeks since we left Kakariko. Twenty-three."

--

Because the Silent Princess is a rare flower, indeed.

Read on AO3: link

I’ve always thought evenings in the wilds of Hyrule are more beautiful than words could ever express, and tonight is no different. To attempt to describe… Oh, where to begin? Though the sun has not yet fallen, the grotto in which we’ve made camp is cooling quickly. What’s left of the day’s light catches on Akkala’s rough cliffs and bluffs all around, highlighting them in pinks and golds. The wind is chill on my skin, but the fire before me is warmth and light; to my right is another such light. Firelight picks out strands of gold in Link’s tawny hair as he’s bent over something in his lap. I can see a glint of steel. Peeling apples for dinner, it seems. His focus is admirable; I myself can’t seem to keep my mind on any one thing for more than a few minutes.

The pastels of sunset have drained from the sky, leaving dregs of grey in their wake. Slowly, slowly, the dark of night rolls in with it’s sprinkling of stars. The campfire pops and spits to send it’s sparks up to join those silver gleams. I’m drifting. With every star that appears, an instance of a century passes my mind. Connected to every breath of life, every blade of grass, I remember. The veil of Hylia’s mantle lifts and I hear a child brought, screaming, into the world. I feel moss creep over ruined towns. I smell the earth of fresh-tilled fields and fresh-dug graves. I see-

“Zelda?”

I see champion-blue eyes, far closer than expected. Reality snaps back around me, juttering and spinning, and I have to anchor my sight on Link’s face, my perception of the warmth of him suddenly inches away. I don’t move, can’t move with the world still slotting back into place.

“Hmm?” I manage in reply. His mouth twists and his brows draw together in an expression I know well. He’s studying, studying me. “What’s wrong?”

“Twenty-three.” He says eventually, that quizzical frown only deepening. An enigmatical answer.

“I’m sorry?”

He sighs. Blue floods my vision as he truly meets my gaze once again. “The number of words you’ve said, to anyone, in the past two weeks since we left Kakariko. Twenty-three. That’s including your formalities with the Zora royal family. Are you-” His voice seems to balk, rebellious, but he presses on, “Forgive me, princess, but I’m concerned. I’ve never known you to be so...quiet.”

Replies build up in my throat: ‘Where do you get off picking at my silence, what with your own reticence with words?’(Even if he’s been more talkative than I’ve ever heard since the Calamity’s defeat.) ‘You haven’t known me for a century.’ ‘You’ve been counting?’ ‘This isn’t a matter of my safety, why should you be concerned?’ They stack and press, unable to escape, building pressure in my throat and they won’t leave.

“I- That is-” I stammer. I’m choking on words, on thoughts, and it hurts. Cool air rushes into my lungs and I try to focus on it, on anything but the powerless feelings within and the dark encroaching on my vision from without.

Breath, still such a novel sensation after a century of immaterial existence. Its noise, its gentle force, the tidal push and pull, they press back the dark and the fear. Head cleared, if only a little, I gather my thoughts. Link is right, of course. Since my ill-considered question of his memories, I haven’t spoken more than a few words to my knight. That’s not to say we don’t communicate; catching of eyes, brushes of touch, a nod or facial expression in response to whatever he’s said, all have kept us together these few weeks of travel and survey. I know my silence is out of character, truly I do. It’s just- The words won’t come. Even now, I reach for them and they slip away. Perhaps if I try to work through this aloud? If not reassurance, it will give him context for my silence.

“Link,” I start, hearing my voice for what it now is: rusty and strained from disuse. “I did not mean to alarm you. The fact of the matter is I haven’t had a spoken conversation with anyone for nearly a century. My years of containing the Calamity- Hylia and I existed together in a realm of thought and possibility. My body in stasis, my mind strung together with Her’s, there was little need to speak with words.

