#Whose idea was it to leave these two alone anyhow??

[idol--hands]

[middlingmay]

Prompt: "Believe me, I don't know how in the shit this happened either."

Gale made an aborted noise at John's cursing, slashing his hand over his neck.

"Really, Buck?" John's disbelieving shrug was muted given that his arms were currently indisposed.

John had taken himself off for a spot of late afternoon fishing; something he did whenever he felt the darker edges of his mind creep in a bit too close. Gale had been surprised when John had taken to the activity, what with the silence and stillness it required. But he' figured out the appeal after seeing John's pleasure at bringing back a fish, the care he took to prepare it, and the effort he put into making Gale dinner with it.

That, and it had drastically reduced John's visits to the bar.

He'd been looking forward to a pink-faced , slightly damp John coming home full of purpose and satisfaction. But, when dusk threatened the horizon and he hadn't come home, Gale started to worry.

What if he made his way to the bar, anyhow?

So, in the last of the daylight, Gale had put on his jacket, picked up Bucky's because he hadn't taken it, and slipped out the door to bring John home.

When John wasn't at his first two favourite fishing spots, Gale had bitten his lip through the worrying in his stomach.

When he'd gotten to John's last spot on this stretch of the river, tucked behind a massive pine tree, his stomach plummeted. The first thing his eyes caught in the fading light was John's leather boots sticking out from behind the tree.

Gale had stumbled forward, a hushed "John" falling from his lips like he wanted to give him an excuse not to answer. With a shaking hand on the gnarled bough, he'd rounded its girth and there John sat, wide eyed and deathly still with two sleeping children in his arms.

And here they were.

"How can you not know how you ended up with two kids, John? Whose are they? Where did they come from?" He looked about them wildly, as if looking for a flaming mob marching upon them.

"No fuckin' idea. I was fishing down there," he jutted his head back they way Gale had come, "when I heard screaming. So I haul ass up here and find these two crying so hard they're turning purple." He looked down and flexed the arms holding the children to his sides. "Couldn't leave them alone, obviously, so I sat with them a bit and got them to calm down enough to figure out the just got lost. Playing in the woods or something. And I couldn't carry both of 'em and my gear back to town, and then they fell asleep--!"

Gale stood with his hands on his hips. "You cared me half to death, John."

John waved his hands, the only part of his arms free other than his shoulders, and looked helplessly at Gale. "Sorry."

Gale was already shrugging out of his jacket to place it and the one he'd brought for John over the two kids. Soon as the warmth hit them, they snuggled in harder, their subconscious telling them to tuck their feet under the hems.

Gale cast his eyes around, clocked the rod and locked metal box John took with him every time he went fishing, set carelessly aside. "That all your gear?" John nodded. "Alright."

Gale retrieved them, the box clasped firm and the rod held gingerly before him until he could prop it against the tree.

He reached one arm out. "Gimmie one."

Relief shattered the worry and tiredness on John's face. He handed the boy to Gale. He barely stirred as he changed custodian. Gods, he couldn't have been more than six or seven. Gale held him close with one arm as John got to his feet with the girl, shaking out his legs.

"You good?"

John grimaced. "Yeah."

"Didn't get an address out of them, did you?"

John absentmindedly rubbed the girl's back through the coat. "Nah. But figured the police station is as good a place as any. Town's not far."

Fishing gear and a child each, they began the trek into town. It might not be far, but it was through a copse of woodland and a farm track, and the light was already nearly gone. John never took a torch with him, outright refused for reasons Gale only partly understood, and in his earlier worry Gale hadn't had the head to bring one.

It took John's steps next to him and a child's heartbeat thumping against his own chest to remind him this was a different wood, a different time. And John, blessed John, started to gab in as low a register as he could manage, mindful of their sleeping cargo.

"I never caught anything, but I was on the trail of some real nice trout. The fishmonger says they make great fishcakes. I'll get one of the suckers one day.

'And I'll have to buy some new line. Had to cut half of it off because these two kept wanting to cast it out. Couldn't even hold the rod. Hopeless fish people, Buck. Oh, look! We're nearly out the woods. Up ahead."

The break in the trees was only just discernible. Gale breathed deep on the other side.

After the farm track, town was a short fifteen minute walk down quiet roads.

A small group had gathered outside the police station. They were dressed warm and clutched torches and stood around the local sheriff. One man was arguing with him, hammering his points with hard hands and grit teeth. John and Gale weren't close enough to hear what was being said, just that it was starting to get heated.

Then the woman next to him, gaunt and devastated, saw them. She became suspended, motionless, unblinking. Then, Gale and John passed under the illuminating beam or a street lamp

"Christie! Connor!"

She bolted from the group and ran as fast as her legs would carry her, right out of her shoes and her bare feet slapped against the pavement. The man thundered after her.

She reached John and the girl, Christie, first. She scooped her up, dragging John's jacket with her, clutching as desperately as she could without hurting her child. She sobbed and gave one hysterical laugh and tried to check and fuss over he daughter, all at the same time. She reached out her other arm to try and take her son, but her husband got there first, plucking him from Gale's arms.

"Oh my God. Oh my God," he murmured into his son's hair.

Gale stuffed down an unnecessary and unwanted pang.

The man looked at Gale. "Thank you," and to John, "thank you! We feared the wo--God. We were going out of our minds. Thank you."

The group had walked over, relief lighting giddy and indulgent smiles on their faces.

"Where'd you find them?" The sheriff sounded like a man who'd exhausted nearly all his avenues and had been praying for a minor miracle.

"Down at the river," John told him, and he and Gale raised the box and rod simultaneous. "Was doing some fishing, and heard 'em. Think they just got lost. Gave themselves a hell of a fright."

"Lost," their mother scoffed through tears. "See how lost they get when they're grounded to their bedrooms until their next birthday."

They felt superfluous then, watching the parents cradle their kids, and Gale felt more and more uncomfortable, and John came to his rescue again, like he had every time Gale had needed him since they met.

"Well," John clapped into their air. "Be seeing you."

It was more difficult to leave than that, and they eventually had to promise the parents they would come for dinner tomorrow evening.

The silence was mostly amiable on the way back, basking in each other's presence and a crisis diverted. But Gale was contemplative.

And John gave him the space to be.

After a while he said, "My mother didn't notice the first time my father kept me out after dark. Least I don't think she did. I was so worried I'd get a whoopin' for scaring her, I ran away from dad the first chance I got. I snuck back in the house and dove into bed with my shoes still on. Know what she said to me in the morning?"

"What?"

"You must have slept like a log last night, Gale. I didn't hear a peep."

John let it hang for a second, but not one more. "I'd notice. And I'd come looking, Buck."

Gale smiled, and it was genuine. "I know."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. You already did, Bucky. I got shot down over enemy territory and dragged kicking into one of their stinking stalags. And days later, after you were supposed to be in London, you come falling out of a plane after me and crawling into the same camp. So I know you'll find me. Wherever I go, John Egan. I know that."

[sans-is-bi]

GOOD OMENS: What I thought it Meant.

The first time I heard Aziraphale say "nothing lasts forever" I think I lost my mind a little, because they've lasted together since light has been in the universe. How could Aziraphale say such a thing? I've had time to ruminate in this now for however many days it's been since this season was released and I think I understand it better.

This entire season is essentially showing the way the friendship grew stronger between the two since Job, this was when Aziraphale realized that God wasn't someone he completely agreed with, and he hated that about himself but it was a fact that he couldn't deny any longer. Crowley on the other hand had been alone in this realization since his fall, because yes Hell didn't like God but Crowley didn't hate God and love Satan devotedly. He hated Her because she refused to pay attention to him, he who started Her universe, he wanted "his mother" to atleast acknowledge him. In the same way, that say if you're a kid, whose parents are neglectful and social services put you in a home that is better, and yes you do get along in this new house slightly better but that familial love between your parents can never be broken. I for example can always stop talking to my parents, but I don't think I fundamentally will ever be able to. Anyhow, this encounter with Job is when Crowley first gets someone who's like him, who understands what it is to love Her but not like her, and yes they are on different parts of this spectrum, but it's been so lonely on this spectrum that he's sort of glad to have anyone. And as the years go by, they become closer and closer, the only two entities in the universe to care for this small planet and they fall in love. And they see the world change, and go through wars and poverty and epidemics but their friendship survives this and then they stop the "End of The World". By this time, of course Crowley has come to the understanding that he doesn't love Hell or Heaven and enjoys being just Crowley, the darker shade of grey, roaming around, driving a Bentley, spending time with Aziraphale. Aziraphale on the other hand still believes in the idea of Heaven, that fundamentally they have to be good. That they care about people, that they love and nurture. He wouldn't leave Earth anymore to go be in Heaven, but he hopes everyday that they are doing good. That if he did ever end up their again, they would be good.

So in the final speech when Crowley asks "What about the bookshop" and Aziraphale says "Nothing lasts forever", it's more about how Earth keeps changing that nothing in it will last forever, but then he keeps saying how much he needs Crowley, because I think that he can't even comprehend his life with Crowley being a worldly thing, he thinks that their friendship exists out of time, like in 'before the beginning'. And when he says "We are the good guys", it's because despite everything he's an idealist. He wants to save the world, the world that Crowley created after all, the thing that Crowley wanted the most since before the beginning was for this universe to last forever to explore every part of it. He wants to save that world for the only truly good person he has to come to find Crowley.

[cranberrybogmummy]

Crumpy McDumpy the III origin story

How Crumpy Mcdumpy got his name.

Back in the mid nineteen sixties, in Lake Remorse, a small city on the shores of a namesake body of water, Lake Remorse in the United States.  There was a minor sorcerer whose original name is lost. He had a day job (math teacher) and had his magic as well, kept pretty busy, didn’t have much time for his family, he became the first Crumpy Mcdumpy.  How? Well, it starts with a death. His long-suffering, neglected wife, Mildred, was crossing a busy street and maybe she wasn’t looking both ways, maybe the drivers of the cars were reckless, or some say she just ran into traffic on purpose. It was tragic, but she died; they never caught the driver of the hit and run. This man and his three children, two boys and a little girl, mourned their wife and mother. Now this is where the story would end most of the time.

However, this minor sorcerer did not take the idea that his wife was dead as the end.  He knew a spell to summon the most tricksy god of all, Loki. I don’t know the particulars but I know the Eddas lied and Loki was never tied down by entrails, tortured by venom, or maybe it was something that happened in the future.

Anyhow some of the components of the spell were mistletoe and lingonberry jam.

So Loki was summoned. In this world of many gods, and pantheons, Loki hadn’t been alone when they were summoned, they showed up with grape leaves twined in their red hair and a wineskin in their hand.

“Whhaaa?” Loki blinked.

“Are you drunk?” Asked the Sorcerer.

“I was hanging out with my friend Dionysus,” Loki said. “So… yes.”

“No matter! I summoned you, I need you to let me enter your daughter Hel’s domain and get someone back,” said the sorcerer querulously.

Loki was drunkenly waving to a small child who had showed up in the doorway.

“Oh, you’re still talking,” they said.

“Not now, sweetie, Daddy’s busy,” said the sorcerer closing the door. “Should I repeat myself?”

“No, I got it, underworld, get someone back, right,” Loki repeated. “But what’s it in for me?”

“For you?” The sorcerer asked. “Well you get me and every first born son of my line as your--- you aren’t paying attention are you?”

Loki had started eating the lingonberry jam with their fingers. “Yes, right… if you manage to persuade the person to come back, you win and If you don’t I will punish you and every first born son of your line… or something.”

Loki waved jam-coated fingers, said words in a secret god tongue, and a passage opened to the underworld.

“Thank you,” the sorcerer said, rolling his eyes.

So they walked down to the world of the dead, it was dark and there was only a small orange light provided by Loki, who was hiccuping and swilling wine, down into the underworld.

“How do you know they're even here?” Loki asked. “They could be in some heaven or I dunno… some other gods’ underworld.”

“No, Mildred’s family was faithful to your gods since… well I dunno they all came from Norway in the 1870s…” said the sorcerer.

Hel, half rotted, half goth, sat on her throne and in her domain was dim light like pre-dawn. The spirits of the dead lounged and slouched around, resting from their earthly toils in the half light.

“Father,” Hel croaked in an alto monotone. “You’re drunk… why are you here?”

“Hi kiddo!” Loki hallo’d. “I brought a mortal will-worker! He wants to take someone back to the land of living, ya know bring them back to life.”

Hel sighed. “I suppose you get something out of this?”

“Yep,” Loki gave a roguish wink.

Hel said: “Then mortal, cast among the recently dead for your loved one, and see if you can win them back.”

The sorcerer called out: “Mildred, my darling wife, please come back with me.”

From the gloom stepped his wife, in the same house dress she was wearing when she was stuck by the car. She smiled faintly.

“My love!” she called. “You came for me, you braved the underworld because you love me?”

“Of course,” he said. “Also the dishes are piling up, we have no clean clothes, we’ve been living on ham sandwiches, the floors are dirty, the bathtub has a ring around it, the youngest keeps blowing her nose on everything…”

He continued to list all the chores and domestic duties that needed doing since her untimely demise: Mildred’s smile vanished, her left eye twitched, her expression, unnoticed by her husband, was hardening into a scowl.

“… and that’s why you need to come back with me, sweetie, back to the land of the living to take care of us,” the sorcerer concluded.

“No,” said Mildred.

“What?!” the Sorcerer exclaimed.

“No, do it yourself, I’m dead.” Mildred said. She flipped him off with both fingers and walked backwards into the milling crowd of spirits.

“Welp, that tears it,” Loki grinned.

Now they were back in the sorcerer’s house.

“That was rude and ungrateful,” the sorcerer sniffed.

“… yep, now you and your first sons are cursed,” Loki said.

“... wait, we are?” The sorcerer said.

“Yes by me, Loki. I henceforth… proclaim that you and every first male child of your line shall bear the name… the name… mmmm—” Loki hiccuped and grinned “— CRUMPY MCDUMPY!”

“WAA?” The sorcerer now called Crumpy McDumpy exclaimed.

“Yes, henceforth you can’t change it; it is your true name and every being that sees you and your sons will call you this, and see you as Crumpy McDumpies.” Loki belched happily. “I’m in a good mood so you got off lightly, and don’t worry: every generation will get the chance to change it… by doing stuff for me—  so tata for now!”

And Loki vanished, heading back to party with Dionysus.

So that is how the first Crumpy McDumpy gained his family name and curse.

Part 2:

[mydisenchantedeulogy]

Where the Tainted Kiss [Chapter Sixteen] Hope for the Hopeless [Vaas Montenegro]

A/n: I apologize that this chapter took so long to write. I had to get my shit together since Kinktober drained me, but I'm back. Please enjoy.

Warning(s): Vaas being Vaas, mentions of death, bloody imagery, teasing.

No Minors Allowed!!

The news had spread quickly around the camp the next morning, reaching her cell as a pirate whose name she did not know mentioned it in passing to another. Liv widened her eyes, almost unsure if she had heard them right. Someone managed to escape Vaas. She was curious as to who would be brave enough to attempt it; perhaps one of the newcomers, as none of them knew how ruthless the pirate could be.

Regardless, it was insane.

Liv leaned her head back against her cell and listened to the pirates moving about, catching pieces of their conversations as they passed her, but none of them gave up the name of the survivor. Did they even know their name? She was certain that Vaas did. The said man took their belongings; their license and their passports. She just wasn't sure it was a good idea to ask him. It was none of her business after all and she knew him well enough to know that he'd remind her of this.

Why so curious? She asked herself.

Did it honestly matter who the person was? What mattered was that they managed to escape. Or so she heard. But how? This was another important question that eluded her. As far as she could tell, the unnamed base she was taken to was on an island north of the one she was caught on. They would have to have stolen a boat to cross the ocean; there were several docked on the shore. Did that mean the pirates were dumb enough to leave the keys in the ignition? Liv hoped so. That meant all she'd have to do is make it to the beach. She'd also need to know more about the base. Something told her that it wouldn't be as easy for her as it was for them.

And at least she had an advantage. She wasn't on Vaas' shit list, though she also wasn't certain what use she was to him since the series was over.

"What do you say, querida (darling)? Do you want to be mine?"

Liv chewed on these words repeatedly. No, she honestly didn't. But what if she made Vaas think that she did? Perhaps it would give her time to plan her escape. And in the process, she might even learn more about the island from him. But how would she go about convincing him that he wanted her? The first thing that popped into her mind was not for the faint of heart; she locked it away for another time; a time when she was desperate, and tried to think of something that didn't involve giving herself to him.

All that came to mind was being more open with him, and more compliant. Accepting his fleeting touches and swallowing back the tears whenever he did something that tore her emotions into pieces. There was plenty of time to cry when she was alone; he didn't seem to care much for her tears anyhow. Samira wasn't sure she could pull it off, but it was worth a shot. Anything was better than death.

Hearing the sound of footsteps nearby, she turned her attention to them as two pirates tottered by. In their arms was a corpse. Her eyes widened as she recognized the body the pirates were lugging past her cell.

Chevy!

What happened to him? Liv could see dried blood on his shirt near his neck. Someone must have killed him. Perhaps it was the survivor who escaped. She could think of no one else who could have done it; Vaas was ruthless, but he seemed to have some respect for his men. For a moment, Liv teared up as she watched Chevy being carried away.

But why?

He was a pirate. So why did Liv feel bad about him dying? He was probably just as merciless as Vaas or even more. Yet, he was nice to her during the time she spent under his watch in the trailer. For that reason alone, she was remorseful.

In the distance, between a nearby building, she saw Vaas emerge with Carlos at his side; the latter was listening intently as the pirate leader rambled on about something. His body language showed that he was annoyed, however, flaunting his gun around and touching the scar on his head as he sometimes did whenever he was mad or about to lose his shit.

Vaas seemed even more feral than usual. It honestly scared Liv. She didn't know how to deal with Vaas the murderer. All she could do was stay as far away as possible from him and hope he didn't pull her into his drama. Today was not in her favor.

When his wild green eyes turned to her, Liv averted her attention. She didn't want to annoy him more. Staring at nothing, in particular, she bobbed her foot in fear. The sound of boots flooded her ears and a moment later a shadow fell over her. For fuck's sake. There was nothing wrong with looking at someone, though she reckoned she was staring more than just looking, honestly, she wasn't hurting him. So why the fuck did he gravitate toward her?

Just go away. Please.

"Did you see him?" Vaas asked suddenly.

Liv raised a brow. Her heart was pounding in her chest.

"See who?"

"Snow fucking White," He answered in annoyance. "Did you see him sneaking around my camp like a little fucking mouse?"

No, she didn't.

"Look at me when I'm speaking to you," Vaas ordered. His voice raised a bit in octave as he spoke.

Liv took an uneasy breath and turned her attention to him. The man looked about ready to tear her apart for some reason. What did she do wrong?

"Did you see him? Jason Brody, brown-haired little cocksucker," Vaas asked.

Liv shook her head no. Honestly, she didn't. She heard gunshots all through the night and people screaming, but no one passed by her cage. This morning was the first time she heard about someone escaping. And thanks to Vaas, she learned his name.

"Don't fucking lie to me," the pirate ordered.

"W- why would I lie to you? I don't want to die," Liv admitted.

She was aware that the entire time his gun was in his hand. Watching him lean down, she didn't shrink back as his free hand reached into her cell and clutched her face. Liv grimaced a bit due to the injuries that she received in the fight with Carlos, but Vaas didn't seem to care. His eyes, however, softened a little.

"That's mi buena chica (my good girl). Don't ever lie to me."

"I have no reason to," Liv retorted.

Vaas snorted and released her. His tongue flicked across his lips as he stared at her for a moment.

"You know how lucky you are? Hmm? That bastard Hoyt wanted me to shoot you like those other useless fucks."

Hoyt? So that was the name of the stranger from last night. She hoped to never meet him again.

"It wasn't luck," she uttered. "You–– Thank you, Vaas."

The said man grinned.

"Show me."

"W-what?" Liv asked in confusion.

Show him? What the fuck did he mean?

"Show me how thankful you are, querida (darling)," Vaas answered.

How? Liv hummed. She didn't want to ask him what he wanted because she was afraid that it was something she'd kick herself for later, so she tried to think of something on her level of comfort.

"Will a kiss on the cheek be good enough?"

Her face heated up in embarrassment. How bad could it be? She had done it before. Vaas hummed then stood up and walked out of her line of site. She heard the swish of a knife as it was drawn from its sheath, then the sound of the rope being cut, and a moment later, her hands were free. Liv rubbed the soreness away and stretched her arms as Vaas walked around the side of her cage and opened the door.

Without hesitation, she stepped out. Though her heart was pounding. She sauntered over to Vaas and leaned up to kiss his cheek. A pleasant warmth radiated from him and she lingered a moment longer with her lips against his tan skin before she parted from him and stepped back.

"Was that good?" Liv asked, averting her eyes.

"For now," Vaas retorted with a grin. He tossed an arm around her shoulders and led her through the camp.

She frankly had no idea what he was planning. Two pirates lugging another body passed them along the way and Liv averted her eyes, focusing on Vaas as she walked. The camp was massive; shoddy huts and buildings made of scrap metal were in every direction. It was almost like a maze.

"Where are we going, if you don't mind me asking?"

"To put you to work," he answered. "If you are gonna be my little pirata (pirate) then you can't sit on your ass while the others are working off theirs."

Liv raised a brow.

"Pirata (pirate)?"

"Learn some fucking Spanish, querida (darling). As of today, you are a pirate," Vaas declared.

She widened her eyes in shock. There was no way she was going to be one of them. What made him think that was a good idea? Her head was teeming with questions.

"I thought I was the camera operator."

"We're not gonna be filming anymore. I have better plans for you. And that starts with body disposal," Vaas explained.

Please be joking.

She knew he wasn't however. Liv took an uneasy breath.

"Am I getting paid for this?"

Vaas snorted.

"You're greedy, querida (darling). Always asking for more money. But I'm a fair boss so I'll pay you if you do the work."

At least she wouldn't starve now. Liv was worried before about how she'd make money since the tv series had ended. It was just a shame however that having to be a temporary pirate was the only way to put food on the table. Nothing about this sounded good to her, especially having to dispose of dead bodies.

Breath. You can do this. It's a step toward freedom and freedom comes at a cost.

"So, I just have to move them?" Liv asked under her breath.

"Easy, no? And we'll make a big fucking bonfire out of them when I get back," Vaas replied.

Her stomach churned in disgust at this. Why were they not going to bury the bodies? And where was Vaas going?

Is he not sticking around for the work?

No. Of course not. Why would he when he could just make the mess and have someone else clean it up?

Liv said nothing more as he led her into an open area with what appeared to be a wooden platform. Four or more bodies were lying on it, each died from a gunshot wound to the head. A wave of nausea washed over her at the gruesome sight and she stalled for a moment, an action that didn't go unnoticed by the pirate beside her as his arm was yanked in the process.

"These fuckers can't hurt you, querida (darling). They're dead," Vaas mentioned.

No shit! She almost exclaimed out loud.

It was the fact that they were dead that unnerved her. And the horrendous recollections of her past that her mind unburied every time someone's head met the smoking barrel of Vaas' gun. Liv took an uneasy breath and forced the image of her father away. Her stomach continued to churn, but at least her head was clear. She needed to remember her plan; contempt and strong-willed.

"Where do you w-want me to start?"

"With the legs or the arms," Vaas retorted with a snort. "You think those dead fucks care?"

No, she guessed. The corner of her lips fell. This was going to be harder than she thought.

Grunting, the pirate shouted for someone. A man with a red bandana hurried over. His curious brow eyes darted over to Liv, then back to the man with the mohawk.

"You're her compañero (buddy) for today. Help her move the bodies on the stage and keep an eye on her. You understand?" Vaas asked. He removed his arm from her shoulders and reached down for his knife.

The man agreed, though his tone was not glad to be on baby-setting duty. Liv ignored him and watched Vaas pierce the blade into the corner of his red tank, then rip an uneven strip from it; her face heated up as the act led to her getting a view of his toned stomach.

With the strip, he looped it around her neck and tied it into a loose bow.

"Pretty, no?" He asked the unnamed pirate.

The said man agreed though Liv was certain he was just trying to humor the pirate leader.

"Now play nice, querida (darling), and do your work, or I'll have to lean you over my knee," Vaas stated.

She narrowed her eyes. Why was he treating her like a child? She honestly felt more like a pet with this makeshift collar around her neck.

I'm a pirate now. Vaas' pirates wear red, she reminded herself.

Why did he tie it around her neck though? Liv sighed.

"I understand."

"You understand what?" Vaas asked with a grin.

Was he serious? She hoped that she could remember the correct word and how to pronounce it.

"I understand, Jefe (boss)," she corrected.

"Buena pequeña pirata (good little pirate). Now get the fuck to work," he ordered.

Liv watched him walk away, then averted her eyes to the man beside her in awkwardness.

"Fun, no?"

He shook his head in protest.

As the afternoon drew to an end, Liv was given a break. She and Barto – her babysitter was named – had moved the bodies from the stage and took them outside the camp to a deep hole the pirates had dug out for the bonfire. She then carted wood from the dense jungle that Barto had chopped and tossed them into the hole. It took nearly the entire day and by the time she was done, Liv was exhausted. She sat in a chair outside one of the huts as her babysitter and three other pirates, including Yada played a round of dominos.

Her mind was on cloud nine until Barto called her name. Liv turned her attention to him and raised a brow.

"Are you fucking Vaas? I have to know."

She narrowed her eyes at him.

"No, I'm not."

Why the fuck would he think that? She could see that the other three were just as curious, staring at her.

"Mamada (blowjob)?" Barto asked.

"What does that even mean?" Liv questioned in annoyance.

Yada snorted and sat down a domino.

"He wants to know if you've sucked his penis."

Liv widened her eyes. What the fuck was wrong with these idiots?

"I've not done or plan to do anything sexual with Vaas. I'm just unfortunate enough to be here until he sells me."

"Or buys you, querida (darling)," Barto teased.

Perhaps, but that did not mean she was going to sleep around with him. Owning her only meant she had more time to plan an escape without having to worry about being shipped off to some pervert who liked to break women. Besides, she wasn't even certain that Vaas wanted to own her; she was only working under him until her face healed.

"Where did he go anyway?" Liv asked.

Yada snorted.

"You miss him? That's cute, princesa (princess)."

"Show some respect hermano (brother)," an unnamed man sitting across from him stated. "That is our pirate princess you're talking to. She's already wearing his clothes."

Liv turned up her eyes as the four of them laughed at her. She'd rather be back in her cage than listen to them makes jokes at her expense. It wasn't her idea of fun to be forced into this situation.

"Relax," Barto ordered with a snort seeing the heated glare she was giving them. "El jefe (the boss) went to see Hoyt at his home on the southern island. He'll be back soon."

She raised a brow. Why did he go to see Hoyt? Did it have something to do with the person who had escaped? Jason Brody. He wasn't a threat to Vaas, was he? Liv rested her hands in her lap and stared at her fingers; there was dirt between her nails and dried blood in the creases of her skin. She shuttered in disgust. It was about time she asked for another bath.

Perhaps there is an actual shower––

The sound of a familiar shout interrupted her thoughts. Liv raised a brow as the four pirates stood up; one or two of them grunted.

"Speak of the devil. Your prince has returned," Yada stated.

Did he mean Vaas? She stood up and followed them outside the camp to the hole where the bodies were. Almost every pirate in the base was there, including Vaas and Carlos who were pouring gasoline on the bodies. Once the cans were empty, Vaas took out a match. His eyes turned to the group.

"Stand back a little, you cocksuckers."

Some of the pirates who were standing close moved back as he ordered. Liv had to stand on her toes just to see Vaas over some of the ones standing in her way. She watched him toss the match down into the hole and whoosh, the gasoline-soaked corpses went up in flames. Some of the men cheered in glee, but Liv covered her nose in disgust.

How could they stand this? Were they all insane? There was no way all of them were born this way. It had to be the island. Liv feared that the longer she stayed the more she'd lose herself.

I need to escape.

Jason Brody had escaped. He was somewhere out there, hopefully alive.

As much as she hated to admit it, hope had found its way to her again. She just needed to play her cards right with Vaas and then once his guard was down, she'd escape.

If Jason could do it, then so could she.

Liv turned her eyes to Vaas, watching the shadow of flames dance across his skin.

And if he gets in my way, then I'll take him to hell with me.

[princeofgod-2021]

LIGHT OF LIFE 280

John 1:4

CULTURE & TRADITION 46: TO WHOM YOU ARE SENT 16

1Pe 1:18 Forasmuch as ye know that YE WERE NOT REDEEMED WITH CORRUPTIBLE THINGS, as silver and gold, FROM YOUR VAIN CONVERSATION RECEIVED BY TRADITION FROM YOUR FATHERS; KJV

Again, let’s review the text we were focusing on last session as we spoke about Transformation:

Mar 4:28 THE GROUND PRODUCES GRAIN BY ITSELF. First the green blade appears, then the head, then the head full of grain. GW

To Transform the Seed to Wheat or Weed, the ground must first “kill” it.

To KILL comes in two forms: First, if the Ground (heart) is for unstable soul, good seed would ROT in it and produce nothing, and vice vasa.

The 2nd form of Kill is the Change of FORM into another “related” form.

1 Cor 15:42‭-‬44 It is the same with the dead who are raised to life. THE BODY THAT IS “PLANTED” WILL RUIN AND DECAY, BUT IT IS RAISED TO A LIFE THAT CANNOT BE DESTROYED. When the body is “planted,” it is without honor, but it is raised in glory. When the body is “planted,” it is weak, but when it is raised, it is powerful. The body that is “planted” is a physical body. When it is raised, it is a spiritual body. There is a physical body, and there is also a spiritual body. NCV‬

Mat 13:23 “AS FOR THE SEED THAT FELL UPON GOOD, RICH SOIL, IT REPRESENTS THE HEARTS OF PEOPLE WHO HEAR AND FULLY EMBRACE THE MESSAGE OF HEAVEN’S KINGDOM REALM. THEIR LIVES BEAR GOOD FRUIT—some yield a harvest of thirty, sixty, even one hundred times as much as was sown.” TPT

The mango plant leaves do not resemble the seed but they carry a “signature aroma” of mangos in both.

So you’d perceive an “air” of similarity but see physical difference comparing Product with Seed.

Gen 27:21-22 Isaac said to Jacob, "Please come closer so that I can touch you. Are you really Esau?" Jacob moved closer to his father, who felt him and said, "YOUR VOICE SOUNDS LIKE JACOB'S VOICE, BUT YOUR ARMS FEEL LIKE ESAU'S ARMS." GNB

When you eat, what comes out of your anal cavity is totally different – even in smell – from what you ate.

Though that is called “waste product” but even the vitamins, essential minerals, proteins, etc. extracted [as major products] from the food you ate does not [at all] resemble the food itself, does it?

Mar 4:28 ALL BY ITSELF IT SPROUTS, and the soil produces a crop; FIRST THE GREEN STEM, then the head on the stalk, and then the fully developed grain in the head. TPT

I like the input: “all by itself”. Once the seed is sown by you, it doesn’t need you anymore to complete its “cycle”, as long as the Soil (Heart) is conducive for it.

The heart completes what you started. Got it?

Then the GREEN BLADES appear. The seeds we plant are rarely green, are they?

Then they blame Jesus our Lord for the plants because as far as they are concerned, all seeds should be from Him.

Mat 13:27 So the slaves of the landowner came and said to him, ‘Sir, didn’t you sow good seed in your field? Then where did the darnel come from?’ NET

Now let me show you very graphic and practical example of what we are talking about here beloved.

2Ti 2:17-18 AND THEIR WORDS WILL BE LIKE POISONED WOUNDS IN THE FLESH: such are Hymenaeus and Philetus; Men whose ideas are all false, who say that the coming back from the dead has even now taken place, OVERTURNING THE FAITH OF SOME. BBE

How did these devilish agents destroy the Faith of believers?

Easy!

When you tell a Believer that Jesus is no more coming back and his “weak” heart embraces that, he can become loose, despicable and wild in sin.

He lives for this world alone and then backslides, concluding that Christianity is a waste of time.

Yet, you never said: “go and commit all kinds of sin and live anyhow”.

The seed differs from weed.

Joh 21:21-23 When Peter saw that disciple, he asked Jesus, "Lord, what about him?" Jesus answered, "WHAT IS IT TO YOU, IF I WANT HIM TO LIVE UNTIL I RETURN? You must follow me." SO THE RUMOR SPREAD AMONG THE OTHER DISCIPLES THAT THIS DISCIPLE WOULD NOT DIE. But JESUS DID NOT SAY HE WOULD NOT DIE. He simply said, "What is it to you, if I want him to live until I return?" CEV

The Holy Spirit impresses upon me how Hymenaeus and Philetus [being unstable themselves] may have “missed it”: they misunderstood the scripture above and so concluded that since John had died, Jesus must have returned already.

So they started teaching others the “devilish gospel”.

God help us!

1Ti 1:6-7 But SOME HAVE MISSED THIS KEY POINT IN THEIR TEACHING AND HAVE GONE OFF IN ANOTHER DIRECTION. Now they talk about things that help no one. They want to be teachers of the law, but THEY DON'T KNOW WHAT THEY ARE TALKING ABOUT. THEY DON'T EVEN UNDERSTAND THE THINGS THEY SAY THEY ARE SURE OF. ERV

As you’ve seen: the meaning of the ground (heart) producing by itself, is its capacity to understand. It is about how it understands.

If your understanding is wrong, you will mess up the knowledge you just received.

Now, one should know: how far in volume is the impacts of these “products”?

Mar 4:30-32 Jesus asked, "How can we show what the kingdom of God is like? To what can we compare it? It's like a mustard seed planted in the ground. THE MUSTARD SEED IS ONE OF THE SMALLEST SEEDS ON EARTH. However, when planted, it comes up and becomes taller than all the garden plants. It grows such large branches that birds can nest in its shade." GW

Though this speaks of God’s Kingdom, do you think satan’s work is less effective?

Think again please.

1Co 5:6 It is no good thing--this which you make the ground of your boasting. DO YOU NOT KNOW THAT A LITTLE YEAST CORRUPTS THE WHOLE OF THE DOUGH? WEYMOUTH

Have you ever imagined how fast viruses, fungi and bacteria grow?

They grow exponentially: every cell keeps dividing and fast. That’s how Cancer cells grow too.

They say “bad news travels faster”. When Absalom killed Amnon, did you see how fast and twisted the news got to David – even ahead of the other sons present at the event?

Satan’s intent was to have that news produce evil like suicide.

2Sa 13:30-31 While they were on their way, DAVID HEARD THIS RUMOR: "ABSALOM HAS KILLED ALL THE KING'S SONS, AND NOT A SINGLE ONE IS LEFT." The king stood up, tore his clothes, and lay down on the ground. All his servants were standing beside him with their clothes torn to show their grief. GW

May God purify our hearts and keep them safe from all pollutions, in Jesus name.

Come back on Monday for more digging into this intriguing subtopic.

Keep Shinning!

Brother Prince

Friday, November 25, 2022

08055125517; 08023904307

[bourbon-ontherocks]

hi🥰 i'm actually new to the HPI fandom and i wanted to say that i really love your profile (esp. karadec x morgane stuff bc reasons). i wanted to talk about THAT scene™ in 207 when morgane, after the dance, left her finger prints on the wall as a direct parallel to something clearly sexual. it's probably the only thing i'm gonna talk abt for the rest of my life so thank you. anyhow, during the dance scene we can all see there was a light above them and afterwards when karadec leaves the house, in both scenes morgane and karadec are left in the dark (ex. m'house and k'car). could this be a sign that these two when together bring light (happiness) to each other and when they are apart are left alone in the dark? plus: when morgane is in the dark while writing karadec's card she is holding her phone with the flashlight on and she said (for the first time) out loud "je t'aime karadec". i'd like to read your opinion. sorry abt the long ass rent🥺

Oh hi, dear, I'm so happy to receive an HPI ask!!!! And please don’t apologize for sending me a long rant, I LOVE these, and I love seeing other people’s take on that lunacy of a show ❤️❤️

Well first of all, welcome to the HPI fandom, there aren't so many of us but it's incredibly chill and warm here and we don’t bite...  🤗🤗  

Oh, to be honest, spending the rest of your life talking about the hand print sounds fairly valid, the sexual connotations and Titanic references (which ARE sexually connoted) are off the roofs with this one 😱 especially combined with karadec’s “that’s where you’re gonna leave a biiiiiig hand print”, like, who says that without sounding sultry?! 😆

Not to mention how they both looked blatantly aroused after the dancing, Morgane’s breathing sounded like she’d just orgasmed and Karadec’s first move was to bootycall his girlfriend so I don’t know what else to tell you 🥵🔥🙊

Here, stare at it to your heart's content (yes, I have a bunch of out-of-context unposted gifs hanging out in a folder and waiting for the right occasion/set....)

I really like your theory about lights and how it symbolizes the way Morgane and Karadec feel around each other! 😍😍 It clearly makes no sense for Morgane to be plunged in the dark after the dancing, so yeah, I dig the idea it’s here to emphasize her loneliness and isolation with respect to the rest of the team (whose names are already all on the card while her isn’t yet? Idk), so the fact that she confesses “Adam je t’aime” under the flashlight is sort of a lifeline for her? A tiny sliver of hope and light in her surroundings of darkness, and I --

Great, now I’m back in my feels again... 😭😭😭

And as for Karadec, yes, he goes back to the dark morosity of his car, and I LOVE that we get to see his POV of the aftermath as well 😍

Although I don’t know if you noticed how the floor lamp just magically dimmed out by itself when they started dancing, so perhaps it’s not so much the light in itself rather than the fact that they’re in it? The ceiling’s lightbulb bathes them both in its warm light while the flashlight is projected onto something else, you know?

I don’t know, I guess at this point I’m just a garbling pile of goo who’s tring to recover from getting hit in my own inbox by sentences like “these two when together bring light (happiness) to each other and when they are apart are left alone in the dark” 💔

Please feel free to come back anytime and let me know what you think and hurt me more in the process (I love the pain 😈), because neither will I stop talking about this show for the rest of my life!! ❤️

[groundcontrol21]

A Rainy Day’s Work (M)

So I was listening to my favorite Irish song in honor of St. Patrick’s day, “Whiskey in the Jar” and then this just happened. Based off the song, but this time our protagonist and highwayman is improved (i.e.. has a cold) and his Jenny is more sympathetic to the cause of highway robbery than is her song counterpart.

The wet wind blew the door shut behind me, and just as it rattled in its wooden frame, so too did I rattle in my corporal one. “Heh’ISSHH!” I sniffed back desperately what I could and, by habit, fumbled in my pocket for a kerchief to take care of the rest, only to find, of course, that said piece of cloth was as drenched as the rest of me. Sniffling almost compulsively around a completely and utterly blocked nose, I bit back a groan as I rang out the kerchief, adding to the puddle of wetness from my dripping overcoat already forming at my feet.

There was a scuttering sound and I looked up to see Jenny hurrying toward me, wiping her floury hands on the body of her dress. Though I was chilled to the bone, a miniscule part of me warmed at the tenderness of her expression as she scanned me over with an urgency that suggested that little old me with my ratty clothes and my wretched cold was worth all the concern in the world.

“Oh darling, you shouldn’t have stayed out half as long as you did in this weather.” She clucked her teeth as she removed my sodden coat from around my shoulders to hang it on a chair to dry, and I shivered. “Look at you, you look half drowned.”

“Better half than hah-wholly! Hhh’RSSHH’uhh!”

Between my sniffles (whose wetness, admittedly, lent credence to my state as half-drowned), I heard Jenny murmur a soft oh sound, the sweetness of which, could I have captured it in a jar, would have attracted all the bees in the summertime. Abysmal though I felt, I relished in the depths of care she was showing me. Though not strictly necessary (I had only a bad cold, after all) , it was more than welcome all the same.

Jenny came at me with a cloth from the kitchen and began rubbing furiously at my hair, left damp by the rain that had infiltrated my holely hat. I coughed a bit, and she paused in her ministrations to rest a palm gently against my warm cheek. Her brow furrowed, knitting the lines of her soft brown eyes with concern.

“I knew your sniffling this morning was the start of a headcold brewing,” she said before returning to toweling my hair with fervor.

The tickle was growing in my nose again, but even as I tried to duck away, between Jenny’s hands and the towel I was trapped. As soon as I pulled an inch away, she’d catch me by the hair and pull me back. “Jesus, you’ll pull out all my hair doing that!”

At last, I managed to shove her away from me long enough to jerk to the side with a heavy sneeze. “Hehh’RSHH’uhh! Heh’ISSSHhh’uhh! Hehhh’ISSSH!” The cold had so fully settled in my nose that I barely got a glimpse of respite from my congestion before I was completely bunged up once more.

“Christ almighty!” Jenny winced as I coughed slightly in the aftermath. “Don’t you have any sense in that head of yours? Why didn’t you ride back as soon as you saw the clouds blowing in? You’re doing yourself no favors, poorly as you are.”

“Ah, snf!” I wagged a finger at Jenny before reaching for my purse, undoing it from my belt as deftly as my wet, trembling hands would allow. “But if I had rode off before the storm came in, I wouldn’t have gotten this, would I?”

I poured the purse’s contents onto the rickety wood table at which we took our meals. From the corner of my eye I watched Jenny’s widen as coin after coin came tumbling out, spilling across the tabletop and even clacking to the floor. When I had finished, it was as if the table had been coated in a flood of golden rain.

Jenny’s voice was hushed when she spoke again, her awe nearly tangible. “Who’d you get all this from, then?”

“Fresh young navy captain,” I replied, giving a brief cough behind my fist. “Stopped him about two miles out from the village.”

“Did you--” Jenny began, but I stopped her.

“Didn’t have to,” I said, watching her shoulders relax a little. For all she understood of highway robbery, the idea of taking a life still unsettled her. “He was about ready to give me the clothes off his back when he saw my pistol.”

“Perhaps you should’ve taken him up on that,” Jenny said wryly, giving my sodden overcoat a squeeze. A small downpour came off the coat and to the floor.

I gave her a small smile in return. “Perhaps.” I sneezed again, which sent me into a fit of coughs, barking and deep, that swept me up much quicker than had any earlier in the day. Dimly, I felt Jenny’s hand on the small of my back, and the sensation of her warm hand against the coolness of my shirt and skin made me jolt with a shudder.

“If we’re lucky, all this money will be just enough for your treatment once you get pneumonia!” Jenny shepherded me toward the tiny kitchen stove and pulled up a chair which she promptly pushed me down into. She undid my belt deftly, and placed it and my pistol aside the chair where my overcoat hung. “Stay put here, and I’ll bring you dry clothes and get a fire going.”

Jenny disappeared into the other room, where the bed and clothing were kept. I smiled to myself as I set to unbuttoning my shirt. I had seen the way her eyes glowed as they flitted across the sum I’d taken home; with it we could buy new cloaks and shoes and have plenty left over for pretty things.

My cold snatched me from my reverie. “Hihh’ESSH! Hehh’ihh’KSSHH! Hhh’RSHH’uhh! Unghhh… Sod the dry clothes,” I groaned from behind my hand. “Find me a dry h-h-hah-handkerchief! Ihh’sshhh!”

I opened my eyes to see a white square of cloth floating before me. Jenny’s kerchief, then. I took it anyhow and buried my nose in it, giving a solid blow as I did so. “After wiping my nose on a sopping wet kerchief all day, this is as close as I’ll ever get to heaven.”

“I can’t imagine you were all that frightening today, sniveling and hacking all around as you are,” Jenny hummed, her back to me as she loaded kindling into the stove and ignited a flame. “Lucky thing I had the thought to bring in a bit of wood for the stove and save it from the rain, eh?”

I rose to the bait. “I’d say I was mighty menacing enough, thank you very much, and I’ve got the money to prove it. Do you reckon my cold was the secret? Perhaps I should catch cold more often, scare the daylight out of villagers. Maybe one well-placed cough is all it takes to have them turning out their pockets.”

My speculations proved too much for my sore throat, and I descended into coughing once more. Jenny slipped my wet shirt off my shoulders, her fingers lingering soothingly on my aching chest, before she helped me pull on a fresh nightshirt.

“Even if that were so, I’d rather have you well and all in one piece,” she said, all traces of teasing gone and a warm feeling spread all over me that I knew had nothing to do with the now-crackling fire before me or any budding fever. “You sound miserable. Should I boil up a pot of steam for you, to try and clear out that head of yours?”

I shifted in the chair, feeling slightly ashamed at her coddling. Even two years ago, before I had met my Jenny, I would have spent this kind of night asleep in a barn’s hay, as I always did, and I would have awoken the next morning to a day of stealing, as I always did. Perhaps I would have scrounged up a bottle of liquor if my fever got too high or my throat too raw, but otherwise, so long as I could stand upright I could make my living.

Jenny must have sensed my discomfort, for she merely placed a blanket around my shoulders and withdrew. “You think about it. I’ll be boiling up some stew once I finish this dough, so it wouldn’t be any trouble.”

I watched Jenny’s braid ripple down her back as she returned to kneading the dough. I shivered into the blanket, my head so heavy I felt stupid with the effort of keeping my eyes open tlong enough to focus on her. My body ached and I knew that I would regret having chased down the captain tomorrow, even despite the money I had stolen from him. It had been a long time since I had felt so utterly and completely ill. Perhaps it was the cool autumn rain or perhaps it was Jenny’s coddling or perhaps I was coming down with something worse than a headcold, that made me feel so low. Whatever it was, I was grateful beyond measure that I was ill in a house with a bed, shabby though they were, and not alone in a barn somewhere in the highland. And I resolved to make the most of that fact.

“Jenny, darling,” I said raspily, palming my throat. She turned to me just as I buried my face in the blanket. “Heh’KMPPF! Ihh’KMPCHH!” I remembered her kerchief, and pressed it to my nose. My head felt full of cotton. “That pot of steam sounds wonderful.”

She smiled a knowing little smile and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, leaving a trace of flour on her cheek. “I’ll get started right away.”

[ready-to-obeyme]

[OM!] Merging Timelines (Lucifer/MC)

Summary: Your nightmares become less frequent the less you refer to the other timeline as ‘yours’ and the more you convince yourself that this timeline is the only one that exists.

Alternatively: After waiting for you to come back, Lucifer goes searching for you to bring you back home.

Alternatively 2:0: what’s better than one Lucifer? TWO Lucifers!!!! But it really isn’t :(

Word Count: 2k+

Notes: Gender neutral reader (”they”); *throws angst at you* like leaving behind the original timeline wasn’t bad enough; I don't actually remember what Barbatos did to the other timelines-- if it was destroyed or if we just broke off into another junction, but I’m leaning towards the latter theory... yknow, for the angst, (had to repost this because tags weren’t working :’((( )

--

Every time you encounter something that was different or uncomfortable for you in the Devildom, you adapt. Just as you adjust to being in a timeline you had no intentions of being a part of not out of complacency, but out of desperation.