“Early on, I couldn’t bear it, having my unfiltered thoughts visible to anyone, even a Goddess. I spoke, I screamed, I raged, and the Calamity...he drank it in. And once I’d run myself ragged, my words were turned back upon me and I couldn’t- I had to stop. For years, decades, I cloaked myself in Hylia’s protection where he could not reach me with my own vitriol. I spoke only as a distraction after that. The Calamity would set his sights on a gathering of life, on your resting place, on the Champions yet resting in their patience, and I would gather his attention back with a witty jab or affected cry of despair. Towards the end, I confess, it wasn’t so affected…

“His wrath was- Link, I can’t even describe it. Even though he’s gone, I can feel it. He’s right there, behind me around me above me, and if I keep talking he’ll be-” My breath is coming in shallow; I feel my eyes widening as black creeps into my view of clenched hands upon my knees. “He’ll- I can’t, I can’t- ”

That horrible pressure is building once again, air barely whistling past the huge lump in my throat, but I have to continue. He needs to understand, needs to know. The world is spinning around me, chaos and noise again, just like the castle but there’s no golden mantle to wrap myself in this time. My lips stammer but can no longer form the words. Ice floods the pit of my stomach, spreads, and I shiver violently. It’s so cold and I’m still a failure and-

The softest of touches stills my runaway mouth. A firm grasp encircles my wrist in warmth. Drowning out the static is a low rumble of sound in my ears, comforting and husky and unmistakably Link. His touch, voice, the scent of him so near mixed with the campfire smoke; even my fear-addled mind can’t drown them out. I latch onto the reprieve desperately, even as I attempt once more to speak in thanks.

“Hush, shhhh,” Link shushes me, his finger on my lips pressing just the slightest bit, “I’m sorry. You’re alright, you can stop.”

He continues in that vein and it all blends together in a protective cocoon about me. Safe, safe, safe. My breathing slows, deepens; the tightness around my windpipe eases; the darkness I see is just the black behind my eyelids and my mind begins to settle. The finger against my lips moves, tracing a sparkling path of sensation up the line of my jaw and his hand sinks into my hair, cupped at the base of my skull. He leans in until our noses brush, foreheads pressed together, and I open my eyes.

He is very close, so close his eyelashes almost brush my cheeks when he blinks. I have long envied those lashes, contributing to that understated beauty he has that I couldn't match if I tried. In my secret romantic imaginings before the Calamity, this was the point where Link would tilt his head just slightly and catch my lips in a kiss. Not now, though. Now he is just close, sharing space as easily as the breaths we share. Our gazes catch and hold for a long moment. When he finally speaks it’s in that same soft, low tone, but with the suggestion of steel behind it.

“Zelda,” he says, “thank you for telling me, but I never, ever want you to feel like you have to speak when the words won’t come. Not to me. I get it, I understand. Maybe not about the Calamity, but the fear of having your words stolen away to hurt you later? Every word of mine is a double-edged sword and I trust very few to have my back so armed.”

The grip about my wrist slackens as his hand moves to clasp my own, small and soft compared to his swordsman’s grip. He brings our twined hands up to press my knuckles to his lips in a gesture that has my breath catching hard for an entirely different reason than before, and as I try to contain my gasp he murmurs into my skin,

“However you need to talk, I’ll find a way to listen,” and he breaks away just enough to bring his mouth from our hands to my brow, his kiss a firm pressure as he holds me close and I try not to cry. I fail in that endeavor, but it feels less miserable than most failures as hot tears spill across my face.

We stay that way for what could be another hundred years. Just as the last age, time passes in a blur of feeling; though this time it is wonder, not terror. The Akkalan night grows colder around us and I shiver, unintentionally breaking the spell. Link barely moves when he reaches for the hood lying beside me, but it’s far enough that my hand tightens spasmodically around his. He grins at that and in the firelight it’s hard to tell, but I think I see his cheeks pink, just a little. In a deft movement, he drapes the hood about my shoulders with one hand, hearth-spun Hylian cloth chasing away the chill.  

I bring up my free hand to scrub the last of the tears from my face, but he catches it mid-way. I feel a curious noise leave me, but he says nothing, just takes both of my hands and begins to move them, place them in a manner that’s somewhat familiar. It’s- yes, it’s the hand-signs I often saw him use when conversing with Urbosa and Mipha back in our old lives. His eyes come up to meet mine, green to blue.

“Sometimes this is easier.” He says, simply.

And, as I find through the next hour before we curl up to sleep, (in the same bedroll tonight,) it is.