You scramble to make new memories with the seven demon brothers.

You go along with every antic Mammon or Levi pull you in and drown yourself with face masks and new lotions with Asmo. You cook your favorite recipes for Beel and discuss your favorite genres with Satan. You even help Belphie rekindle his relationship with his brothers; it’s familiar, easy for you to forget what you have lost when you’re busy helping others, even though every time he looks at you, you remember the feeling of his hands on your throat.

Your gaze lingers on Lucifer more, trailing after him. Before he notices, you’re already looking elsewhere, pretending like you don’t imagine time and time again when your hands were on his as he bared his heart and finally allowed himself to be vulnerable around his brothers-- around you-- before you were swept to the past you had no right to meddle in. Still, like with the other brothers, you do what you can to make up for lost time, even though you feel a sense of dread that you’ll never be able to have the same relationship with the brothers that you had when you bound together against Diavolo for Belphie.

(Especially not with Lucifer, who had vouched for you to find the truth and save Belphie, who let you embrace him in the catacombs and allowed your hands to give him the reassurance he needed to speak, whose concern was etched on his face as you declared that you would go to the past alone.)

Your nightmares become less frequent the less you refer to the other timeline as ‘yours’ and the more you convince yourself that this timeline is the only one that exists.

And it gets better (as it must) when you spend time with all of them, building your relationship to a point that you slowly begin to truly believe that things will be okay. It starts to actually feel that way when you attend Diavolo’s birthday party, pleasantly surprised at the presents that you are given. You’re warmed by the thought that went into each of them, flushing at the way Lucifer looks at you and pins the brooch right above your left breast with a gentleness you have always known he was capable of (even if he doesn’t realize it himself).

You meet Belphie outside, where there are lights above like stars, at the rocky pavement nearest the lake and accept his present. His pact burns onto your skin like all the other five, and he tells you he has never thought of you as Lilith as neither do the other brothers. Like a bad habit, you think about your other timeline, wondering if you had stayed if this scenario would have happened, and what would have changed otherwise.

“Hey-y-y, whaddya think you’re doin’ over there?! Did you forget who’s the guest of honor tonight?” You hear Mammon’s voice call out from a distance. You laugh when he huffs loudly, “Get back to the party, on the double!”

“Coming!” You reply back, grinning at Belphie who only grimaces at Mammon’s shouting.

“Why are you all the way over there,” Asmo whined, hugging you the moment you reached them.

“Sorry,” you say, returning his embrace gently. (Inwardly, you vow to make sure he has your full attention when asked, though you know he has no idea why you would do such a thing.) “Belphie was just giving me his gift,” you explain, smiling lightly when Belphie flushes at the sudden attention. He gravitates towards Beel as Mammon leers at him and Levi rolls his eyes at how ‘dramatic’ everything was.

“Oh, did he now,” Satan remarks, amusement laced in his every word. Belphie glares. “I understand the need for privacy, but the distance seems kind of excessive, don’t you think?”

“Wouldn’t you have preferred Lucifer to be more than a few feet away when we made our pact?” You tease, watching as the blond raises his hand to his face and similarly tries to hide his blush.

“W-Well, that was a different time--”

“You’re not exactly wrong,” Asmo comments, pointing to the marble pavilion out on the lake. “Lucifer’s not really that far off when these sort of things happen.”

At the sight of the eldest brother approaching with his black coat billowing behind him, Mammon swears. “Oh crap,” he says, starting to nudge you towards the Demon Prince’s castle. “C’mon, we should scram before he comes and yells at us for leaving the party.”

You laugh. “You say that like it’s something we can avoid,” you tell him, letting yourself get pulled regardless even as you glance back with a twinkle in your eyes at the familiar sight of Lucifer storming up to them in a huff.

That is, until he calls out your name.

There is something wrong.

You’re aware that Mammon and Satan are looking at you in concern when you stop walking, but you don’t have the heart to reassure them when you’re not sure if everything is okay. Lucifer calls out your name again, and you’re startled, heart beating a mile a minute as his voice wraps your name in a flurry of fear and desperation.

You didn’t realize Lucifer could ever sound like that.

Without thinking, you start to walk toward him, mind racing with every worst scenario you can think up of. “Lucifer,” you start to say, concerned, “Lucifer, what’s wrong--”

Lucifer gives you no chance to finish your sentence as he pulls you into his chest, his arms wrapped around you tightly, leaving no space in between the two of you. Almost instinctively, you reach up and hold him, confused and worried but happy to provide him with an embrace if that is what he needed. (You wonder if he hugs like this every time, intimately close and comfortably tight, and for a moment you wish you had a chance to do this with your-- the other Lucifer.)

You hear some murmurs and strangled yells (probably Mammon) in the background, but you find yourself more focused on the warmth of his arms around your body and the way Lucifer’s eyes seem to glean in the light of the dark when he reluctantly pulls away.

You open your mouth to ask again when he beats you to the punch.

“Where have you been?” Lucifer asks-- no, demands of you, hands gripping your shoulders. His eyes search over you, as if checking for injuries or ailments.

You blink. “Oh, I was just with Belphie for a moment,” you tell him slowly, unsure why his eyes widen. You bite your lip. “Sorry, I know we’re supposed to be at the party and all but--”

Lucifer shakes his head. “That doesn’t matter,” he says, and hesitates for a moment before brushing his hand across your face gently. “Let’s go back home,” he tells you softly, dropping his hand until he is able to grasp yours.

“Home?” You echo, following his lead with worry. “What do you mean? I thought you’d be mad that we’d leave the ball, but you want to go home?”

At this, Lucifer turns his head with brows drawn together, mirroring your expression of concern. “What do you mean?”

You stop in your tracks, and Lucifer has no choice but to drop your arms as you stand at a distance. “Lucifer,” you start to say, “I don’t understand. Today is Diavolo’s birthday party-- you made me a guest of honor and everything. Are-- are you sure you’re okay?”

Before Lucifer could reply, you felt a hand on your shoulder pull you back. You look behind you to see Beel guiding you behind him, like Lucifer was someone to be protected from. The thought makes your stomach churn.

“Hey, you’re being pretty weird right now, Lucifer,” Mammon retorts, coming up beside you. “Where do you think you’re going right now, anyhow? The castle is that way.”

Looking at Mammon, Lucifer falters, but after glancing back at you, something in him resolves and his face sets.

“We’re not going back to the party,” he says with a tone of finality.

Mammon sputters, “Wh-What--?!”

“Diavolo’s birthday party was months ago for me,” Lucifer tells you even as this statement makes you reel. “I understand this may be confusing, but please trust me. Come back home with me,” he says, this time more gently, holding out his hand again. “To us.”

“No one is going anywhere.”

Your heart jumps at the sound of the familiar voice, and with growing dread, you turn away from Lucifer-- gentle, desperate, firm, and casually cladded-- only to see another Lucifer in his demon form, wings bristling and eyes burning with a dark ember as he sees himself right before him..

The last month comes back to you all at once: the nightmares, the paralyzing grief, and the slow and steady tread to the life you had before in the Devildom. And you suddenly feel the sharp pang of loss again when you see all that you have built up, all this time convincing yourself that you had left no one behind, come crashing down.

There were now two Lucifers: one from the timeline in which you left and the one in which you came to.

The original Lucifer (your Lucifer, your mind croons cruelly) glares at his alterself, giving no quarter. “We,” he says darkly, transforming into his demonic form, “are going to be leaving. Whether you allow it is not of my concern.”

“What is happening?” Levi cries out, glancing between the two Lucifers, indiscernible from each other. “Why are there two of them?”

“That doesn’t matter,” says Mammon, growling. “What’s the deal, huh, Lucifer-- if you really are him.” He puts his hands on his hips and glares. “‘Cause if you really are him, you’d know how important--”

“Trust me,” your Lucifer replies coldly, “I know how important they are. I don’t need anyone telling me.”

The other Lucifer-- the one who pinned the brooch on for you-- steps forward and puts an arm to obscure his counterpart’s view of you. “Then leave,” he demands. “They’re not going with you.”

You can see your Lucifer’s wings spread wide in anger, but he sees you and is once again quelled. (You don’t remember having such an effect on him, but it hurts your heart trying to wonder why you do now.) He says your name again, and steps forward despite his alterself brother’s raising hackles. “Did you ever want to get back home to us at all? Did you ever think of us?” asks Lucifer, putting a hand on his chest, eyes soft. “Of me?”

“Of course!” You cry out before you could think of doing otherwise. You step forward, stopped only by the other Lucifer’s arm blocking your path. You squeeze your eyes against the tears that stung them. “Of course I did! How could I not?”

“You were gone for months,” your Lucifer tells you, voice strained. “No sign of you coming back whatsoever. I held hope that maybe someday you would return to us but--” His eyes flashes with something unfamiliar, something you hoped to see for as long as you have been in love with him. “I will not lose you. Even if it’s to myself.”

“I love you,” your Lucifer says with a voice as sincere and vulnerable as it could be. “Truly and deeply. Please-- come back.”

“Lucifer, I--”

You jump at the hand that grabs your wrist, and you look up to see the other Lucifer look at you with a deep-seeded fear that made your heart clench.

“I will not lose you a second time,” he says quietly to you, and your heart stutters. He glares at his counterpart with an intensity that rivaled even the hottest fires. “You’re outnumbered, you know,” he says coolly.

You’re unsure if the other Lucifer actually means it-- that he would have his brothers fight himself, even from another timeline. The way the brothers shift behind you tells you that this is and never will be an easy decision-- nor it was for you.

“I agree with Lucifer for once,” Satan comments, smiling with a sharpness that didn’t reach his eyes. “Brother or not… it’s a fact that you don’t belong here, and we don’t take kindly to other demons taking what’s ours.”

“Looks like you’re selfish in every timeline, huh, Lucifer?” Belphie goads unkindly, stepping up next to Lucifer with Satan flanking his other side.

Instead of flinching, your Lucifer looks at you before gazing at his brothers, half of whom was hesitant to fight and the other half desperately trying to find reasons to justify it. “Say what you want of me,” your Lucifer says quietly-- dangerously. “I did not come here to go back empty-handed.”

HIs alterself looks at you, searching for something in your face, before pushing you towards Asmo who holds you back. (And you wonder if there was something in his eyes that could rival what your Lucifer had or if you had only conjured up something you hoped to see.) With a flourish of wings, the other Lucifer remarks dryly, “Then I suspect... you will not return at all.”

It’s ironic to think that the two men ready to fight each other to the death are the only ones whom you have not made a pact with. You wonder if you could have. You wonder if both Lucifers would let you.

But as of now, you can only drop to the floor, wallowing in the turmoil of seeing the man you love destroy himself, screaming until your throat is hoarse even though your words go unheard.

In some ways, Barbatos was right. There could only be one timeline-- and you never had a choice in choosing which one it would be.

[purplesauris]

The Heart Wants

"I want you to meet my family."

Din wants to show Luke off to his family- whether that be his found family or anyone else.

Read it on AO3 here!

“I want you to meet my family.” Din watches him, beskar helmet reflecting the sunset from the window as he leans back in his chair.

Luke’s hands still in the air, Grogu floating above him, and he looks toward Din. “Pardon?”

A trickle of discomfort curls around Luke’s throat, a soft wispy thing, and he lowers Grogu from the air, ignoring the disappointed coo the child lets out as Din’s shoulders slump. He instead draws one of Grogu’s toys closer, making it dance through the air to keep him occupied as Din clears his throat. “If you want. They’ve asked to meet you when I go out next.”

“They’ve asked for me?” Luke doesn’t want to seem overly eager, but judging by the way Din’s head turns just slightly, unable to look at him, he’s blushing inside his helmet. “You talk about me.”

“You’re training my son.” Din croaks, as if that’s excuse enough. 

“We’re dating.” Luke can’t help the grin that spreads over his face, laughing when Din shuffles in his seat and mumbles something uncouth under his breath. It’s enough for the modulator to pick up, but not enough to be heard clearly, so it sounds like static cracking through. “When were you thinking?” Luke says instead, giving Din a way out of his flustered revelation. 

“When it’s better to bring Grogu along.” 

Luke’s mind whirls immediately at the thought, and he glances down at the small green child tucked in his lap. Words bubble up from him before he can trap them behind his teeth, shove them back down, and Luke’s gaze is firmly locked on the toy he sends sailing through the air in wilder and wilder loops and spins. 

“I can bring him to my sister, she’s- like me, and will know how to care for him.” 

“On Coruscant? The capital of the Galaxy?” Luke winces at the way that sounds, but something niggles at the back of his mind, and he squints in Din’s direction.

“How do you know where she is?”

Now it’s Din’s turn to wince, though the subtle shift of his body is much less noticeable than Luke’s; only caught because Luke knows every dip and stretch of muscle. 

“I keep track.” Din mutters, as if just admitting that is something wrong, ugly. Luke finds it frustratingly endearing, the level of awareness that Din has for everything and everyone; it only lends to the fact that Din’s strength lies not just in his fighting skills, but in the simple fact that Din is smart. 

He’s devilishly clever, wildly pragmatic when he needs to be and endlessly creative. Every time that Luke thinks he finds him, truly sees him another layer is pulled back, revealing more and more of the man beneath the armor. Of the clever, kind man whose spirit called to him in the moments between their words. 

“I know it’s not ideal, but…” Luke glances over at him, willing him to understand without Luke having to continue, and to Luke’s continued delight Din dips his head- finishing Luke’s thought. 

“I trust you, Luke. Not sure I do her, but if she’s like you…” 

“Ah, she’s better, actually. Much more adjusted.” Din huffs a laugh, metallic and low, and Luke revels in the sound and faint feeling of warmth wafting off of Din. “If we have her babysit, when were you thinking? Next supply run?”

“Mmm. Probably." 

Luke purses his lips, thinking about how far Leia is from him, and even with him flying solo it’s going to be a tight turn around if they want to be on time.

“Okay. I’ll have to leave a couple days early, to get him there and get back.”

“Alone?” Curious, Din sits forward in his chair, as if the thought of being left behind is a novel idea. 

“It’ll be easier for me to get in and out of the city without a big scary Mando following me around.” Din snorts at that, but judging by the way that he sits back he has no argument. Not yet, at least. Luke can practically hear the gears grinding in Din’s head, turning his words over and over to examine every bump and crack. “The x-wing only fits one anyhow.”

“You’ll meet me back here?”

“Of course. After all, I want to fly the Crest too.” His grin answers Din’s groan, and he feels a thrill go down his spine when Din doesn't automatically tell him no. He might not get to this time, but he's a patient man, and with enough convincing Din will let him do almost anything. 

Almost.

"Tell me about her?" 

Luke leans back on his hands, letting the toy drop and nodding at Grogu. Grogu grumbles unhappily, but the toy begins a shaky maneuver into the air, Grogu's little hands raising while Luke begins to talk. "Her name is Leia, but you knew that already. She's a senator for the new republic."

"What's she like?"

"She's brave, smart as a tack. Doesn't take shit from anyone." Luke's eyes burn, and he presses a hand to his forehead, stupidly emotional. "I didn't know her when I was a child- I grew up on Tatooine while she grew up a princess on Alderaan. We met during the Rebellion: she was a prisoner on the death star and Han and I rescued her."

"Han?"

"Solo. Her husband. He was a smuggler I hired who kind of got sucked into helping the rebellion."

Talking about the rebellion always made something slimy and panicked crawl through his veins, but if there was one thing he'd mastered long ago it was pushing those feelings back. His meditation had helped, the little training he had with Yoda had helped, and most days, alone with Din or Grogu or Artoo, he could breathe. But there were moments of silence, of stillness when Luke's right arm ached and all that he'd done came crawling back to the surface. When he laid in bed, Din asleep beside him, and wished he were anyone else. The thoughts drag at him like an anchor against the sandy bottom of the ocean, and Luke finds himself set adrift, the room around him fading in and out of focus. 

This is not the time to be doing so. 

Luke tries, really he does, to draw himself back in, to crawl from the ugly sprawling thoughts in his mind, but he hears a low scraping sound that’s so much like metal debris against the side of his x wing that he flinches. There’s a rattle to his left, the dropping of something heavy, and then a weight settles against his back, tucking into the crook of his neck and gripping around him. 

Luke’s first instinct is to shove away from it, to fight his way out, but soft fingers catch at the edge of his shirt, smoothing along his abdomen, and Luke releases a breath he didn’t know he was holding. The touch is hesitant at first, as if afraid, but when Luke doesn’t do anything past dragging in low, shuddering breaths it grows bolder. If he were here, truly focused, he’d make a joke, something to diffuse the situation, but instead he shakes as a palm slides under his shirt and presses flat over his chest, nestled above his heart. Luke focuses on the pulse he senses in the man’s palms instead of his own, the warmth of skin on skin contact. 

Badum. Badum. Badum.

Slow and even- calm in the midst of a storm. Luke tilts his head back, gasping in a breath, and metal digs into the back of his head, cold and hard. A pauldron. Luke recognises the ridged edge to it, recognizes the soft scrape of facial hair against his neck when Din presses closer, breaths light and hand held to Luke’s chest. 

“Take a breath. Hold it.” Luke follows the command on instinct alone, chest expanding under hand and stopping, full to bursting until Din’s voice, soft and so unlike his visage, speaks again. “Release. Slowly.”

Luke follows that instruction to the letter, letting the air seep from his lips until he feels empty, hollowed out and aching to take a breath. Din works him through ten more breaths, until he’s breathing without waiting for Din’s quiet command and his hand finds Din’s, clutching at his fingers in an effort to keep himself grounded. 

“I’m sorry.” He chokes out, grief rising in his throat like a beast ready to kill, and Din’s voice vibrates across his back from where Luke is pressed back into his arms. 

“I know.” Somehow, his simple acknowledgement, his acceptance, is what breaks Luke. He feels a sob clatter out of him, low and weak, and Din’s head turns, forehead pressing against Luke’s temple. Din holds him tight and Luke allows himself to be held, shaking and weak, until his tears and his panic finally ebb, drawn back into the little box he keeps under such careful lock and key. In his lap Grogu’s big brown eyes are shiny with tears, and when Luke turns his head, bumping his forehead against Din’s he finds his mandalorian in a similar state. 

“I’m sorry.” Luke says again, because he doesn’t know what else to say, and Din’s free hand comes up, dashing away the wetness that clings to Din’s lashes like morning dew. Din doesn’t stop at himself, thumb wiping at the trails on Luke’s cheeks before drawing Grogu up. Luke’s hands come up to steady the child against his chest as Grogu’s little head tucks under his chin, and Luke leans heavily back against Din’s chest. 

They sit there for a while, breathing and holding each other close until Grogu’s breaths even out and his snores kick up, Luke only half fighting the heaviness in his own eyelids. It seems easier to fall asleep than address this fragile, marred thing, but Din always seems to be one step ahead of him, hand slipping from his chest as both arms move to rest around Luke’s middle instead, a warm cage that Luke doesn’t want to leave. 

“Sleep, Luke. You don’t get nearly enough. Let me watch over you.” Luke wants to point out that they’re in the middle of the living room, but Din’s chest rumbles against his back as he makes a soft noise, nosing at his cheek and placing a soft, reverent kiss to the curved edge of Luke’s jaw. Luke allows himself to drift off in Din’s arms, sinking into the darkness behind his eyelids without a fight. 

Luke wakes up in bed screaming.

He looks around, eyes wild, trying to find the source of the agony coursing through him, but there isn't any. Luke sucks in two harsh breaths, fighting against the instinctive panic, and he looks down at his right hand, fingers twitching madly and whole arm quaking. When he tries to move his arm another razor edged wave of feeling scrapes along his nerves, and he bites back another scream. “Fuck-”

“Here.” Luke’s head snaps up toward the doorway as Din’s lithe form slips through, walking with measured steps until he sinks down onto the edge of the bed by Luke’s hip. He reaches out, hands gentle as he takes Luke’s hand in his. Even that movement is too much, too rough, but Din thumbs at the line where his wrist connects, edging along the hard line of the cybernetics underneath the skin. Din almost seems to be searching for something, and Luke wants to ask him what, but Din’s thumb digs in suddenly and Luke feels a pop in his wrist. Sensation shorts out of his arm immediately, fingers twitching for a moment before going limp. Luke is able to focus more on his breathing and collecting his thoughts with Din having done… whatever it is he did, and eventually Luke finds his voice. 

“How did you...” 

Din’s eyes flick up toward him, near black in the dim light coming from the hallway, and so filled with warmth that Luke feels like he’s a spark away from going up in flames. 

“You’ve done it before.”

“I know I have, but how did you know to-” Luke’s mouth snaps shut at the realization that he knows the answer to the question. He didn’t realize he’d ever done it in front of Din. He’d spent months tinkering with his hand after the medics on the Redemption had installed it, and he’d installed what some might call a kill switch. It was small, near impossible to trigger unless you knew exactly how and where it was, and Luke had done it out of sheer desperation to have some way to make the pain stop. 

“You've only used it one other time.” Din says, looking down at Luke’s hand and thumb smoothing over his inner wrist. “But you were in pain then too.”

“It bothers me.” Luke expects the shame that comes with talking about his hand, but Din lifts it higher and places a kiss onto the deadened palm. Luke wishes desperately that he could feel it, if only for an instant, but his want is written plain across his body. It has to be, because there’s no other way he can explain away to himself the way that Din gathers his other hand, lips soft and gentle on the palm. Luke presses the fingertips of his good hand into the skin of Din’s cheek, holding him there, and Din’s eyes shut, turning just slightly to bump his nose against the meat of Luke’s thumb and smile against his skin. 

“You don’t have to hide when it does.”

“I have obligations.” Luke protests, sinking away from the casual way that Din reminds him that he’s a man. Just a man, beneath everything. “I can’t just- turn my hand off when it suits me.”

“Are you useless without your right hand?”

“No, but-” 

“Can you still teach, still work your plants and tinker with Artoo?”

“Yes, but-” Luke feels like a moon cracked into jagged pieces, pulled in all directions by the gravity of Din’s eyes, of his careful, thought out words. 

“You are allowed to want to stop hurting.” Luke physically recoils at the words, letting them slam into his chest and bury deep. Luke draws in one breath, then two, then three, trembling in bed as Din holds his hand and presses his face, his skin against Luke’s palm and seems content never to move away. “I want this, Luke. Let me shoulder some of the burden for once.” 

“What if it’s too much?” Luke’s voice is weak, timid, and Din’s expression softens, eyelids drooping and corners of his mouth tugging into a sad, quiet smile. 

“Then I’ll complain. Loudly.” That draws a thick, startled laugh out of Luke, and he watches the way that Din’s smile warms into something fond and affectionate. 

“Promise?” 

“I can start now.” Luke laughs again, disbelieving, and Din chuckles along with him, tilting his head as Luke leans forward, shifting the hand on Din’s cheek so that he can kiss him easier. Din pulls back after a moment, humming softly and brushing his lips against Luke’s more for the sensation than anything else. “I just got Grogu back to sleep. Do I need to sing you to sleep too?”

“I don’t think your singing would have that same affect on me.” 

“I’m pretty good.” Din points out, cracking a smile when Luke pushes against his cheek, choosing instead to flop back against the bed. 

“I would just stay awake to hear it.” Din nods as if that’s a perfectly acceptable answer, and when Luke opens an arm Din doesn’t hesitate to crawl into bed beside him. Luke has always loved that for all of Din’s brute strength and aggressiveness he sleeps curled tight, knees up close to his chest to block anyone from getting at the soft expanse of his belly. It took waking up to knees in his ribs more times than he could count to adjust to the way that Din slept, to coax him into spreading out and taking up space. 

Din does it now without question, hooking a leg up over Luke’s to press it into the space between Luke’s thighs, arm tossed over Luke’s ribs and face tucked against Luke’s neck. The feeling of Din’s breath on his neck, slow and even, is what allows Luke to finally drift off again, Din holding his deadening hand gently.

                                                         -*-

He manages to reorient himself by the time he calls Leia, scrambling and rescrambling the feed to ensure that whoever might have been listening were thrown off. Leia’s face is fuzzy at first, buzzing with her movement, but she’s grinning at the sight of Luke.

“Luke.”

“Hey Lee.” Luke grins when Leia scoffs at the nickname, the same reaction he’s gotten since he first tried it out and decided it was going to stay. "I have a favor to ask you."

"Would that favor involve childcare?" Leia's expression is impassive, but when Luke grimaces, rubbing the back of his neck he sees her crack a smile. "I can hear your intentions from here."

"It would only be a couple days, and you could get to know him!"

"He's your student."

"I know, I know, but it's too dangerous to bring him back to Nevarro and-"

"Why are you going to Nevarro?" Leia's eyes narrow, brow arching when Luke's cheeks flush with color. He very pointedly looks away for a moment, drawing in a couple of deep breaths before Leia's grin turns shark like. "You met someone."

"It's-" Luke goes to say that it's complicated, but Leia's eyes widen comically at something in the background, and Luke turns just in time for Din to dip down, bumping his helmet against Luke's forehead. Luke presses up into the touch, smiling, before remembering himself and pulling back, cheeks positively red now. Din's attention turns to the holo, head tilting just so, and Luke feels the instant that Din realizes what he's done. "Leia, this is my partner, Din. Din, this is my sister, Senator Leia Organa."

"Senator." Din dips his head as a courtesy, and Luke watches as Leia does the same.

"Mand'alor." Luke hears Din groan quietly, too soft for the holo to hear, and he snickers, ignoring the elbow that gets him in his side. Really, by now Din should be used to the title and people's knowledge of who he is, but somehow it comes as a shock to him every time. Leia straightens in her chair, and though nothing has really changed Luke can see the polite mask that falls into place. "If you truly don't have anywhere else, I'll take him." Luke grins, glancing at Din. "But only for three days. I do have obligations here that a child would disrupt." 

Luke nods his head in agreement, pressing his lips together in a miserable attempt to hide his grin. "Right so uh, I'll see you in a couple days?"

"Don't forget anything." Leia warns, Luke laughing. "And Luke? You have questions to answer." 

Leia doesn't let Luke reply before the holo goes dead, and Luke sits back, peering at Din. "Well, that could have gone worse. If you hadn't appeared I expected to lose my hearing."

"Would it have been that bad?"

"She locked me in my room for three days the last time I lied to her." Din pauses, head tilting, and Luke is surprised and delighted when Din laughs, a full bodied sound that makes Luke smirk. 

"I like her more already."

"Good! Because she's going to make us visit sooner or later."

“Make us?”

“You don’t get to say no to Leia.” Luke knows that from experience: sooner or later Leia is going to drag them to Coruscant for something, and it’s only a matter of time. 

Din hums from behind his helmet, reaching out to play with the sleeve of Luke’s robe. “If I tried?”

“She might put a bounty out on you.” Luke deapans, face carefully arranged into a blank expression that breaks when Din shakes his head and shoves at his shoulder. Luke scoops the holo up off of the counter, turning as Din catches his waist, holding him still. Luke raises a brow, lips quirking, and watches with obvious interest as Din reaches back to unlock and slip his helmet off.

Seeing Din's face is just as breathtaking as it was the first time so many months ago, and Luke's heart swells with affection. Din is handsome- not in a drop dead, unrealistic kind of way, but in a softer, grounded way that makes Luke's heart go wild in his chest whenever he gets a peek. Luke is so used to reading the lines of Din's body, of trying not to read him but reading his emotions anyway that when Din's connection opens Luke temporarily goes blind with the feelings that wash over him.

The rush of their connection powers through him, making Luke slap a hand onto the counter as a laugh bubbles up in his throat. Din's amusement, his care and his love sweep through him, leaving him warm and fuzzy, but other feelings worm their way in as well. He can acutely recognize the worry and fear, the anxiety that makes a mess of Din’s thoughts when he thinks of Grogu being so out of his reach. It’s intimate- madly so, and Luke finds himself tipping forward, clanking their foreheads together uncomfortably and reaching to cup the back of Din’s neck. 

“I don’t want you to go.” Din begins, voice choked, and Luke leans in harder, fingers digging into the nape of Din’s neck. “But I know you’ll be safe.”

“I’ll hurry.” Luke whispers, bumping his nose against Din’s and brushing their lips together. Din makes a soft, wounded sound, tilting his head to kiss Luke firm and slow. Luke feels Din’s connection go flimsy, and Luke lets his hold on the other end go, Din’s emotions wrapping back around him like a cloak. It’s easier to handle this way, but Luke craves the connection at the same time. 

Din pulls away, reluctance in every muscle of his body, and Luke hums, leaning back to look him over. Din’s eyes are watery, tears gathering, and Luke loves how expressive Din can’t help but be. Luke bumps their foreheads together one more time before he steps out of Din’s arms, going to get his things and gather up what Leia will need for Grogu’s stay. Once he’s gathered enough toys and things to keep the youngling occupied Luke pads back into the living room, scooping Grogu up into his arms and grinning when little claws tug at his robes. 

“We’re gonna go visit someone special. Can you say bye to your buir?” Luke hears Din give a choked off noise akin to a gasp, and when he turns to Din the other man is staring at him with unabashed surprise. As if he never expected to be called that. 

Grogu coos happily, reaching his little hand out, and Din steps forward, tilting his head down to place a soft kiss on Grogu’s fuzzy head. “Be good, ad’ika, no causing problems.” 

The child tilts his head, as if he’s asking could I ever? and Din gives him an unimpressed look. Luke whistles sharply and Artoo whirls out from the other room, beeping and whistling merrily. “Ready to go, Artoo?” Din walks them to where their ships are nestled close together, the x wing covered in a layer of dust from Din’s takeoffs. Artoo speeds ahead of them, lining himself up and lifting up into his spot. He slots in easily and Luke grins when the x-wing roars to life. The vibrations from the engine pulse through Luke and he feels giddy all over again: he hasn’t flown since Grogu came under his care, and he desperately misses it. 

The cockpit swings up and open with a pneumatic hiss, the ladder sliding down for easier access, and Luke pauses at the bottom, turning back to Din. He looks at him one last time, not because he won’t see him again but purely because he wants to look, and Din’s answering smile is encouraging. Luke realizes with a jolt he’s projecting a little strongly, and he grins sheepishly, dimming himself down despite the way that Grogu giggles at Luke’s infectious eagerness. “Come back safe.”

“Nothing could stop me from coming home.” Luke promises, staring at the way Din’s lips twitch, color flushing the tips of his ears and brown eyes sparkling. It’s so ridiculously attractive that Luke almost stumbles hoisting himself up into the cockpit. It isn’t until Luke has his headset on, Grogu safely in his lap and yolk in his hands that Luke clears his mind. Din’s ship is a little close to his, wings overshadowing Luke’s vessel, but Luke maneuvers himself smoothly away from the Crest and circles into the air, rising higher and higher, leaving Din among the greenery of the planet. 

Grogu stays firmly in Luke’s lap until they break through the atmosphere, but once the sharp nose of the x-wing cuts through and vaults them into space Grogu perks up, crawling to peer out of the cockpit window. “Alright Artoo, next stop Coruscant.” 

Artoo beeps affirmatively through the comms and Luke watches the coordinates flash through his display, Luke turning himself in the right direction and increasing his speed. Grogu squeals in delight at the stars rushing past, and Luke braces Grogu’s little body as they slip into hyperspace, stomach dropping momentarily as his body adjusts to the drag and Grogu’s wide eyes take in the smears of blue and white that scramble past them. 

“You’re gonna love Leia. She’ll spoil the devil out of you, little womp rat.” Grogu turns, crooning, and Luke smiles. “Just for a couple days, then you’ll be back with your buir and I.” 

Luke doesn’t dare call himself a parent, not with what Din and Grogu went through together, not yet, but calling Din Grogu’s father? That feels right, like breathing after breaking the surface of the water, and Luke knows Din has been his father far longer than he ever realized. 

                                                          -*-

Coruscant is as huge and sprawling as he remembers it, stinking of artificial ozone and smog. No one is there to meet him at the landing pad, but Luke is grateful for the chance to slip into the city anonymously. He tucks Grogu a bit deeper into the sling strapped across his chest and pulls his hood up, letting the dark fold of fabric obscure his face and cover the lightsaber hanging at his belt. He won’t need it in the city if he’s lucky, and Luke dives headfirst into the chaos of the city.

The electronics hum around him, sharp and bright, and Luke feels Grogu’s overstimulation rising in him, a surge of panic and anxiety. Luke tries to push some of his hard earned calm onto Grogu, smiling under the hood when Grogu relaxes, gurgling happily and sinking into the sling to nestle against Luke’s chest instead. Luke rests his hand against Grogu’s little form, both to protect and comfort him, and Luke makes a beeline for Leia’s home. He’s a half hour early, having made good time in hyperspace, and he’s itching to get inside and see his sister. 

Leia's house is on one of the upper levels, closer to the Senate building, and Luke has to take two separate speeder lifts just to get to the top. Speeders whiz and race past him, going in every direction, and Luke wonders what it would be like to try and fly through the heart of the city: how many speeders he'd be able to avoid before finally wrecking. That thought process will only get him in trouble though, so Luke pushes it away and instead focuses on hopping out of the speeder, robes whipping back at the air that rushes from the pit of the city. Luke stops in front of Leia's building, taking a deep breath and battening down the waves of the force that swirl around him, arranging them into something neater, more easily managed. Only once he's gotten himself into something resembling the normal calm demeanor he's praised for does Luke knock on the door. 

The door swings open, revealing an older man with dark brown hair, who smirks at him. "Hey kid."

"Hi Han. Leia home?"

"Nah, off on some Senate errand. Told me not to let you run away though. That your kid?"

Han motions toward the bundle on Luke's chest as he steps away from the door, Luke ducking inside and brushing the hood off his head only once the door has shut. 

"My student, yes. Did Leia say how long she'd be?" He looks around while Han closes the door- the house is clean, immaculately so,  but if he knows his sister, which he does, she spends about as much time here as Luke spends on Tatooine. Which isn't much anymore, if he can help it. 

"Aww, don't want to hang out? I'm starting to think you don't love me anymore." Han's grin is easy and genuine and makes Luke roll his eyes.

"I just don't have much time before I have to leave. It's a tight turn around."

"Then you'd better speak fast." Luke jumps at the sound of Leia's voice, and he turns, watching as she slinks down the stairs, dressed in a cream suit that flatters her figure. Luke scowls when Han laughs at him, but Leia is sweeping him up into a tight hug that Luke stoops down to accept, pressing his cheek to hers but keeping his chest carefully angled away. Grogu squirms against his chest, curious, and Luke pulls back, letting the child poke his head out.

At first it's just his eyes and ears, staring curiously at Leia, who regards him with open wonder. Luke feels her reach out with the force the same instant Grogu does, and they release twin noises of surprise, Grogu kicking his legs to try and pull himself from the sling.

"Okay okay, no need to kick, here you little womp rat." Luke tugs Grogu free from the sling, depositing him in Leia's arms, who takes him with minimal hesitation. Her eyes are bright and friendly, and she pets a finger along the ridge of Grogu's ear. 

"How did you find him?"

"I didn't. Din did." Leia looks up, keeping Grogu nestled in her arms while she waves for Luke to follow. They head into the living room off the main hallway, Leia sinking onto the couch while Luke remains standing, too tired of sitting to bother settling down. "Grogu can tell you the story- he's much more descriptive."

"I heard that a mandalorian was tearing up the outer rim in search of something. I didn't realize it was him." Leia coos at Grogu, letting him tug on the end of her long braid while cooing back.

"But you know he's Mand'alor?"

"Through word of mouth, mostly, though his reaction confirmed it." Leia looks up at the thought of Din, regarding Luke with something akin to exasperation. "Why didn't you say anything about him?"

"He's a private person."

"I'm your sister."

"You know now don't you?" Leia purses her lips, displeased, but she can't argue against that point, even if she did want to know sooner. Leia opens her mouth to say something just as the clock chirps the new hour, Luke's eyes flying up to check. He holds a hand up, sly smile on his face. "I have an hour before I have to leave again. You get one question about him: how we got together, who he is, or what he's like."

"The last two are the same." Leia points out, frowning. 

"You have two options then." Luke replies, Leia's frown deepening.

"How you two got together?."

Luke's expression goes wistful, and he paces the length of the living while thinking of what he wants to say. 

"I saved him and the child from a squadron of dark troopers on an Imperial cruiser. It's how Din became Mand'alor, actually. He won the Darksaber in a fight against Moff Gideon."

"That isn't how you got together."

"I'm getting there." Luke shoots back, squinting unhappily at Leia until she holds up a hand in a placating gesture. "Din was… unprepared for Grogu to leave. They'd done all this work to save him, to rescue him and I came in and just- well I didn't steal him, Din gave full permission but… he was heartbroken. For a long time I felt echoes of it, and eventually I sent him coordinates to visit. Grogu missed his buir as much as Din must have missed his ad'ika."

"He taught you Mando'a?"

Luke laughs, shaking his head. "I just picked up the important words." Luke's expression sobers, and his hands disappear into the sleeves of his robes, worrying away at the shirt underneath. "I had visions of Din nightly- glimpses of him with friends or alone, but always heading in my direction. When Din finally did land on the planet I couldn't be sure if it was him or another vision."

Luke's voice peters off as he hesitates, but Leia is silent and Luke lets the words come to him faster and faster, flowing past his lips in a tidal wave. "He only stayed a day the first time- but when he came back and he- never left. For Grogu, I knew, at least at first, but denying attachments had never been my strong suit and- he's force sensitive Lee, not that he can use it really, but it drove me half mad with the way he could use it. I didn't- want him to leave after a while. The house seemed too empty and his cooking is much better anyway." 

Luke hears Leia laugh and he finds himself smiling along. "He was the one that kissed me first, actually."

"You've seen his face?"

"We're a clan." Luke replies, voice soft with awe. "But kissing is different- like what you saw over the holo. He doesn't have to remove it, and half the time he doesn't. It was a relief just to know how he felt that night, but he's- brilliant. He's smart and he's funny and he's such a good dad and he's handsome."

"With or without the helmet?"

"Yeah." Leia laughs at the dreamy look that clouds Luke's face, glancing over at the clock. He's already ten minutes past when he was supposed to leave. “I’m… very lucky to have him, and to have Grogu as well.”

“You’re happy.” Leia says, fondness written all over her. “What are you doing that you’re leaving Grogu here?”

“Meeting his family.” Luke breaks from his reverie finally, glancing at the clock before gasping with outrage. “Leia! You did that on purpose!”

“I didn’t do anything.” Leia denies, the spitting image of innocence, and Luke scowls. He jogs over, ducking down to bump his forehead against Grogu’s little head. A clawed hand pats his cheek and Luke leans back, catching his gaze and staring pointedly.

“Be good, Grogu. She isn’t just a normal person, she’s like me. Which means she can tell when you try to use the force to sneak snacks.”

Grogu gurgles in disappointment, obviously displeased, but Leia bounces him a little higher in her arms and he giggles. Luke presses a warm kiss to Leia’s cheek before jogging for the door, waving goodbye and slipping outside. He’s much too impatient to wait for a speeder to take him down a few levels, so Luke does what any person would do.

He jumps off the edge of the city, letting himself plummet faster and faster until he jerks to a stop, the force catching around him like a net. A speeder with a family inside screeches just above his head, and he carefully maneuvers his way back to the level needed, hoisting himself up over the edge and dusting his robes off. All around him people stare at him with wide, confused eyes, but Luke is already slipping from their view before anyone can ask him questions. Artoo whistles happily when Luke comes bounding up to the ship, ignoring the ladder in lieu of hopping lightly, kicking off of the wing and vaulting up into the cockpit. 

Luke shoves the helmet on, securing it under his chin as the cockpit seals around him and Luke gets comfortable. “Alright Artoo, we’ve got time to make up!”

Luke’s hands are barely on the yolk when the ship roars into movement, and Luke allows Artoo to guide them out of the city and into open space before he takes over. He doesn’t have to pilot, Artoo could easily handle it, but Luke hasn’t let Artoo truly fly him anywhere in years. Instead he lets him chart a path and then takes off, following with careful precision and overexaggerated loops just to make his stomach flip and roll with the g force. 

He’s on a crash course for Din, and nothing will be able to stop him.

                                                        -*-

There’s a charlie horse in Luke’s leg that he can’t shake out and he wants to rocket himself into space. He’s been in his cockpit for far too long for his liking, having gone straight there and back, and by the time he slams through the air into the open sky of where he now calls home his knee is jittering anxiously. Luke’s landing is a bit hot but Luke swings the back end of his ship in a wide arc before easing to the ground, touching down and powering down as soon as he’s able to. Luke tugs his helmet off, storing it before popping the hatch to the cockpit, shoving the hatch up and open. He drags in a deep breath of balmy air, eyes closed, before he steps up onto the edge of the cockpit, crouches, and leaps off.

The burn in his muscles is fresh and beautiful and Luke craves it more than anything as he flips and lands in the dirt, laughing to himself. Luke dips into lunge after lunge, moving through defensive stances that intentionally stretch his aching thighs and calves out. He’s so caught up in the rush of being able to move after being in the cockpit so long that he doesn’t notice Din standing in the doorway to the Razor Crest, arms crossed over his chest and whole body tense. When Luke does finally notice him he goes stock still, nearly in the splits, eyes wide.

“Din! How uh, how long have you been there?”

“Long enough to see the flip.” Luke grimaces, straightening up and rubbing at the back of his neck. 

“It was a long flight back.” Luke supplies in defense, Din only humming. He doesn’t move from his spot and neither does Luke at first. “I know I’m a little late, I got caught up talking to Leia and I didn’t notice-”

“I’m not mad.” Din interrupts, Luke’s shoulders sagging in relief, and he takes a few steps toward the ship, stopping at the bottom of the ramp. Din tilts his head down, watching him, and Luke feels something like apprehension or eagerness crawl up his spine. Din’s hard to get a read on at the best of times when he’s actively protecting himself, and Luke still hasn’t gotten used to having to try. Din finally breaks away from his spot by the door, walking down the ramp with heavy, purposeful steps. They’re nearly close enough for Luke to reach out and touch when Din does so first, holding his hand out in an offer. “Are you ready to go?”

“No time to waste, we’re already going to be fashionably late, huh?” Luke turns to Artoo, nodding his head toward the ship. Din doesn’t seem.. Thrilled, but he’s warmed marginally to Artoo, and doesn’t object when Artoo rockets up the ramp and disappears into the ship.

“No time like the present.” Din agrees, Luke taking the other man’s hand, skin sliding along worn leather. Luke allows Din to lead him up the ramp and into the belly of the ship, eyes adjusting to the lighting as the ramp lifts up behind them. 

Luke isn’t quite sure what he expected when he saw the outside of the Razor Crest, but a bounty hunters ship was about it. He can see a carbonite bay tucked near the back, but there aren’t any people encased, and Luke edges away from the contraption with barely concealed anxiety. He’d seen what happened to Han so many years ago and still felt the remnants of his own brush with that fate anytime the weather took a particularly cold turn. Din doesn’t seem to notice Luke’s apprehension about the bay, instead pulling him deeper into the ship itself. He allows Luke to look around the living space; Luke goes straight for the weapons locker, letting it swing open before nosing around. He hems and haws over the selection, and Luke can see Din go still when Luke lifts a particularly powerful rifle, hand smoothing up the barrel as he inspects it.

“You didn’t have this one before.”

“How do you know?”

“Your signature isn’t on it.” Luke replies, grin just slightly unsettling. It’s enough to remind Din that he does have powers, as Din calls them, and he shelves the gun again, giving it a lingering look. He’s going to have to ask Din to let him shoot a couple of them. Din closes the weapons locker while Luke goes to snoop in the sleeping bay, humming when he sees his bag tucked away in one of the cubbies built into the wall. At least Din remembered to grab it. Luke doesn’t pay much attention to the refresher, though it does intrigue him how spacious it seems to be- usually it’s just a  vac tube and maybe a sink, but Din’s is nicer, obviously meant more for comfort than straight efficiency. Once Luke has snooped enough, Din climbs the ladder up into the cockpit, Luke following close on his heels. “Can I fly?”

“Maybe on the way home.” Luke practically bounces out of his seat at the reply, and he tries to be patient and out of the way as Din settles himself in the captain’s chair. Luke watches as Din’s hands slip along the dashboard, flipping switches and pressing buttons in seemingly random orders. Luke has to admit he’s never really flown anything quite like the Crest, and not even the Falcon seemed to have quite so many buttons. Din’s movements are easy and precise, and Luke shouldn’t admit it but watching Din work makes the back of his neck flush. 

Din handles them all like he has a thousand times, and he flips two more switches before the engines whine to life, powering up and shaking Luke’s bones. They’re so much more powerful than the x-wing’s single engine, and Luke feels like he could be shaken out of his chair as Din takes hold of the yolks in front of him. Din doesn’t give him any warning before the ship lifts, easing into the sky. Luke sinks back into his seat, fingers gripping the edges, and watches, eyes on Din’s hands the entire time that they ascend. 

His hands shouldn’t look so lovely around the yolks, really it’s practical and necessary for Din to hold them the way he is, grip firm and tight around them, applying even pressure to guide the ship higher. What isn’t necessary is the way that Din’s thumbs swipe over the tops of them, Luke’s breath hitching in his throat at the sight as he tries miserably not to think about Din’s hands elsewhere. Luke sees Din’s helmet tilt infinitesimally toward him, as if he heard, and Luke has to fight against the urge to cross his legs to hide whatever reaction he may or may not be having. If he does that though Din will definitely know, so Luke leans back in his chair and thinks his purest Jedi thoughts. 

Jedi thoughts turn out to be useless when Din works them through the atmosphere: Luke is used to the drag and jittering of ripping through the layers between space and whatever planet he’s leaving, and he expects the bulk of the Crest to be less than elegant. But when the ship begins to shake Din eases the yolks back, tipping the nose and increasing the throttle in one smooth movement. They slip through like water seeping between a crack in the earth, smooth and uninterrupted, and Luke could kiss Din senseless at the pure artistry in his piloting skills. Luke might think himself an ace pilot, especially with his x-wing, but even he would have struggled with such a smooth exit. 

“You’re good with the yolks.” Luke blurts it out without thinking, slapping a hand over his mouth when he realizes what he’s done. Din’s laugh is honey thick, simmering with heat, and Luke tries very hard to sink back into the seat and disappear. Din doesn’t say anything until they’ve slipped into hyperspace, and it’s only to turn to Luke with a simple command.

“Go shower.”

“Do I stink?” Luke lifts his robe up, but he can’t smell anything other than smog and the lingering scent of Leia’s perfume. 

“No, but I can tell you want to.” Luke pauses, frowning, but he had been lamenting that Din’s ship didn’t seem to have one. “Take your time.”

“You’re sure you don’t want me to wait?” Din shakes his head once and Luke rises from his chair, lingering a moment to watch Din fiddle with the autopilot before slipping back down to the living quarters. As much as he wants to wait or ask Din to join him he does feel gross, and he leaves his clothes in a pile on the cot before slipping into the ‘fresher and letting the door close behind him. It takes him an obtuse moment to figure out that the showerhead is tucked back into the wall when not in use, and another moment of cold shock before he gets the water to heat. 

The hot water is a delight that Luke has sorely missed, and he allows himself to stand under the spray, pounding against his back with surprising pressure. He’s slow to wash himself up, to hurry the process along, but Luke knows there’s limited water and he doesn’t want to use it all lest Din wants a shower later. Alone in the steam of the shower Luke allows his thoughts to drift: Din’s fingers wrapped tight around the yolks, guiding them up and away, Din’s hand on his waist, holding him close in the moments they steal when they can. It’s almost embarrassing to say that he wants Din this way so often- he’s perfectly content to do nothing more than kissing, and it’s honestly never been something Luke thought about in regards to other people.

But there’s something about Din that lights his skin on fire when he sees something he particularly likes, or thinks about the things he wants to ask for but never will. 

Luke turns the shower off, watching the water circle the drain as he uses a small towel to scrub himself dry and wring out his hair. He's still in the 'fresher when he hears Din call for him, and Luke grabs his robe, slipping it on and cinching it at the waist before climbing the ladder. His skin prickles with cold and he probably should have gotten dressed first, but Din never calls for him unless he needs something and Luke is eager to see what he can help with.

"Din?" Luke pokes his head into the cockpit, padding inside on bare feet when Din doesn't answer. Din turns his head once Luke gets close enough, and Luke sees the predatory tilt of Din's head when his eyes sweep over Luke's form. "You needed something?"

"Mm." That… doesn't answer anything really, and Luke raises a brow when Din reaches out, resting his hand on Luke's hip and smoothing his thumb over the line of bone there. Luke tries not to let the touch get to him, but Din's fingers press in gently and he finds himself being tugged forward. He skids a hand against Din's vambrace, trying to brace himself, but Din hauls him forward regardless and Luke finds he very much likes the attention. Din turns the chair so that he's facing Luke, and with another insistent tug Luke finds himself settling into Din's lap, thighs snug around Din's and knees digging into Din's hips. 

"Oh." Luke utters, tongue tied as Din's hands move to brace Luke's waist as the chair swivels back to face the front. Luke can tell from the viewport they're very firmly in hyperspace, but the back of Luke's neck tickles with awareness that in other circumstances someone could see him, perched in Din's lap in only a robe. A robe that Din is toying with, tracing the edges up to where it's draped shut, barely covering him. Luke feels like his skin has caught fire, and he shifts in Din's lap just slightly. 

Din's thigh plates are gone. 

Heat sears down Luke's spine at the heady implication and he tips forward, pressing his forehead to Din's helmet and letting his breath fog the visor. "Din."

"Do you remember what you said," Din begins, voice low and smooth. "The night you found out I could feel you using the force?"

"Which part?" There were a lot of things Luke said, both during and after and in between, but Din's hands slip beneath the robe to trail over his thighs and Luke realizes Din doesn't have gloves on. Din doesn't say anything for a moment, instead smoothing both hands up and down Luke's thighs, pushing the robe away and letting it fall back around Luke's hips. It bares Luke to the cockpit and most embarrassingly to Din, who watches the way that Luke's cock twitches with interest at each touch. "Din." Luke entreats, puffing out a sharp breath when Din's thumbs dig into the junction of hip and thigh, drawing out that wonderful wobbly feeling that makes Luke's stomach clench and thighs jerk underhand. 

"The part about having fun, if I'd asked sooner."

"What am I supposed to be asking for?" Luke is breathless now, eyes wide, and Din uses his hold on Luke to tug him forward, slotting their hips together and letting Luke's weight rest fully against him. Luke's brain shorts out at what he feels because there's no way that shape was there before and Luke never mentioned anything and-

"Oh." Luke says again, voice weak and needy, and Din huffs out a laugh that makes Luke's toes curl. "Din I-"

"Our connection goes both ways." Din whispers, hands wandering as Luke shivers in his lap when the tie to his robe is tugged open, allowing the robe to fall loose around him. "You're most open in your sleep, when you dream about things you think you shouldn't have."

"I shouldn't ask for." Luke corrects softly, teeth catching at his lower lip when Din rolls his hips up. The press of whatever Din has hidden away against Luke's own rapidly growing interest is sublime and Luke barely keeps himself from grinding down. Only the careful way Din watches him keeps him from doing anything too desperate just yet.

"You should ask for it, Luke. I want it too." Luke's heart hammers in his chest at the words, and Din never ceases to amaze him in the steadfast acceptance he shows. The attention that the armored man showers on him, whether they're alone or not. 

"You want to do it… here?"

"You look good against the stars. You belong here, in my lap." Luke can feel his cheeks flush at the compliment but the only thing he can really focus on is the pitiful moan that he lets out at the phrasing. "We can wait until we land, if that makes you more comfortable." 

"Din, I am not leaving your lap."

"I was hoping you'd say that."

Luke laughs softly, but Din's hand wraps around him in a gentle, teasing touch and Luke gasps, hips bucking up into Din's fist. "How long were you planning this?"

"A while." Din admits, thumbing at the underside of the head in a way that makes Luke's brain go fuzzy. Luke isn't sure what to do with his hands so he just rests them against Din's chest plate, closing his eyes as Din's hand squeezes lightly around him to draw out a soft whine. He's fully hard now, soft and warm and pliant in Din's lap, and Luke groans when Din pulls his hand back. 

"Wanted to ask you for a while, but I was never- ah- brave enough." Luke can't help the noise that interrupts him when Din grabs his ass, spreading him teasingly as his other hand messes with something behind them Luke can't see. Din hums, goading Luke on, and Luke tries his best to focus. It becomes increasingly hard to do so when a single slick finger rubs absently at his rim, circling the sensitive muscle without dipping in quite yet. Every time Luke goes to speak again Din shifts his fingers, and Luke shudders when Din finally slides a finger in, letting Luke adjust slowly. He finds his voice once the initial teasing is out of the way, eyes shut to help him focus. "I know after some of the stuff we've done it should be easy but ah- mm, you're very good at that-"

Din moves his finger in slow, languid strokes, content to let Luke speak even as a second joins the first. Luke is more than ready for it and he takes it easily, grinding back onto Din's fingers as his head tips back. Din lets Luke fuck himself on his fingers, watching with unabashed interest at the way Luke's thighs flex with each movement. Luke can sense Din's attention more than he can see it, even when he does open his eyes, and he catches a flash of his own eyes in Din's visor, electric blue in the light of hyperspace. "Have you done this while I was away? Touched yourself this way?"

"Yes." Luke isn't afraid to admit it, not now with Din crooking his fingers and bumping against his prostate every other pass. Luke's fingers curl around the edge of Din's armor, holding on for dear life when Din finally gets the angle right and presses up firmly and rubs, Luke's hips shoving back as he keens. "Fuck, Din- it wasn't- good like this."

"No? All that power, and you never once used it on yourself?" Luke shakes his head, whimpering when Din nudges a third finger against him. Luke whispers his agreement, tugging on Din's armor, and he moans when Din's fingers stretch him wide. "You could have. Could have opened yourself up for me, waited patiently till I got home."

"Mhm- Din, please if you keep going I'll-" Heat races through him and even in the cool interior of the Crest Luke feels feverish with want. Din's ministrations don't slow at all, even when Luke's hand drifts to twist in the fabric of Din's cloak at the junction of his neck and shoulder, and Luke is one second away from bursting, whining pathetically and hips grinding back. "Din- Din don't tease, wanna come with you in me-"

"You will." Din promises, and his fingers ease back just enough for Luke to focus on Din's voice. "Can you hang on?"

Luke whimpers, achingly close, but he nods after a second. He can do this much at least, and Din's fingers slowly resume their slow rhythm, though Din pointedly avoids Luke's prostate in favor of spreading his fingers a bit to stretch Luke wider. He groans at the feeling, right hand gripping Din's cloak in a death grip just to have something to hold on to. Din is maddeningly good at this and Luke feels stupid for not having asked sooner, breath catching in his throat when Din finally pulls his fingers out, circling Luke's rim in a final teasing touch before his hand disappears. 

Luke hears the soft pop of a cap and his mind goes blank, hands shooting down to fumble at Din's pants. Din hums a low approving noise that cuts short when Luke finally works the toy free. Luke has no clue how long he's been wearing it or how long Din has sat here with it pressing into his hip. The sight of it though stops Luke short, and he can't help the laugh that bubbles from him: it's green. Obnoxiously so, but when Luke glances up, raising a brow Din shrugs defensively.

"It reminded me of you." 

"Thank you." Luke's voice is sincere, and he can imagine more so than see Din roll his eyes. 

"Don't be a brat."

"Wouldn't dream of it, Mand'alor." Luke laughs again when Din's hand swats at his ass, probably harder than he means, but Luke finds he doesn't mind it terribly, especially when Din's fingers soothes over the red mark it must have left. Luke shuffles himself a bit closer, lifting his hips as Din slicks the length of the toy, watching him. 

"Come here." Luke tries not to seem so eager when he moves closer, though he knows he fails miserably when Din hums quietly. Din's hands settle on Luke's hips, holding him steady, and Luke stops, kneeling above Din's lap and waiting. He doesn't know what he's waiting for until Din nods, tilting his head as Luke reaches to steady the base of the toy. The first initial press makes his hips still, overwhelmed, but Din's thumbs sweep over his hip bones as Luke pants, slowly fitting more and more until he's pressed to Din's lap, trembling. "Okay?"

Luke nods his head frantically, gasping when Din's hips shift: the toy carves deliciously into him, and it's been too long since he had this, since he let someone get close enough to do anything like this. Luke should be embarrassed at the way he moans, but Din pulls back before snapping his hips back up and Luke's vision whites out. He hears Din's own shaky noise in response and that spurs Luke into action, lifting his hips of his own accord and letting Din drag him back down. 

"Din-" Luke doesn't know what to say, brain fried by the way that Din thrusts up into him, but he tips himself back, letting the cold metal of the dashboard dig into the small of his back. He doesn't have the strength to stay sitting up fully, thighs trembling and jerking each time that Din rolls his hips, but the angle is better, tighter and Luke cries out at the first hard slide against his prostate. He braces an elbow back against the panel, robe pooling at his elbows as the other hand shoots out, grabbing blindly for something to hold on to. He feels a button depress under his fingers and Luke swears, but Din doesn't break his stride, hips thrusting up smoothly as he leans over, flipping another switch to fix whatever Luke's wandering hand had done. 

The image of Din piloting while Luke is helpless in his lap makes fire roar through him, and Luke is shamelessly close, chest heaving with his breaths. The edge of the console digs uncomfortably into his back but he arches up and away from it anyway when Din grabs at his hip again and pulls him a bit closer. 

"Careful." Din soothes, a hand sliding down Luke's thigh while the other braces against his side. "You don't want to knock us out of hyperspace."

"That'd be- bad." Luke agrees, though he can't find it in himself to care too terribly much when Din is very warm and very talented with the movements of his hips. Luke glances at Din, wanting desperately to see him, but the muddy image in his beskar makes Luke pause: he stares at the way his skin has gone blotchy, chest and neck red and cock curving up against his hip, and when he spares a glance up his eyes widen. He looks- wrecked, for lack of a better word, tears gathered in the corners of his eyes and half lidded, and Luke can't help the way he moans at the thought of Din seeing him this way, fucked out and desperate. Luke suddenly can't take it anymore, doesn't want the barrier, and the force sweeps along Din harder than necessary as Luke pops the lock on his helmet, whimpering. "Off, please, please I wanna-"

"Take it off, Luke." Luke surges forward, pushing off the dash and narrowly avoiding jostling a yolk on the way as he reaches for Din's helmet. It slides up and off without any resistance and Luke doesn't care where it lands as he tosses it toward the direction of the co-pilot's chair. Normally Din would scold him for the mishandling of his beskar but the other man only moans, brown eyes dark and half wild with lust as Luke surges to kiss him. 

He cups Din's neck with one hand, the other burying in his hair and tugging as Din fucks up into him, hips stuttering when Luke laps into his mouth, tasting the noises he lets out. Luke can feel his own release boiling just under his skin and he drags the force along the length of Din's back, delighting in the shudder and gasp that earns him. Luke doesn't miss the small brush of an electronic, so quiet compared to the rest of the ship that Luke's curiosity is peaked. Luke reaches out, turning the little device on and pulling back when Din's hips jerk hard up into him, losing their rhythm completely. Luke watches the way that Din's eyelids flutter, and Luke grins, using a bit of help from the force to ratchet the power in the device up a notch. Din whines his name, breathless, and Luke grinds his hips down, panting and edged in sweat. 

"Don't wanna come alone."

"Fuck- you could have warned me."

"Didn't know it was there." Luke shrugs, as if it were Din’s fault for not telling him, and Luke gasps when Din finds his rhythm again, hard and fast. Luke doesn’t bother trying to talk anymore because each thrust punches weak, needy moans from his lips and he’s so close his thighs are starting to go numb. Luke knows that he could come just like this, fucked open and mind hazy with bliss, but he bumps his forehead against Din’s, leaning heavily against him as his hips cant up, changing the angle and keening when Din hits his prostate head on. 

Luke is dizzyingly, staggeringly close and he doesn’t know how much longer he’s going to be able to hold on. Din’s hands are bruising on his hips, dragging him down with each sharp thrust and Luke is helplessly in love with the way that Din’s eyebrows scrunch, thighs twitching under Luke’s as sweet moans drift from his lips when Luke quiets long enough to hear them. Luke lets his normal, tight control on the force loosen now, letting all that he feels rush around him, filling the cockpit with battering waves of energy. He feels Din quake underneath him at the feeling and Luke dips to kiss Din’s neck, trailing his lips up in a slow arc until his cheek presses to Din’s, Luke moaning softly into Din’s ear and smiling when Din grips his hips harder.

Luke can feel a wave building higher and higher in Din, raging and powerful and Luke wants to drown. He wants so badly that he doesn’t think he could stop the way Din’s own emotions batter him, and their pleasure twines together so closely that Luke doesn’t know how he’s going to untangle them again. 

Luke isn’t sure who comes first- him or Din. 

All he knows is that Din is entirely too good to him, a hand snaking between them to take him in hand and stroke him in time with the movement of their hips. Luke shakes apart in Din’s lap, pressing his face into Din’s hair and riding out the shocks that skitter along his nerves, lighting him up from within as Din ruts his hips up, whining low in his throat until Luke gets the memo and turns the vibe off with a twitch of his fingers. Din sags in relief underneath him, chest rising and falling with his ragged breaths, and Luke can feel the mess he’s made of Din’s beskar smearing against his stomach. Luke sits heavy in Din’s lap, unwilling to move away quite yet as he regains feeling in his legs while Din’s hand wanders from his hip, petting across the small of his back and tracing the bumps of his spine up and down in a soothing motion. 

Luke is groggy, half heartedly tugging at the strings of the force around him to arrange them into something more easily worked when Din turns his head, kissing his jaw and smiling against his skin. 

“What?” Luke questions, tilting his head to the side to allow Din to leave warm, open mouthed kisses along his neck just for the sake of touching him. 

“Nothing.” Din’s voice is far too light, too casual, and Luke brings his hand up, snapping his fingers as the vibe thrums to life. Din jerks, swearing, and Luke snaps his fingers again, groaning when Din bites his neck in retaliation. “You’re being a brat.”

“You didn’t say how long I had to be good.” Luke says, lips curling in a self satisfied smile when Din snorts against his neck, resuming his ministrations. 

It’s a minute before Din stops long enough to talk, and by then Luke is able to lift himself up and off the toy, settling in Din’s lap again. “I’m just- happy.”

“Mm, no need to hide that.” Luke sits back on his haunches, ignoring the way his thighs protest the movement as he looks Din over, smoothing his hair away from his forehead. Luke traces his fingertips across Din’s forehead, over his temple before cupping Din’s cheek and sweeping his thumb over Din’s lips. “I am too.”

Luke watches the way that Din’s eyes sparkle, lips quirking into a small, pleased smile that Luke knows he doesn’t know how to hide. Luke finds himself smiling too, just to see Din’s grow at the sight, and Luke tips forward to place a soft kiss on his lips, the curve of Din’s smile soft underneath his lips. Din’s hand stills against the small of his back, pressing him a bit closer as Din tilts his head, slotting their lips together easier and sighing softly. Luke keeps his eyes open for a moment more just to see the soft, relaxed way that Din’s eyes slip shut, the way his head tilts just so to kiss him easier. Luke closes his eyes, letting his other senses take over as his skin pricks underneath Din’s palm, hypersensitive to each touch. Kissing Din is a luxury that Luke gladly takes as much of as he can, and he only pulls back when his skin begins to stick to Din’s beskar.

“As much as I could sit here forever, I think I could use another shower.” Din hums noncommittally, but Luke swings from his lap in one graceful movement that ends in his knees buckling, hand shooting out wildly to grab the edge of the dashboard as he laughs. “Ah, maybe I’ll just wait here.” 

“Something wrong?” Din questions, head tilting as he turns in his chair, watching the way that Luke leans against the console. The bright eyed glare he levels over his shoulder is scathing and Luke scoffs in annoyance when Din’s smug smile only grows. 

“No, not at all, just waiting for you.”

“I’ll follow behind.” Luke locks eyes with him, blue against brown, and it’s ultimately Luke who wins, Din unused to prolonged eye contact and Luke too stubborn to look away. Luke shoves away from the console, heading for the door and down the ladder into the sleeping bay before his legs can decide to give out on him again. He makes it down the ladder with only minor struggle, and Din is right behind him, nearly at the bottom when Luke snaps his fingers.

Luke watches Din’s back go rigid as his knees go weak, and he watches in smug satisfaction as Din’s knees hit the floor at the bottom of the ladder, bare hands tight around the rungs bolted into the wall. “Something wrong?” Luke parrots, leaning back against the doorframe for the refresher as Din hauls himself up using the strength of his arms. Din’s eyes are lava hot, black in the fluorescents of the ship, but Luke raises a brow as Din stands there, shaking. 

“Turn it off.” Din’s voice is rough in his throat, but Luke catches the pleading, desperate edge to it because he crooks his finger in a come hither motion. Din doesn’t move for a moment and Luke thinks that he’s misjudged, but then Din shoves away from the ladder and storms over to him, beskar digging in uncomfortably as Din presses him bodily back against the wall. “Turn it off, Luke.”

“In a minute.” 

“Luke-” Din’s voice finally cracks and Luke makes that same crooking motion with his finger, gripping Din’s bicep to keep him from collapsing as the vibrations grow in intensity. Luke drinks in the way that Din’s eyes go distant, lips parting as a soft moan falls from his mouth as his brow furrows. He hangs his head, hands gripping uselessly at Luke’s robe as his hips jerk. It doesn’t take long, not with the way that Luke keeps ratcheting up the intensity before Din is shaking in Luke’s arms, moaning desperately and only just keeping himself standing as an orgasm washes over him. Luke presses a kiss into his hair as he dims the intensity slowly until finally turning the vibe off, letting Din stand in his arms, shaking against him and forehead pressed to Luke’s collar bone. “You’re awful.” Din says eventually, though there’s no venom in his voice. 

“I’ve been told that once or twice.” Luke agrees, hands skimming over Din’s armor to release the clasps and slip the pieces off one by one. By the time he’s got Din in his clothes Din seems more inclined to help, and he wiggles out of his shirt and pants, shucking the underwear with the toy off. “Shower?”

“Sleep.” Din argues, voice groggy. Luke waves for Din to go crawl into bed and Din doesn't argue, collapsing onto the cot without bothering to get into pajamas. Luke takes another quick shower, ass and thighs sticky from the lube, and then spends a bit washing the front of Din's chest plate so that Din won't forget in the morning. Only once he's gotten everything set does he duck into the sleeping bay, crawling over Din and using a sweep of his hand to close the bay off from anyone's sight. He won't sleep, not with them in hyperspace, but Din grabs for him greedily in his sleep, tucking his head under Luke's chin and causing the other man to smile and wrap an arm around him. Din's greatest strength seems to lie in passing out immediately after sex, and Luke wishes sometimes he could follow, but his brain won't shut down.

All he can think about is the way Din's hands had held him so tight, the way it had felt to be fucked in the captain's chair on display for Din and Din only. Luke has never been one to run toward being known, but Din looking at him, brown eyes soft and molten with lust made Luke want to bear himself in the hopes that Din would never look away. Din somehow manages to surprise him in some way each and every day, and Luke looks forward to the unknown more and more each day. Despite his own reservations about sleeping during hyperspace he will meditate, and he allows his mind to empty, thoughts scattering.

                                                       -*-

Din wakes up only a short time after Luke has drifted off. 

At first he forgets where they are, but the cot in the ship is small and slightly lumpy and Luke is smashed against his side. Din doesn’t care too terribly much that every inch of them is touching in some way, reveling in the easy contact and the way Luke’s arm remains a constant heavy weight over his ribs. Luke’s hair tickles at his nose and he brings a hand up to push it away from his face, freezing when Luke shifts and mumbles something under his breath. 

“Luke?” Din doesn’t want to wake him, but he doesn’t feel like he’s sleeping and when Luke shifts, humming quietly Din knows it was the right call. “We’ll drop out of hyperspace soon.”

“How soon?” Luke’s voice is groggy, half asleep, and Din almost chokes on the affection that swells up inside him. 

“Have to go up to see. You’re trapping me.”

“Mm.” Luke makes a noise of agreement but doesn’t move his arm, instead hugging Din a bit tighter and sighing happily. Din allows the cuddles for a minute more before shoving at Luke’s hip lightly, recoiling when Luke’s lips part in a pained gasp as Luke rolls onto his back, drawing away. Din sits up so fast that dizziness slams into his skull as he drifts careful hands over Luke’s stomach and sides, Luke protesting. “Din, I’m fine, stop fussing-”

“That,” Din says quietly, voice trembling, “Was not an okay sound.” 

Din watches as Luke sits himself up, narrowly avoiding knocking their heads together as he tosses the blanket back to show Din that he’s fine. But- he’s not. Bruises bloom over his hips in splotchy lines and curves, and Din’s hands clench into fists. He should feel shame: he knows it in the back of his mind, that hurting Luke this way, leaving these kinds of marks is unacceptable, but Din reaches forward, sliding his hand over them lightly and lining his fingers up to each purple bruise. His hand settles comfortably on Luke’s hip and Din can feel his cheeks burning.

“I told you I was fine.” Luke insists, though his voice has gone soft and breathy as Din pulls back to sweep his fingers over the marks. 

“I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“You didn’t.” Din looks up, frowning, and Luke smiles, sheepish. “Okay, so they’re sore, but I like them.”

Din comes up short at that: he doesn’t really see a reason to be upset if Luke likes them, and Din has to admit they do look rather fetching against the pale ivory of Luke’s skin. Din smoothes a hand over them again, pressing lightly and watching the way that Luke’s hips twitch, a rueful smile spreading across his face.

“Don’t start things you can't finish.” 

Din hums, thoughtful, and dips to kiss the Jedi, a thrill going down his spine when Luke presses up against him. Luke’s hand comes up to cup the back of his neck but Din pulls back, kissing the tip of his nose and slipping out of bed. Luke groans loudly, annoyed, but Din only chuckles, moving to find his clothes and pull them on. He’s expecting to have to clean off his beskar but he’s pleasantly surprised when it shines dully in the light, clean of the mess they made a few hours ago. Once he’s armored again he hauls himself up the ladder, ducking into the cockpit and scooping his helmet up off the floor.

The display in front of him glows softly and when Din looks he’s surprised to find that they’re only minutes from dropping out of hyperspace. He slept longer than he expected. “Drop in five.” He calls, listening as Luke bangs around in the sleeping area below. Din isn’t worried about him going flying, Luke can handle himself, but he doesn’t want to cause anymore bruises if he can help it. He takes hold of the yolks when the computer beeps, guiding them through and down out of hyperspace as smoothly as he can, letting his body sag back against the chair as the ship slows around him. The drag of leaving hyperspace always disorients him for a minute, but he’s long trained himself to push through the dizziness to guide himself down toward the planet in question. 

Nevarro’s atmosphere blooms hot around the nose of his ship as he plummets through, sweeping down through the clouds and dipping low over the dark sand and familiar rivers of lava that warm the flats. Din expects Luke to join him up in the cockpit, but he’s still fumbling around down below and Din isn’t going to call him up if he’s busy. It gives him time to worry privately about their meeting- Luke isn’t meeting his convert, not since they scattered to the wind: He’s meeting arguably the most important people in his life- all the ones who helped guide him toward the path he’s on now and kept him on it even when he was teetering on the edge, ready to fall off. It takes a minute to find a spot in the port clear enough for him to land, and he lowers them carefully, touching down with little more than a bump before switching off the control panel and snatching the steering chip out of it.

Din drops down the ladder easily, knees dipping to absorb the shock as he peers around. He finally catches sight of the door to the cargo bay open and heads that way, padding down the ramp and glancing around. He spots Luke’s blonde head of hair a few paces away, peering curiously up at the twin suns that light the sky. Din stops short at the bottom of the ramp, heart stuttering in his chest at the sight of him. The cloak around Luke’s shoulders is white- soft and plush looking and far too warm for the climate of Nevarro. When Luke turns, smiling, Din loses his breath at the sight of him, blue eyes bright against the stark snow white contrast of his clothes. They’re simple, pants and a form fitted long sleeve and boots, but the way the cloak hangs across his front like a cowl before draping over one shoulder flatters the slim angle of his shoulders and hips. 

“What are you wearing?” Din feels stupid instantly at the question, but the lightest color he’s ever worn is tan, and Din’s eyes flick down to the dark sooty dirt that’s bound to stain the bottom of the cloak. 

“Thought I should look nice.” Luke answers, shrugging his shoulders and smiling, just a shy quirk of his lips. His cheeks are pink and the white makes his skin look tanner, warm and flushed and Din can’t seem to formulate an intelligent reply. “Din?”

“Hm?”

Luke’s grin is pleased, affectionate as he beckons Din forward. The ramp rises behind him when Din finally steps off and walks forward, taking Luke’s outstretched hand. Luke’s right hand is clad in a white glove to match and Din worries his old leather is going to ruin it, but Luke doesn’t seem to care, smiling the way he is. “You have to lead. I don’t know where we’re going.”

“Oh. Right.” Din shakes his head to clear it, leading them away from the Crest and through the arch that guards the entrance to the town proper. Din moves through the crowd the way he has a thousand times, dragging a wide-eyed Luke along behind him. Din knows the town is safer than ever, but Luke’s child-like wonder is a neon sign for them to get robbed and Din ushers him along through the streets, ducking into an alley and heading for an unmarked door. He knocks twice and kicks the bottom once, Luke raising a brow and snickering when the door slips open. Din ducks inside, mindful of the low threshold, and Luke follows behind, glancing around the room. 

It’s mostly empty with a kitchenette tucked in one corner with a huge table dominating most of the space. There are a couple of couches that are devoid of people, and Din feels himself relax a bit. 

“You’re late!” A feminine voice calls, Din turning toward the sound and snorting when Cara comes striding up. She hasn’t changed out of her armor, and Din can see the gold of her badge heavy on her hip. Cara stops at the sight of Luke, whistling and raising a brow. “Dressed to impress, Jedi?”

“Always.” Luke says, grinning. “Marshal now, eh?” 

Cara’s hand strays to the badge, tracing over it, and Din can feel the pride radiating from her. “Was about time I went straight.”

Luke’s brows go up at the phrasing and that draws a laugh out of Cara, Din glancing between the two of them. For all Cara’s talk of Luke being New Republic she doesn’t seem very worried, at least not now with the badge on her hip. “It suits you. Bossing people around.” 

Cara rolls her eyes and reaches out to swat Luke’s shoulder, the man in question reaching up to brush at his cloak as if she’d gotten dirt on it. A new voice chimes in, quiet and brash, and Din’s hand nearly goes for his pistol on instinct before he recognizes it.  

“Stop hogging the Jedi, Cara. Some of us actually want to meet him.” Din inclines his head toward the asian woman, said woman nodding back before holding her hand out. Luke shakes it, barely reacting when Din knows she’s squeezing as hard as she can. She’s holding the wrong hand to intimidate with, because Luke squeezes back, mechanical hand whirring softly in Din’s receiver as the woman’s lips twitch. “Fennec Shand. Din’s told us a lot about you.”

“Terrible, gritty things I hope.” Fennec pauses, blinking for a moment before a small smile colors her face. “Luke Skywalker. Din has been willfully vague about most of you.”

Fennec nods, tilting her head, and her grin is sharklike when she glances at Din. “For good reason. Speaking of good reasons… Cara, care to join me in hunting down enough cups for all of us?”

“You brought Spotchka?” 

“It’s a party, isn’t it?” Cara and Fennec link arms as they head to raid the cupboards of the kitchenette and Luke turns to Din, nodding his head toward them. There’s a question in him that Din finds entirely predictable and Din nods. 

“Since you saved us on the cruiser.”

“Interesting. They’re a good match.” Luke glances back over at the two women who bow their heads together, whispering and occasionally glancing back at them before snickering and looking away again. “So, I know this can’t be it, or you wouldn’t be so nervous.”

“We’re waiting on two others.”

“And are they the ones I need to impress?”

“You don’t have to impress anyone.” Luke hums, unconvinced, and Din grimaces in his helmet. Okay, so the only person he’s actually worried about is Boba- the man doesn’t know when to shut his mouth and has an ego a parsec long and Luke is so willfully neutral that Din doesn’t know what will happen. “They’re just- rougher.”

“Is it because I’m from Tatooine?” A new voice, laced with a drawl and smooth as molasses chimes in, and Din makes sure not to let himself rock forward when a hand claps across his back. “Good to see you again Mando. Who’s this?”

“Luke. My partner.” Din can feel his cheeks flush at the phrasing, astounded at calling him that, and he looks the silver haired man over, tilting his head. “You knew he was coming.”

“Didn’t know he was from Tatooine.” the taller man grins easily, looking over toward Luke with an appraising look in his eyes.

“You know I’m from Tatooine?” Luke chimes in, voice amused and curious all in one. "Though, I suppose most people do."

"Nah, you walk like you belong on sand." 

"Excuse me?" Din watches Luke's brows go up in surprise, and he thinks that Luke might be offended until he laughs, stunned and cheerful and reaches to shake hands. "I haven't heard someone tell me that in years. Your name?"

"Cobb. Cobb Vanth."

"Mm, the Marshal of Nothing." Cobb smirks at that, nodding his head and trying not to seem so pleased. "You fly here on your own?"

"Nah, I leave the piloting to the experts. Hitched a ride on the Slave I."

"Yeesh, quite a name." Din freezes when he hears the soft, near silent steps of another hunter, and he watches as Boba Fett slips his helmet off, faint amusement in his eyes.

"It was my fathers." Luke turns toward the new voice, smile on his face, and Din watches in shock as Luke's face cycles through a plethora of emotions. Curiosity, anticipation, confusion, wild sweeping rage, cool acceptance, all before settling on careful, painted on indifference. A mask Din knows his Jedi training has supplied him with. Din glances at Boba, who's primed and ready for the normal comments he gets about his father or lack thereof, but Luke doesn't go for the low blow. Din stares in open confusion as Luke holds his hand out, shaking Boba's and tilting his head. The movement is predatory and dangerous and Din shouldn't find it attractive, but the brittle, sharp smile Luke plasters on only makes it worse. 

"Fett. The scars are new."

"Skywalker." Din watches Boba's grip tighten for a moment before he lets go, lips twitching. "The hand is new."

Boba says it easily, sympathetically, but Din catches the razor edge and he knows Luke does too. Luke only flashes that same sharp smile as before, shrugging his shoulders and dropping his hand. "No one gets through a war without a few scars. Is that sarlacc still kicking?"

"Is your father?" Din's vision goes blurry with the blinding, all encompassing fury that billows from Luke in enough of a wave to make his cloak rustle, and when Din sneaks a look around the room everyone is wide eyed and fearful, even normally rock solid Fennec. The emotion is there and gone faster than Din can blink, and Luke sniffs haughtily, looking Boba up and down once. 

"No. Much like the emperor and the death stars, he's been gone for years." Ah. The threat stitched so finely in Luke's casual words lance right through Din and he's suddenly very hot underneath all the armor and slightly ashamed at that fact. Din looks between the two, everyone up on pins and needles, but then Boba laughs, skirting around Luke and moving to stake a claim at the table, helmet placed in front of him like a shield. No one is sure what they should do, but then Luke moves, going and sweeping into the chair directly across from Boba as Din follows suit. He sits to Luke's right, Cobb on his left and the ladies on either side of Boba. It feels like a protection deal, a meeting between two rivals, and Din was not expecting the night to go this way. 

"So I'm going to assume y'all know each other. But I don't, so Luke," Cobb turns hazel eyes on him and Din watches the way Luke softens, lips quirking as he nods for Cobb to go on. "What'd you do on Tatooine?"

"Besides pod racing and shooting?" Cobb nods, smirking, and Luke leans back in his chair, fingers steepled in front of him. "My aunt and uncle who raised me were moisture farmers."

"Tough job. They raise you your whole life?"

"Just about. I was nineteen when I left home with my first Jedi Master, Ben. I met Han and Leia shortly after, and then joined the Rebellion."

"And wreaked havoc." Cara pipes in, Luke smiling sheepishly and shrugging his shoulders.

"I'd never left Tatooine before. Could hardly blame me if I was a little reckless in my ah, pursuits." Care snorts, pouring a glass of Spotchka for everyone and sliding the cups toward them. Din catches his, but he isn't going to drink it and they all know it. Instead he rolls the glass between his hands, watching as Luke downs his and then trades their glasses, letting Din fiddle with the now empty glass while he throws back Din's drink. No one blinks at the silent arrangement, though Boba watches, head tipped to one side. 

"Was one of your pursuits to plunge the galaxy into chaos?"

"Only partially." Luke replies coolly, carefully letting go of the glass with his right hand to drop his hand onto Din's thigh plate instead. The metal won't shatter like the glass will, and Din doesn't say a word when Luke's hand trembles on his thigh. "What were your pursuits, Boba Fett? Working for Jabba and the Empire?"

"Money talks." Boba's voice is careful, threaded with warning, but Luke smiles charmingly, blue eyes glittering, and Din listens as everyone takes a collective breath and holds it. 

"And I'm sure it's speaking to you now. Tell me, does Jabba's throne seem a bit big for you? It seemed rather uncomfortable last time I was there." Din watches in amazement as Boba's expression shutters, eyes narrowed, and he can't help the laugh that bubbles out of him. It's such a startling sound that the rest of the group join in after a moment, and Din shakes his head. 

"Like a couple of rabid jawas." Cobb murmurs, hiding his grin behind his glass and holding it out for a refill when Cara swishes the bottle invitingly. Luke does the same but allows Din to hold on to his empty glass, this time sipping slowly at the fluorescent blue liquid. 

Fennec sits back in her chair, eyes carefully neutral but a smirk on her face. "No wonder you fell for him, Mando. He doesn't pull punches."

"Mm." Din doesn't say much, but the thought pleases him greatly and he glances over at Luke. He finds the man watching him back, eyes soft and none of his rage present in the pale blue of his eyes. Din looks away before he gets lost and loses his train of thought, and he glances around the room. "Any questions for them, Luke?"

Luke perks up at the chance to ask now, nodding. "Plenty. Fennec, you work for Boba?" 

"I do." She agrees, shifting in her chair and eyes carefully guarded. "He saved my life."

"Noble. What did you do before?"

"Odd jobs. Contracts, cleaning. The works." Luke hums, somehow not surprised, and Fennec quirks a thin brow. "What else?"

"How'd you meet Din?" Fennec glances at Din, as if asking his permission, and Din nods. He figured Luke would ask, and he doesn't particularly care so long as they don't say anything too embarrassing. 

"He tried to kill me. Well, that's not strictly correct. He was helping a fellow guild member try to bring my bounty in, but the dumbass shot me and went after Mando."

"At your coaxing." Din interrupts, frowning, but Fennec only laughs and shrugs.

"I may or may not have convinced the kid that Mando was worth more of a bounty."

"And you, Cara? What's your story?" Cara perks up beside Boba, nursing her drink and mulling the question over.

"We tried to camp out on the same backwater shithole."

"That's it?" Luke raises a brow and looks at Din. Din shifts in his seat, spinning his cup and shrugging a shoulder. 

"We might have taken down a band of raiders and an AT-ST that was troubling a krill fishing village. The raiders had been stealing the krill to distill their own Spotchka, but were doing a pretty poor job." Cara says, grinning. "There was a lady that was sweet on Din, almost got him to settle down too."

"Omera." Luke says, and both Cara and Din look over to find him smiling, head tipped to the side. "Grogu talked about her and her daughter. He said you liked her too."

"That was- a long time ago." Din isn't quite sure why he's explaining himself, but Luke hums low in his throat. Luke's fingers drum over Din's thigh in a comforting rhythm, even as the rest of the group watch them. 

"If people falling in love with you bothered me I'd have a lot of anger." Din feels his shoulders slumping, relief flooding him, and Luke winks at him before glancing at Cobb. "Now your story, cowboy, I do know."

"Oh ya do? Well, I guess you don't need me to explain then."

"Well, I wouldn't mind hearing your voice." Cobb laughs, shaking his head, and Din rolls his eyes. Cobb swirls his glass, letting the blue liquid inside nearly splash over his fingers. 

"Mando was looking for others of his kind, and I was just about the only fella in armor anyone had heard of. He just about killed me when he saw me in the armor."

"Left it reeking of cologne, too." Boba interrupts, Cobb chuckling and taking a slow sip of his drink. 

"Some of us care about our appearance, big boy." Din wrinkles his nose at the nickname but Boba only rolls his eyes. Din watches Luke's eyes flick back and forth between Cobb and Boba, a smile growing on his face. 

"You lost your armor, and Cobb wore it? Oh, that's fantastic." 

"Temporarily."

"Sorry, not funny. Moving on." Luke definitely isn't sorry, Din can tell by the smile he's struggling to hold back, but Boba only rolls his eyes before motioning for Cobb to continue. 

I traded the armor for his help in taking down the krayt dragon that was plaguing Mos Pelgo.” Luke’s brows go up despite already knowing the story, and he turns his body more toward Cobb, listening. “Din here let himself get eaten to get the cattle loaded with bombs into the damn thing. We lost a bunch of good people in the fight.”

“From the acid. Grogu remembered the smell, and Din covered in it.” Luke’s nose wrinkles remembering that particular memory Grogu had pushed onto him. “You met them all through fighting. Why am I not surprised?”

Din shrugs again, as if it’s the only thing he can do. “That’s how I meet people.”

“What about you, Luke?” Luke turns toward Fennec, who looks like she’s about to make a bad decision. Din sits up, frowning, and tries to silence her with a kick to the shin under the table. She isn’t deterred, and instead jerks her head toward Boba. “You two have history. Did you know Boba was Mando’s best friend?”

“No, I didn’t. But who Din is friends with doesn’t affect me.” Din could kiss him at the smooth, graceful answer, and he kicks Fennec again when she opens her mouth to speak. It still doesn’t stop her.

“How did you and Boba meet?” 

The room goes silent once the question is out, and even Boba has the good sense to look uncomfortable, shifting in his chair as Luke leans forward with singular focus. He braces his elbows on the table, folding his hands under his chin as he levels a long look at Fennec. Din quakes in his chair at the roiling, raging storm that boils under Luke’s skin, so lacking in color or light or anything that Din knows what it is. Recognizes it from the same ugly, sweet pull of the emotions within his blade. 

“Luke-” Din murmurs, trying to draw his attention away. Luke doesn’t seem to hear him.

“He tried to capture me to bring me into the Empire when I went to my mentor’s house. He also captured my brother in law, froze him in carbonite, and nearly killed us when he got him back.” It- doesn't sound like much to half of them sitting at the table, but Din reaches up, touching the soft underside of Luke’s upper arm, trying to draw him from whatever memories have snagged him. “Do you know,” Luke says, voice shaking, “How terrifying it is to fight blind with almost no basic knowledge of how to fight?”

“Not really.” Fennec says softly. Din had blinded her, true, but she was in her prime- untouchable at the time. Luke stares unblinkingly for a moment more before he abruptly stands, turning to Din and dipping down. Din blinks when Luke presses their foreheads together, asking a question, Din nodding when Luke pulls away and slips from the room out into the alley beyond the door. The door seals behind him, beeping as the lock clicks, and Din sits in the middle of his friends, all with varying degrees of confusion and worry on their faces. 

“He needs a minute.”

“I’ve never seen a Jedi get upset like that.” Cara muses, fingers worrying at the decorated bottom of her glass. 

“He’s a person. Everyone gets upset when people don’t know how to stop pushing.” The glare that Din levels on Fennec doesn’t go unnoticed, and she grimaces, slumping back in her chair. “He likes you all, and he wants you to like him.”

“Oh, does he? Couldn’t tell.” Fennec mumbles, wincing when Din’s third kick lands harder than all the others. 

“He isn’t going to let you dig up every ghost in his closet, Shand.” Cobb says, glancing toward Din and then toward the door. “We all have things we would rather forget.”

Fennec softens at that, sighing heavily and standing from her chair. Din knows what she’s going to do before she says anything and he holds a hand up to stop her. “Just wait.”

“I was an ass.”

“You were. Now be nice and open the door.” Fennec looks at him, bewildered, but there’s a faint tap on the door and Din hums. Fennec goes to unlock it, stepping back and out of the way as Luke slips past her again. He looks as unruffled as when they first came in, and Din turns in his chair just to watch the muscles in Luke’s thighs shift under the white of his pants. Din leans his head back, anticipating the way that Luke leans down, cupping the back of his neck and smushing his forehead to Din’s helmet. He stays there for a moment, breathing, and Din’s hand comes up to cup Luke’s cheek, not caring that they have an audience. 

“That is weirdly cute. Mando, is that really how you guys kiss?” Din makes a low sound in his throat, something distinctly annoyed, and Cara laughs, Din lingering in the same position for a moment even when Luke pulls away. 

“We just had sex in front of you. Surprise.” Din jerks in his chair, head whipping to stare at Luke, but he’s grinning, brow raised as Cara stares, dumbfounded. She doesn’t know if he’s lying or not, but surprisingly it’s Boba that laughs, deep and from his core, covering his eyes with a hand and leaning back in his chair. Luke’s smile doesn’t dim this time, though something in his eyes flickers momentarily, but then Cobb is laughing too, slapping the table in front of him and rocking back in his chair. Din can hear Fennec snickering behind him, still standing, and Cara’s cheeks flush, outrage and embarrassment twisting her face.

“That is not funny.”

“You’re right, you’re right.” Luke folds his hands in front of him, instantly the picture of a solemn Jedi. It only lasts a second before the facade cracks, Luke’s eyes twinkling with mirth as he snorts, choking back a laugh. Din’s heart soars in his chest at all his friends laughing, at Luke standing tall and proud among them, glowing like the brightest star in Din’s universe. 

[doctors-star]

“Yeah, I can see how hiding behind a rock is a much better strategy.” for Cowboys??

Sometimes, Ainsel feels that they and Edelweiss are coming to some kind of understanding. That, perhaps, Edelweiss is the type of horse with whom it was possible to have some kind of normal relationship, and generally not the sort of creature to possess too-clever eyes and be prone to depositing Ainsel without memories somewhere they shouldn’t be.

These times are infrequent, and they do not ever last.

Rarely, though, has Ainsel taken quite so strongly against the concept of horses altogether, Edelweiss or otherwise. Normally, their lack of particular equine affinity is not an issue, given that they never need to travel that fast, but in consequence they never did learn how to sit or stand when Edelweiss’ legs are really pumping, apparently delighted at this taste of freedom and the wind in her mane; Ainsel is being galloped across the desert like a bag of jumbled bones with their head tucked in behind Edelweiss’ ear and their fingers wrapped white around the pommel, clinging on for dear life. The sand is kicking up on the wind and spitting against any exposed skin, so their eyes are more like slits and are streaming wildly and all they can really see of the desert and sky is a blur of orange and blue.

The jolting is going to shake their kneecaps right out of their legs. Their spine will be compressed by six inches by the time they get off. Ainsel hates horses, just now.

And then, without any input from Ainsel, Edelweiss is slowing to a gentle trot and then a lazy stop. Ainsel puts their head up a little to push the horse on further, because they have someone to urgently find and no delay can be had - but then they blink, and their sandblasted, watery vision coalesces into the very face of the man they had ridden out to find. When the ringing in their ears from being so thoroughly shaken dissipates too, they can hear Will murmuring to Edelweiss and petting her nose as he casts worried glances at her rider. Ainsel winces; what a clattering they must have made, to pull Will unprompted from his observations.

Ainsel unpeels their fingers from the pommel and attempts to straighten up. The pain is immediate and terrible, lancing up and down their shaken spine, and they list worryingly to one side; they slide into a pair of wiry arms, so they assume Will is rescuing them, but it’s hard to tell, what with the white-out of pain. They end up on the floor, Will being altogether too small to lift anyone over the age of eight, with Williams crouched near their head and looking worried. “Howdy,” Ainsel grits out politely. Will’s frown worsens.

“Alright, who’s done what now,” he says, eyes tracking the length of them as they stretch slowly and awkwardly to catalogue the points of greatest pain. For all that Will Williams is not a doctor, he certainly is getting better at doctoring. He’s less agitated every time: last time Finn had sliced his leg open on a splintered fence, Will had been more annoyed than worried; and these days, he even wraps aching joints and teaches folks how to clean cuts and sores and he went out to see Noel’s husband - God rest him - whenever she asked, even though he couldn’t do anything, until he let her down gently a few weeks before the end. Ainsel is abruptly reminded, with new urgency, of how much they appreciate having not-a-doctor Will Williams around to doctor them all.

“It’s good to have you around,” Ainsel wheezes, their brain-to-mouth filter shaken about a bit by relentless horse riding; Will looks slightly horrified.

“Oh lord,” he says, “are you dyin’?”

Ainsel shakes their head and sits up on their elbows. Will’s palm slides behind the ball of his shoulder to support the motion, warm and steady. “Naw - no-one’s in trouble, promise.”

“Uh huh,” Will says, sounding deeply unconvinced. “And this bat out of hell impression you’ve got going, what’s that in aid of?”

Ainsel makes a face, which Will picks up on immediately. It had been too much to hope that he wouldn’t, of course, and this is all the point anyhow: Ainsel is here to tell Will as early as possible something he may not want to hear, but will eventually find out regardless. He may as well hear it on his own terms.

They had been walking Noel to the hotel for an hour of coffee and polite conversation, for the duration of which they may both pretend that they only know similarly polite and calm individuals. It is...therapeutic. They sometimes bring Will, who can be relied upon for good behaviour, but he’d usually rather be out by the creek or in the prairie grass or in the shade of a cactus pretending he doesn’t know any humans at all; it is, therefore, a surprise to see him standing with his back to them in an expensive pine-green suit at the front desk. Ainsel notes all these details only in hindsight: the broader shoulders, the bowler hat, the set of his stance which is not quite right - like Will, only a good bit older, mirrored and two steps to the left. At the time, though, they had simply seen Will, and not thought a thing of it that Noel should raise the hand not tucked into Ainsel’s elbow and say “Mister Williams! Will you come sit with - oh, I do apologise; I thought you were an acquaintance of ours.”

The man smiles with disproportionate pleasure at being misidentified, leaning forward on his toes in his road-dusty brogues. There is a suitcase at his feet and he is holding his hat to his chest deferentially, but he is still standing in the hotel with a confidence and appearance of belonging that Will has never possessed - possibly ever, but certainly not in a genteel environment like this one. He wears a day’s stubble well, flecked with slightly premature grey, on a jaw which is squarer than Will’s, but just as fine-boned and angular; his voice, when he speaks, sounds like Will when he’s at his most anxious - all old-money, old-country, cold and tall and prickly like the pines in whose snow-capped shadows Will grew up.

“Not at all; perhaps you can help me. You see, I am indeed a Mister Williams - Thomas Williams, ma’am, at your service - and I am seeking a relative of mine who may just be this acquaintance of yours.” Noel makes the appropriate interested noises, but Ainsel goes abruptly cold as though they had broken and tumbled through the surface of a frozen lake, instantaneous and gasping for air. They have this sense of déja vu when looking at Thomas Williams, more than the ordinary familiarity of seeing Will in him - and then they remember. They have seen Will’s big brother before, in the card that had shown them Will’s youth; they barely need to glance at their palm to know that the cards have found their way into their free hand once more, and that the top card is the card that might be the Tower, and might be the Queen of Spades.

“Has something happened?” Ainsel says, interrupting the polite and non-committal conversation Noel is maintaining with the stranger about the quality of the road into Danser Town and the inconvenience of not having a railway out here yet, at every opportunity steering him away from asking her any question about Will’s presence or existence that she might actually have to answer.

Thomas Williams blinks, wrongfooted, but rallies quickly. “I’m afraid my mother has recently died,” he says, and Noel murmurs condolences; Ainsel just watches him. “She and my - cousin were never as close as one might like, but…” Williams casts about, looking away with a shadow over his brow, and Ainsel realises his grief is real and painful - though whether it is for the lost parent, or the lost opportunity to reconcile, they cannot say.

Ainsel nods and tucks the cards back into their pocket, turning solicitously to Noel. “I’m afraid I gotta go; will you be alright-?”

Noel pats their elbow and releases them, message received. Of course Noel will be alright; Ainsel has no idea if she knows what they know about Will’s relation to this stranger, but she sure has gathered that Ainsel is not eagerly bringing one party to the other. “You go, then. I’m sure this fine gentleman will keep me in good company,” she says, fluttering her eyelashes and turning her charm upon Mister Williams like a beam. He blinks in the face of it, and finds himself abandoning his luggage to offer her his arm and lead her to a table almost without noticing.

He certainly had been stunned enough to ignore Ainsel turning on a dime and taking off through the doors at a dead run.

Which leaves them here: lying on the dusty earth in the shadow of a rocky desert outcrop with Will Williams crouched by their head, and wishing that they had sent Tommy or Finn or Johnny out instead - how those bastards make galloping look easy, Ainsel may never know.

Ainsel takes a deep breath, fixes their gaze on Will, and says it firm and simple. “Your brother is here in Danser, and he’s the absolute fuckin’ spit of you, so I don’t reckon you can get away with him not knowing you’re here.”

Will, in an action which is either a credit to his propensity for forethought or reminiscent of a small furry prey animal, does not move for a good five seconds. Then he drops Ainsel’s shoulder and stands abruptly, marching six paces away and staring at the dirt. Ainsel watches in silence as Will chews the inside of his cheek intently. They can’t think what to say that might help: he seems nice is true, but seems is a big word that hides a multitude of sins; he said you were his cousin doesn’t quite accurately convey, the way Ainsel wants it to, that Thomas Williams doesn’t seem to know who he’s looking for at all (sister, brother, neither, both) but is keen to find that person nevertheless; I’m a little concerned that if we leave them alone too long, Noel will have married him for your inheritance by the time we get back doesn’t seem remotely useful, for all that it is honest.

“Did he say why?” Will says eventually, after a good minute of silence in which Ainsel regains their breath and manages to sit up properly and look around Will’s little camp. He usually comes back to town overnight, unless he’s seeking something nocturnal, but he always takes a bedroll and cookpot just in case he gets distracted and forgets to come home; he’s got it all, still packed, in a pile near his horse, and has only brought out a leather-bound notebook, a pencil and some charcoals which he has left on a flat rock pointing southwest where some animals, presumably, are being interesting. In rampant defiance of the gun safety and maintenance talks Finn has repeatedly given him, Will has left his rifle broken over a rock far out of reach with cartridges spilling out over the floor, where any young man with spurs on or sturdy horse in iron shoes might step on or near them and give everyone a terrible shock. Will can be so childlike about animals, sometimes - so focussed upon them and nothing else - that Ainsel reckons he needs protecting. So he shuffles over and puts the cartridges in a box, and carefully mulls over how to answer the question.

“He did,” Ainsel says eventually, voice taut and unwilling. Will sniffs, face twitching with it, but says nothing and doesn’t look his way. They sigh, and turn the box awkwardly between their fingers. “It’s your ma,” they settle on. “I’m afraid she’s, uh, passed. Recently.”

Will doesn’t move an inch. He tells them, sometimes, when he’s drunk on two whiskeys and tired of Danser Town’s shit, about his home country in the northeast; the great lakes in their vast and cosmic stillness, the endless plains of undisturbed snow, the deep dark woods of solemn, unmoving pines stretching out past the point of vanishing. He used to sit out for hours in the summer watching herons stand proudly on the banks of the lakes, being plagued by mosquitos but never minding it, for if he waited long enough a herd of deer might drink by his side, or a great, ageless moose, or perhaps even a bear seeking fish before his winter sleep. Will would sit, ever so still, and wait for the world to unfurl its shy beauty before him like a gift. Ainsel wonders if it’s something they all know to do in the north: if the mountains and lakes and forests impose a certain quiet stillness upon all its inhabitants like austere, frowning schoolmarms, or if this is something Will learned on his own on those occasions he could escape the family home in town.

In the winter, Will says, the trees shiver and pop. Water gets in them, see, and then it freezes, and the sap too; when it expands, it breaks down the pines’ firm, fibrous defenses and the trees start to explode.

“I’m sorry,” Ainsel offers.

Will nods, short and sharp, like he’s decided something. And then, without looking at Ainsel at all, he goes back to his notebook and squints at the horizon.

“...you ain’t gonna come back an’ see him?” Ainsel says cautiously.

“Thank you for telling me,” Will says, sounding more cool and moneyed than he ever has - the difference takes Ainsel aback a moment, for all that it is rather familiar. Will had sounded like that fresh off the train into town, and it hadn’t really occurred to them before how much his accent had mellowed into something more gentle, casual, and local to Danser. The switch back is a little like being struck. “You may go, now.”

Ainsel is not quick to anger. They have long accepted the vagaries of the universe, and others within it; their follies and irritations are something to which Ainsel is quite resigned. A thing has to be pretty damn offensive to rile them into anger.

So there is no small amount of alarm on Will’s face when Ainsel hauls themself off the floor, marches across the small clearing between the great desert rocks, fists their hand in Will’s shirtfront and presses him against the rock with a snarl. “Listen here, you sonuvabitch,” Ainsel says sternly, “I rode across the desert so fast all my damn bones are broke so’s you could know your brother was here on your own terms, and not ‘cause some helpful bastard in town’s brought him straight to ya. I ain’t askin’ for nothing from you, Will Williams, but I reckon I deserve some of your goddamn respect.” Will looks rather contrite. Ainsel thinks of the card vision, and the gentle man within who so cared for the child, and how eager Thomas Williams had been at the hotel to find someone who looked like him, and presses their advantage. “What’s more, I reckon you oughtta come speak to your brother, who’s grievin’ and who came out all this way lookin’ for you-”

Will’s dark eyes flash abruptly flinty, and Ainsel knows that they have misstepped. It’s still not enough warning: Will makes a fist and punches the soft inside of Ainsel’s elbow with his sharp knuckles, breaking the hold Ainsel has on his shirt, and while Ainsel is gasping with the shock of it he plants his hands flat on Ainsel’s chest and shoves hard enough to move them a good few paces. “You have no idea who he came out looking for,” Will hisses, pointing accusingly and stalking forward into Ainsel’s space, “but it sure as hell wasn’t me. He may be my brother, but I’m not his.”

“I reckon you are!” Ainsel blurts out, too busy thinking about how Thomas Williams had leaned forward on his toes to get nearer those people that might know Will to mind themself.

“The devil do you know about it all?” Will cries, throwing his hands in the air, and Ainsel recoils, wounded. “I don’t see how you can tell me what to do, as though you’ve no secrets you don’t want to address. You don’t - you don’t know me. None of you do. You-” this with a look of disdainful, injured pride and a dismissive gesture in their direction “-don’t even know yourself. So get out.”

Ainsel, for a moment, cannot breathe for the terrible hurt of it all. They have to shift one foot behind them a little to avoid stumbling backwards and folding like a broken chair to the floor. Will turns away to fuss with his drawing materials, and Ainsel works their jaw until sound comes out. “So that’s it, huh. You’re skipping town because you’re too fuckin’ yellow to see your own brother.”

Will shakes his head without turning around. “No,” he says, cool and measured, “I am going to stay here until he leaves and then return once he’s moved on, because he won’t search Danser twice and because I am-” he tilts his head thoughtfully, like a mockingbird “-too fucking yellow to see my own brother.”

“Yeah,” Ainsel mutters, turning back to Edelweiss and hauling their battered frame back into the saddle. “I can see how hiding behind a rock is a much better strategy.”

Will turns, glare spitting with fury, but Ainsel is already pulling Edelweiss around and nudging her into a steady trot back towards Danser. Edelweiss, having enjoyed her taste of speed and freedom, wants to run wild and joyous across the desert dust, to loop around the town into the prairie where the ranches are and cascade over the hill past the fenced-in stock animals and whinny her mocking laugh at them all, for she is free, free, wild and free - but Ainsel does not. They keep her reined tight until she snorts and huffs and tosses her great head and shows her tombstone teeth, but they allow her nothing. Ainsel is tired of runners, anyway.

[dankgemestho]

If It Weren’t for You Mages and Your Filthy Dog

https://archiveofourown.org/works/30435621

(M!handers, Hawke goes missing and it's up to his mabari to find him)

@dadrunkwriting​

When coming into darktown, the first thing you notice is the stench. It follows like a sad puppy and cloys like a scared kitten, a reminder of the death and disaster dealt with by people on the fringe of the society.

Kirkwall was a city founded on injustice and its historic walls and statues were only too quick to remind you. Rainwater pooled like tears at the base of the giant twins' eyes, and then spouted off like geysers, spraying cold water into the trapped sea below. 

Outside of the clinic the rock was damp and slippery, puddles of muck pooled in through the doors as Anders searched on the floor for anything that needed to stay elevated and dry. He'd awoken that morning to find his manifesto half-soaked, ink running down the pages. He tried not to be too envious of his friends whose homes stayed dry and clean, tried not to think about why their papers were safe and his were not, and instead told himself it needed revising anyhow. 

Anders heard scratching on the door, the telltale sound of big paws furiously digging through water-damaged wood. Anders put away some gauze and opened the door. The brown mabari rushed in, tongue lolling out the side of his mouth, tail wagging, and running circles around the blonde mage. 

"For the last time Hawke, no dogs in my clinic!" Anders said, expecting Hawke to come in and restrain the dog. Hawke did not restrain the dog, in fact, Hawke did not enter the clinic at all. He simply was not there. 

"Hawke?" Anders called. 

The dog chuffed and whined. 

"If Hawke's not here, why are you?" 

The dog threw his head back. 

"Go away. Go find Hawke." 

The dog chased his tail, and then looked up at Anders.

"What are you trying to tell me--hey where are you going?" Anders asked as the dog ran off. The dog stopped to check that the mage was following and then ran off to The Hanged Man. Anders used his staff to help him move more quickly over the slippery ground of the former quarry and met up with the dog at Varric's private suite. 

The dwarf was asleep in his small bed and snoring softly when he was pounced on and licked by the slobbery mabari. "Maker get off me, you're gonna crush me to death." He said, trying to push the hound off of his chest. The dog kissed him twice on the cheek and sat down at his bedside, wagging his tail. 

"Blondie? I didn't expect to see you here. Where's Hawke?"

"I don't know. His dog brought me here. He seems to be on a mission." 

The dog threw his head back. Varric scratched him between his ears. "Maybe the old boy is trying to tell us something about his master." 

Anders shifted his weight. "Maybe… We should check if Hawke's home." 

As soon as Anders finished his sentence the dog ran out of the bar, running through the legs of someone opening the door. Varric and Anders ran after him into the street. 

"Now where's he gone?" Anders asked. 

"No idea. Maybe we should check the Hawke estate."

They went to hightown and caught sight of the dog again. "You go catch him, I'll look for Hawke!" Anders said to Varric before running off in the other direction. 

"I'm not the one who has immobilization spells, Blondie." Varric muttered under his breath. "Or long legs." 

Anders slipped unnoticed into the passageway in front of Hawke's door and knocked. Bodhan answered the door. "Oh hello. You're one of Hawke's friends, I see. He left early last night, but I can tell him you stopped by." 

"He left? Did he say why?"

"He said he was going to find a ring. I might have assumed one of you lot would go with him." 

"Did he bring his dog?" 

"Yes, he almost always does." Anders' face paled. "What's wrong?" 

"Nothing. I need to go." He said, turning on a heel to go find the hound. 

The hound, as it turns out, was sitting in Aveline's office, making puppy-dog eyes at the guard captain. 

"What's wrong, Fido? You don't want to play with the guards?" Aveline asked.

Varric bolted into the room. "Oh there you are!" He said, clearly out of breath.

"Varric! What are you doing here?" 

"The dog went and gathered me and Blondie. I think he wants us all together for something." 

The dog barked happily. 

"Where's Anders, then?" Waiting outside?" 

"He went to see if Hawke was home." 

Anders ran in and closed the door behind him. "Hawke's missing."

“Well that’s not good.” Aveline said. “Where was he last seen?”

“Bodhan said he left last night, taking his dog with him.”

“Should we follow him?” Aveline asked.

They all looked over at the dog. “Where’s Hawke?” Varric asked him.

The dog barked and scratched at the door. 

Anders and Varric nodded. They let the dog out and followed him into Lirene’s Fereldan Imports.

“Oh not another maba-- Anders! What are you doing here?” Lirene said in lieu of a greeting. 

“I’m looking for Hawke. Have you seen him?” 

“Oh! Yes, he came in here looking for a ring. He didn’t specify what kind, and after I showed him what we had he just thanked me and left.”

“How long ago was this?” Asked Aveline. 

“Last night, just as I was about to close up shop.”

“Did he have his dog with him?” Varric asked.

“Yes. He was on good behaviour, too.”

“Him or the dog?” 

Lirene rolled her eyes.

“Thank you.” Anders said, leading them all out of the shop. 

“So, where to next?”  Varric asked.

“He was looking for a ring… something ferelden. Maybe he went to hightown?”

The dog barked.

“Hold on.” said Varric. “Maybe we should ask if Isabela saw him, first. She’s closer, and I hear they’ve got something going on. Maybe he found the ring and gave it to her.”

“They have something going on?” Anders asked.

“Isabela’s got something ‘going on’ with every handsome man she meets. They’re probably just flirting.” Aveline said.

Varric bowed his head in acknowledgement. “Still, we should check with her.”

The dog whined. 

“All right.” Aveline said. She, the dog and Anders followed Varric to the hanged man. They approached Isabela. 

“Oh hey Anders. Rough night?” She said, winking.

“What?”

She raised her eyebrows. “Uh, nevermind…”

“Rivaini, Have you seen Hawke?”

“He went to a lot of trouble just for a ring.” Remarked Aveline.

“I saw him last night.” she slurred. “Oh, not like that!” She frowned. “He… came to me for a private mission. Again, not like that.” She motioned over Varric and whispered in his ear.

“Oh.” Varric said, looking up nervously at Anders. “So we know he was looking for a ring, and Isabela told him about some buried treasure on the Wounded Coast.” He said, before muttering, “He should have just gone to hightown.”

“Come on, boy.” Varric said to the mabari. “Let’s go find Hawke.”

The group followed Isabela’s rough napkin-sketch map to a cave on the wounded coast. Outside of the cave lay freshly killed corpses, blood washed away by the rain. Clearly Hawke’s handiwork. As soon as they got inside, the hound started sniffing around everwhere. 

“Is he nearby?” Varric asked the dog. He kept his nose to the ground and walked through the tunnel. They walked past skeleton archer corpses until they reached a locked dwarven door. 

“I got this” said Varric, kneeling down to pick the lock. It opened and they followed the dog deeper into the tunnels, letting him choose which paths to take.

At the end of a short tunnel the dog lurched forward and pawed furiously at a door without a handle. As he whined, Hawke began to stirr on the other side of the door. Aveline went up and knocked. “Hawke? Are you in there?”

“Mmm? Aveline? Is that you? I must’ve hit my head…” 

The dog growled.

“Hang on Hawke, we’ll try to come get you. Is there another way into the room you’re in?”

“I can’t… I can’t see anything.” he rubbed his eyes. “I think there’s three other doors. This place is like a big hallway or something.”

“Blondie, is there some spell you can do to blast the door open?” Varric asked.

Anders shook his head. “It’s dwarven. Even if it could I think it would hurt all of us more than it would the door.”

“We should go further in.” Aveline said.

“Are you leaving?” Hawke croaked.

“We’re going to go around.” Varric said. 

The dog pouted at his traveling companions, not wanting to leave Hawke alone. 

“Come on pup, we’ll need you. We can’t do this all by ourselves.” Anders said, for Hawke’s sake more than anything. The dog panted once and stood up off the ground. 

Aveline led them deeper underground. The tunnels were carved out of the same stone most of kirkwall had been dug from, with red accent stone and fine dwarven carvings, eroded by the corrosive limestone dripping down from the ceiling. The lime must have been hiding the smell of the corpses littered everywhere, some of which were half-mummified, others bloated and drowned. Varric found a chest, picked the lock, and discovered it was empty. “Hawke must have looted this.” he thought.

The tunnel shook and stalactites dislodged themselves from surrounding rock and hit the adventurers on the heads. Shades clawed themselves out of the fade as demons possessed corpses. They were surrounded by eight corpses, four skeletal archers, and two shades. Varric started firing off crossbow bolts indiscriminately, moving in a clockwise circle. Anders cast a protective barrier around himself and Aveline took on the shade closest to Anders. The Mabari leaped on the nearest corpse and shred it’s flesh from bone.

The skeletal archers rained arrows down from above as Anders threw three fireballs down from above, scattering the enemies. They all ran past their fallen bodies so that they would only be encountered from one side. Just as Anders cast Elemental Weapons, Varric’s crossbow jammed. 

“Bianca, now’s really not the time!” he said, pin in his mouth.

Aveline put up a shield wall and stabbed at the corpse directly in front of her. Anders continued to fire off spells from Aveline’s cover until Varric fixed Bianca. “I’m ready-- do the thing!”

Aveline taunted the enemies, who rushed into Anders’ cone of cold and were shattered by Varric’s hail of bolts. 

Anders healed everyone as Aveline finished the rest of the demons off.

They heard clapping from behind them. “Well, well well. Very well done, all four of you. Don’t you think it’s time for a little break?”

“A sloth demon! Don’t listen to it-- kill it!”

Aveline and Varric looked dizzy, The dog just looked confused.

Anders sighed exhasperatedly. “C’mon boy, sicc him!”

The demon laughed. “That dog doesn’t take orders from you! When have you ever given it a reason to trust you?”

The dog whined and set his head down on his paws.

“I’ll give you treats!”

“Treats?” A feminine voice said from afar. “That’s my job.” A desire demon said, floating out from behind a wall. “Do you want a treat?”

The Mabari growled. 

“Oh I know what you want even more than a treat. You want your master to let you back into bed with him. You must be very jealous of the mage who took your place.”

The dog whined. 

“That’s not fair.”

“You wan’t him gone, don’t you? You could do it, right now.”

“Be quiet!” Anders shouted, summoning up enough mana to cast a fireball at them.

“You’re not enough.” Sloth said. “That spell must have taken a lot out of you, don’t you want to take a rest?”

“Guys, snap out of it!” Anders said to his friends. 

“I’m… Trying…” Varric said.

“Aveline... “ The Desire demon began. “It must be so tiring, every day, protecting so many people, day in and day out, missing Wesley. Draw your sword and cut your throat with it.”

Aveline drew her sword. “N-No! Anders, Help us!”

The dog, sensing the desperation in aveline’s voice, growled at the demons. 

“Good dog.” Anders said. “Sicc ‘em.”

The dog Leaped on the Desire demon and finished her off for Anders. The sloth demon tried to escape in terror, but weakened it’s hold on the party long enough for Varric to shoot it in the back.

“Sorry blondie.” Varric said.

“Don’t mention this to anyone else.” Aveline said. 

“Let’s just find Hawke.” Anders said. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” He said to the dog, who began wagging his tail.

Varric kicked in the door and found Hawke passed out on the floor. They all ran to him.

The dog licked all over his face and tried to drag him by the arm, before being shooed away by Varric. “Hawke, wake up! We’re here!”

Hawke was covered in sweat and clutching something tight to his chest. Aveline pried it from him. “It’s an… Engagement ring.”

Anders felt his face get hot. “Oh, you fool…”

Varric Grimaced. “So blondie, can you heal him?”

“...I’ll need some help. Let’s go talk to Merrill.”

The three of them brought Hawke to his bedroom in the city and went to Merrill.

“Merrill I know we don’t get along--” Anders began.

“What do you mean? We get along great!”

Varric grimaced.

“...Right. Well, I need a favor from you. It’s about Hawke.”

“Is he alright?”

“He’s… bewitched. We found him in a cave with some strange magic. I believe his consciousness is in the fade.”

“What? But he’s not even a mage!”

“I know. I need the help of your keeper.”

Merrill whined. “But I hate talking to the keeper without Hawke’s help. But I do love Hawke--I mean we all do, right?”

The dog tossed his head back. 

“Oh right.” Varric replied sarcastically. “My mistake.”

“Some of us love him more than others…” Varric muttered under his breath, looking pointedly at Anders.

“What?” Anders squawked. “Don’t believe everything a Demon tells you.”

Merrill smiled confusedly. “What are we talking about?”

“It’s nothing.” Aveline cut in. “Will you help, or not?”

“Of course i’ll help! It’s Hawke we’re talking about. So I assume you’ll all be helping, too.”

“What do you need?” Aveline asked.

“If the keeper comes here, we’ll need someone to keep her safe.”

Aveline nodded. “I’ll help. Of course I will.”

“Anders? Will you help me talk to the keeper?”

“Why me?”

“I don’t even know what Hawke needs. You could convince her better than me, right?”

“It’s worth a shot.”

The five of them departed for sundermount. When they arrived at the camp, two hunters stopped their egress. 

“Shem are not welcome here, Merrill. I’d like to say the same about you, too.”

“But I am welcome here, and so are my friends. We need to speak to the keeper.”

The female elf sighed. “I’ll go get her. She’ll want to speak with you.”

The hunter returned with the keeper. “Merrill.” Keeper Marethari said, her eyes crinkling in smile. “It is good to see you. Bring you bad news?”

“No, keeper. I bring Anders, Doctor of Darktown. He needs help with a patient.”

“The patient is Hawke.” Anders added.

“Very well, how do you need my help?”

“Hawke went to find some ring but it was… possessed. I believe he is fighting off demons, similar to a circle mage’s harrowing. It’s not too late to save him, but we need to reach him in the fade.”

“I see. Can he be brought here?”

“That would take too much time. It may already be too late.”

The keeper inclined her head. “Very well. I will go. Take me to see him.”

“But keeper, we need you here!” One of the elves spoke. 

“Child, I will go where I am needed most. I will return. Dareth Shiral.”

The hunter looked down. “Dareth Shiral, keeper.”

The group left sundermount and arrived with the cover of night at Hawke’s hightown estate.

Anders unlocked the door and let them inside, earning a quirk of Varric’s eyebrow. 

They entered Hawke’s bedroom where he still lay, breathing in shallow slow breaths.

“Who are you taking with you?”

Anders recalled his earlier encounter with demons. “I’d rather not take any of you.”

“I’m sorry, blondie, I’ll try to make it up to you this time.” Varric said.

“I’m not sure I want to mess with demons.” Aveline said.

“I’d be happy to go with you!” Merrill said.

Anders sighed. “I’ll need all of them, since I can’t bring the dog. He can protect our bodies while we sleep.”

The three mages began casting spells and one by one the team opened their eyes in the fade. 

“Go quickly.” the keeper’s voice rang out in the back of their minds. “I cannot keep this up forever.”

In the fade it was nearly impossible for Anders to control Justice and the others were startled to see Anders’ skin glowing.

He walked stiffly in long strides into Hawke’s dream. They were in the cellar of the Amell estate, from after Gamlen lost it but before Hawke bought it. The greenish fade air distorted the walls like stained glass might.  Merrill gazed about and kept her back guarding Anders’. Varric marched on to keep pace and aveline crossed her shoulders and withdrew inwards.

They went into the next room and saw Hawke hitting a training dummy as his father looked on disapprovingly. He seemed not to notice them come in.

“Push yourself Garrett. Make me proud.”

Hawke’s voice came out strangled and boyish. “I’m trying! Why can’t you see that?”

“It’s okay to ask for help.”

“I don’t need help! I can do this!”

Justice stepped forward. “That’s not your dad.” he said.

Hawke whipped around. “Anders? I don’t understand!” He looked between his dad and his lover.

The pride demon stepped towards him. Hawke dropped his daggers and ran away.

“Nonsense! Make me proud, boy!” The demon said.

“That is a pride demon. Resist him.”

“Great.” Varric said. “You spooked him.”

“You! You spoiled my plan!” The demon said, morphing into it’s true form.

He summoned two electric chains and tugged Merrill and Aveline to the ground. Varric fired off shots at the demon’s massive chest as Justice calmly stepped forward and ripped the demon’s heart out.

The demon begged with his eyes before Merrill froze it and Varric shot it.

“Damn blondie! That was mental!”

Justice shrugged him off and kept moving. 

Next they checked the broom closet. When Justice realised what was going on, he slammed the door shut behind him. Hawke was in his finery about to open the robe above a kneeling anders when he saw the real anders.

“Justice?!” Hawke cried, stepping back in surprise.

“That’s not Anders. It’s a desire demon.”

“Oh.” He squinted. “Is it?”

The demon rose from the floor. “Yes you fool. I have so much more to offer you than the real anders. Help me beat him and Justice will never spoil your fun again.”

“No… I… When I fell in love with Anders I accepted Justice with him!”

The Demon spat.

“I wish you could be here.” He sobbed. “I might get engaged soon.”

Hawke pulled his pants up and ran through the walls. Justice opened the door and let his group take care of the Desire demon.

They searched through the remaining rooms and found Hawke in his mother’s bedroom, crying on the bed as a ghostly Leandra fed him sad memories.

“How could you get married without your mother in the audience? You shouldn’t go.”

“That’s not your mother.” Justice spoke. 

“How do you know?” Hawke cried. “You didn’t know my mother! Maybe this is her spirit!”

“See you said maybe, Hawke. You have no way of knowing what’s real here. Don’t let her taint your memories.” Varric said.

“You’ll want to remember her as she was.” Aveline said.

Hawke looked up and nodded. “You’re right. I must resist demons.”

“Are you ready to wake up now?” Justice said.

“No! You cannot forget this pain!” The demon drew back and transformed itself into a snake, coiling around hawke. Aveline charged at it and slashed away at it’s regrowing tail.

Merrill and Anders united their mana together and cast a strong ice spell, freezing just the serpent, and Aveline hacked the brittle beast to bits.

“Yeah.” He sniffed. “Thanks, Justice.”

They all awoke from Hawke’s dream in his room.

Hawke sat up fast. “Where’s the ring?”

Anders eased him back on the bed and held his hand. “You don’t need one. The answer is yes.”

“But you’re pretty. You deserve a ring as pretty as you.”

Anders scoffed. “I’m offended you think a bit of twisted metal could ever look as gorgeous as I do.”

Hawke smirked “Did you geta pride demon plus one in there? Are we making this relationship a foursome now?”

Varric cleared his throat. “We’re still here.”

“Oh I know that.” Hawke said, throwing his head back in laughter. 

“Thank you Keeper Marethari. I am truly in your debt.”

“It was nothing child. If you must help me, ease my way home.

Hawke grabbed his arm and silently begged him not to leave. 

“You guys go on, I’ll make it up to you some other day. And take the dog, I don’t want him to stick around and watch.”

Merrill made a face. “Yuck. I’m going.” 

The rest of them left and the couple was all alone for the night.

“Well, maybe I was overblowing the animosity between us. I wouldn’t want you to think of me as untrustworthy just because I’m a cat person.”

“You know, your dog really does not like me.” Anders said, caressing Hawke’s arm.

“Doesn’t he?” Hawke frowned. “Well you’re not exactly the nicest to him. I’ll have you know I have no trust for someone my dog distrusts.”

Hawke smiled. “Did you mean it, when you said yes?”

Anders nodded against his shoulder. “I still think it’s crazy that you’d openly live with another man--an apostate. Aren’t you scared?”

“No. Not at all. Are you?”

“I should be.” he smiled. “Right now I just feel warm all over.”

“Hmm… Maybe we should get you out of that stuffy robe then.”

Anders laughed. “Maybe.”

[erstwhile25]

Old Salts, and Bitter Fruits.

It was a brisk La Noscean morning, the kind where the bitter chill winds coming off the seas wrestled with the warm sun reflecting off the mountain slopes.  Most mornings the sun won out, but in the height of winter, the wind was such that it could slip under your clothes and shake hands with your bones.  Hannah knew from experience (as most of her knowledge was prone to spring from these days) that it wasn’t as bad as the ongoing frosts of Ishgard, still one needed to bundle up against it, lest they found themselves making friends with a fever.  She had just finished gathering up the last of the winter peas from the fields, and had set her basket aside to rub a little life back into her chilled knobbly fingers.  

Age had been kind to her, she reflected as she sat her bony ass down on one of the smooth stones that marked the borders of her son’s fields.  Most women who had seen as many seasons as she had needed the assistance of a cane to walk, and that was if they could leave their rocking chairs at all.  However she was still able to bend at her waist, and carry a basket that was half her weight in stone.  True, her joints ached terribly before the coming of a storm, and she’d no longer had a tooth in her mouth that wasn’t porcelain or silver, but to expect nothing from time but a head full of grey hair was folly if ever she heard it.

It was a subject of some debate back on her son Sigmund’s farm.  His wife, a pretty little midlander named Sarah who didn’t have so much as two foul thoughts in her head to rub together for fire, was opposed to the idea of her aging mother-in-law working in the fields.  She insisted that if Hannah kept it up, then one day they would find her out there, dead amongst the stones and weeds.  The girl, and she was still a girl in Hannah’s eyes, never even contemplated the possibility that Hannah would have it no other way.  After all it was probably the bull headed need for physical labor that kept her in such fine shape for her autumn years.  During her years on the salt, Hannah had never met a job she didn’t prefer to do for herself.  In fact, one of her hardest lessons aboard a ship had been to trust in the work of others.  

Hannah shivered, and rose off the rock, tugging her basket to her shoulder.  Near on twenty years had passed since she had set foot on a deck, and still every fourth thought out of her head was about her life on the waves.  It was what every sailor meant when they said “The Siren’s Call.”, since most were too chickenshit to call it their own stupidity, blaming a pretty woman seemed the next best thing.  Still they were right about one thing, there wasn’t any sense to be had in it.  She had a good life now, Sigmund shared her own love of steady physical labor, and between the two of them they had made his farm one of the best producers on the coastline.  Sigmund and his little wife hadn’t been coy in their marriage, and now they had a fifth grandchild on the way to swell the household even further.  Hannah had made the offer a while back to have a cottage built for herself on the edge of the property, giving them the space every married couple needed.  However they wouldn’t hear of it, bless their amorous little hearts, the pair insisted having their family under one roof, all of their family.

So here Hannah was, with no need for coin, or a roof over her head, besieged on all sides by love from gangly grandchildren and moon-eyed betrothed.  All of these things rested neatly in the palm of her hand...and there was still space for something else.  It made her feel like shit, but there was no denying it, some part of her longed for the feel of the rolling deck beneath her feet and the anticipation of the great unknown.  Rationally, she knew the reason she would never return to the waves, it was the same reason she’d fought so viciously with Sarah about planting the fig trees behind the house.  Not because Hannah had any particular inclinations about figs as a fruit, but because of how the trees looked when they were denuded of their leaves in the winter.  They looked like skeletal fingers clutching up through the sea water, always reaching for the sky. 

It was staring at those trees that her son found her.  She had walked the pebbled path home without realizing it, as mired in her thoughts as a cart stuck in the peat moors.  It wasn’t until he rested a cautious hand on one of her shoulders that she realized where she was with a little start.  

“Someone once told me staring at a tree won’t cause it t’grow fruit.”  He rumbled through a chest now broader than hers had ever been, when had he grown taller than she?  She smirked up at him, handing off her basket without needing to ask that he take it. 

“Depends on what ye came out t’pick, not all fruit grows green.”

“Mmmm” he set off on a slow plod towards the front of the homestead. “Sounds like bitter fruit indeed.”

“Tis at that.” She said out the side of her mouth, following at his side..

“Ye know…” he said, plowing on into the conversation like an ox “Ye need not be the only one t’eat this fruit.”

She smiled up at him fondly.  The trouble was he meant it too, he would patiently listen to everything she had to say about her past life, and forgive her for it to boot.  Trouble was some things weren’t for him to forgive, and she wasn’t deserving of forgiveness anyhow.  

“Some mistakes are jest that lad...bitter fruit only ye can eat in yer old age.  Now hush, n’let me be an old woman in peace.”

“Salty old bitch.” he said, without a hint of malice.

“Green little shit.” she spat, with all a mother’s love. “Thought ye would be out still pickin stones in the western fields, not herding old goats.”

“I was headed that way, but someone claimin t’be a friend oh yourn showed up on our doorstep.”

Hannah stopped as soon as he said it, her foot on the first of the sensible stone steps leading up to the porch of their home.  She eyed the door above them as though it was a serpent rearing to strike.  “That makes them either an idiot or a liar...what’d ye make them t’be?”

Sigmund set down the basket of peas, and as he bent over Hannah noticed a cudgel was tucked into the back of his belt.  It was a plain and heavy affair carved from one of the thick branches of the oaks that dotted the path to the house; Sigmund said he kept it around for wolves and men in need of manners.  Hannah had only seen him use it twice, and that was all she needed to suspect he’d inherited more from her than a need for physical labor.  Nodding towards the house, he gave his mother a knowing look. “He looked like someone who could be trouble iffin he wanted t’be, don’t think he wanted t’be though.  Said he jest wanted t’talk to ye, so I left Sarah t’entertain whilst I fetched ye.”

Fetched me and that there cudgel, Hannah thought as she sucked on one of the silver teeth at the front of her mouth.  She supposed she could have berated him for leaving his family alone with a strange man, but there was time enough for that after she dealt with this.  She went to the wide stump near the front of the house, where they all took turns splitting firewood for chill evenings.  There embedded in the stump was a well worn hatchet no longer than her forearm.  It was hardly a weapon for most folks, but it was a tool she was intimately familiar with.  With a quick yank she freed it, and it slid easily enough into the apron straps behind her back.  Thusly armed, she stomped her way up the steps good and loud so whoever was in there heard her coming.  

Hannah had to admit, with the one exception seated at the kitchen table, she had walked into the picture of farmer’s hospitality.  Sarah had been an inn keeper’s daughter before Sigmund had offered her a life on his homestead, and thusly she had kept his hearth with the same inflexible sensibility that had commanded the line of innkeepers before her.  Everything was where it should be; from the fragrant cooking herbs hung to dry along one wall; to the color coordinated rows of jams and preserves they had sealed in the spring.  Every pot, every pan, every humble clay cup was precisely in the location it needed to be to convey a sense of welcome and warmth to those who were either returning home, or simply temporarily visiting.  It was this way, not because Hannah, or Sigmund, or any of his multitudinous get were particularly neat, but because Sarah Commanded It Be So.  The family bore it with good natured cheer, partly because they loved the small woman, and partly because they enjoyed their home being so.  Even crusty old Hannah enjoyed it; Which was why, when Hannah saw one of Tseng’s things seated at the table amidst everything she considered home, her blood ran colder than any Ishgard winter.  

It didn’t help that Juniper, the eldest of her grandchildren, was seated next to the lean salt haired outline of a man.  Juniper’s innocent grey green eyes were as wide as the tea saucers her mother was setting out, as the little girl of eight tapped one of the many ostentatious gold and silver rings on the thing’s spidery sea worn fingers. “What about...that one?”

 It opened its mouth, showing very white teeth in a wolfish grin, and a raucous laugh tailored to titillate rolled around the kitchen.  “I got that one from a princess of the Ananta, she dared me t’try dancin on one foot afore all her clan, as her people do.  I fell flat on my arse, but she claimed I should have aught t’show fer it anyhow.”

Juniper’s eyes narrowed, and her tiny mouth puckered in the inherent shrewdness of all eight year olds “Wot’s an..Antnata?”

“Oh they’re a sight t’be seen..” It winked (...or was it blinked?) to her and laid a finger along the side of it’s slightly crooked nose, as though the two of them in this bit of information had a precious secret to share. “Serpent women whose beauty tis beyond compare, they live in the outer Fringes outside Gyr Abania.”  

“Liar.” Shot back Juniper with no hesitation whatsoever. “No one’s prettier than Mum.”

This spurred a fierce blush from Sarah’s pale cheeks, and a second, even louder round of laughter from the thing. “How fool oh me t’ferget her” it said between guffaws. “Yer daughter does ye credit madam, she’ll have her pick oh the crews when she comes oh age.”

Hannah saw the spark in Juniper’s eyes as soon as the thing said it, and she knew, she KNEW somewhere in that little sprat’s mind, a life at sea was already painting itself.  It was that stupid, disregarding, need for adventure that still called to her as an old woman, and she would be damned it she let it claim one of hers. 

“She’ll have her pick oh the fields till then.” Hannah said archly from the doorway.  Before she had a chance to seat herself at the table, she was nearly bowled over by her granddaughter who flung herself into Hannah’s stained apron to hug her waist and then tug on the same strings that held the hatchet behind her back.  

“Nana! Nana!  Guess what??” With all the energy of a hummingbird in its prime, Juniper bounced up and down before her.  Hannah couldn’t help but run a gnarled hand through those curling brown locks and ask the expected question.

“What, my cherub?”

Sparing a suspicious glance behind her at their guest, Juniper went to her tiptoes and whispered in a voice that all present could hear.  “He’s a pirate.”  

Hannah smiled at that, how could she do anything but?  Still the important thing was to get Juniper as far away from the trouble at their table as fast as she could, if she had to lie to the child to do so, so be it.  “Taint nice t’call someone a pirate, even iffin they do look like one.  Asides, there’s no such things as pirates any more, the Admiral’s sweepin em all back out t’sea.  Now yer father’s out on the porch about t’start shellin peas, why don’t ye go help him?”

“But Nan..”

“Now child.” Hannah cut the babe off with a clipped tone that brooked no backtalk, a tone she hated using, but nonetheless had the desired effect.  With a bit of a wounded look, Juniper shot around her, and out the front door.  Hannah looked to Sarah, and for a moment, she thought she would have to ask the woman to leave as well.  However Sarah seemed to pick up from the look that this was neither a conversation for her or tea, and with a sigh set the pot off the stove.  Turning to leave for the door, Hannah’s prim and proper daughter-in-law paused to eye them both and then spoke.  “If you two are planning to kill one another, please do it outside.  If I come back and find anything in here broken, we’ll be digging two graves instead of just the one.” That said, she turned on a heel and followed her daughter out.  

“Some men rescue the damsel from the dragon…” It said, watching Sarah’s flouncing departure. “Other’s jest marry the dragon.” 

She stared at the man-like thing for a moment, carefully considering her words, diplomacy after all was the bedrock of civilization.  “Shut the feck up.”  

The one yellow eye narrowed to a slit as she said it, and for a moment she thought they really would just kill one another in her family’s cozy little kitchen.  Instead the thing that looked like a man eased back into it’s chair, and with a lazy hand motion, admitted the floor was hers.  So she licked her lips and pressed on.  “No jokes, no fables, no amusing anecdotes...jest plain speech.  I know ye get somat from that other stuff...yer like her in that respect, but whatever that tis ye ent gettin it from this house, not from these people.  Not while I’m still alive and kickin.”

It looked slightly affronted by that, keeping its eye on her as it reached for the bowl in the middle of the table, and selecting one of the pears that sat there.  She blinked and there was a knife in its hand, cutting off the rind of the fruit into a neat little curl off to the side.  A small rueful smile curled its way across that face, not unlike the peel.  “Ye sit there, talkin about me like I’m some terror from the deeps come t’visit horror upon ye and yer family.”  it said.

Hannah kept her eyes steady and forward, not daring to look away.  She’d warned Argus Stormwater another lifetime ago never to take his eyes off this one, he’d ignored her advice, and had paid for it with his life.   With the same steady calm as her stare, she pulled out a chair at the table, and then rested her bones upon it.  “Convince me that yer otherwise Kail.” 

“Oh come now.” Kail said as it continued undressing the pear.  “M’a lawful citizen oh Limsa Lominsa just as yerself, aught that not warrant me a little faith?”

Hannah didn’t let her expression alter one jot.  “I was there the night ye gave Jehige a second grin then tossed him off the docks, I’m well familiar with what ye are cutter.”

There followed a silence thick enough to spread on toast after she laid that out between them, Kail’s knife paused in mid slice, and that yellow eye eased up to lock on with her gaze.  “Look me in the eye and tell me he didn’t have that comin.” It said, and there wasn’t a hint of regret in that voice.  

It had been as if the act had been cut wood, drawn water, or any one of a dozen chores that Kail had needed to do that day, and it would probably never see the murder as anything else.  Oh it was true that Jehige would have sold his mother to the slaving guilds for spare change, but the utter casual nature that Kail had discarded him was a stark reminder to Hannah.  It was a reminder that if Kail was ever doing figures in it’s head, and reached the answer of one dead Hannah, then that is what her grandchildren would find in her bed.  

“I don’t think either oh us are in any position t’sit in judgement.” She said, and even as she said it, she realized it was true.  With an effort of will she drew her finger tips from the handle of the hatchet, where they had unconsciously come to rest as her mind had wound her up even further during the conversation.  She set her hands upon the table, and left them there.  “What is it ye want Kail?”

It grinned wide and white, not unlike a shark ready to take a bite.  “As it so happens, I want t’do ye a favor.” It said, and then it did bite, right into the peeled pear with no shortage of vigor and relish.  As it chewed with juice dribbling down it’s chin, Hannah sat there staring, unsure as how to respond to that.  She found her voice after it took yet another bite of the fruit, seemingly content to wait and watch for her reaction.  “Ye say that, but somehow I’m convinced this ‘favor’ oh yourn tis goin t’look more like barter.”

Kail favored her with a deceptively casual shrug, she had seen it used more than a few times when this thing was a younger boy.  It meant simply that the can of worms went deeper than you thought, Kail was only showing you the surface.  Still she found herself listening to what it had to say.  “Tis an opportunity, and we elder salts know there ent no pay without a little pain.” It said, then it leaned in close. “But what pain wouldn’t be worth bein able t’have a night’s kip without havin nightmares oh Tseng?”

Hannah had known this would concern the old man, had prepared herself for it when she had seen Kail sitting at her family’s table.  Yet still when she heard his name spoken aloud, she felt the small hairs on her arm try to crawl skyward.  She wasn’t as superstitious as the rest of her peers, but she was almost certain that was one of those names that echoed back to the ears of its owner.  “Twenty years tis a long time t’hold a grudge boy, what makes ye even think he’s still about?”

For the first time, Hannah saw the cheer on Kail’s face roll back like the tides, leaving behind a very naked and raw anger still as fresh as that night so long ago.  It’s words were clipped and under control, but only clearly from a small lifetime of tempering them to be so.  “This tisn’t about a grudge, this tis about finishin what we started.  N’iffin yer old bones ent tellin ye that he’s still out there, then yer a better liar than I am.”

She couldn’t help but snort at the hypocrisy, and made to rise from the table. “There ye are callin me a liar, but yer about t’split down the middle fer a chance t’get at him.  Not about a grudge my arse.  Yer about t’get a whole bunch oh folk killed chasin a ghost, n”I fer one ain’t…”

Something landed on the table between the two of them, dropping with a strange permanence that suggested nothing but someone picking it up would ever move it from that spot.  Kail had fished it out a pocket and tossed it on the table, Hannah stared as the world seemed to twist about the small thing.  At first glance it was a gemstone, a tear drop of a strange opalescence, without a single facet to suggest a jeweler’s tools had ever touched it.  It was in her hand before she told herself to pick it up, and she was drawing it closer for her old eyes to see.  She had to be sure.  She dimly heard Kail’s slow growl of a voice somewhere in the distance, but she simply didn’t have the room in her head to listen as she slowly became lost in the folds of light beneath the gem’s surface.  There it was...that oily sheen was as sure a signature of Tseng’s hand as any lord’s seal.  Steeling herself, she tore the gem from her gaze and set it back on the table.  She turned her weary eyes upon Kail, and asked it...asked him, she would have to get used to that idea now if they would be working together.  “Where?” 

He took a flask out one of those many pockets and passed it across the table to her, she gratefully took it and availed herself of the burning contents.  “I took it from a gunship I had t’scuttle back in Ala Mhigo.” He said “ Twas with a bit oh correspondence that suggests the captain was one oh Tseng’s.”

Hannah froze in mid sip, a horrible thought occurring to her.  “He ent workin with the Imperials is he?”

To her relief, Kail shook his head.  “He eats and breathes hate fer them, he’d slit his own throat afore it came to that.  Slipping a few pawns in their ranks and absconding with some of their resources though?”

She nodded in reply, it was a move that was just as much a signature of the old man as the sheen in the stone.  Kail was right, Tseng wasn’t just alive, he had a hand in the world stage.  Despite all the time that had passed, all the good she had done in the years between, she had helped him do so.  There was only one reply to that.  “What do ye need from me?”

  Kail removed the gem from the table, reaching for it with all the care one handles a snake. “I know how t’get Tseng’s attention.  To do that though...I’ll need t’sail into the Teeth.”

Hannah winced at the thought.  Far out to the east in the Sea of Glass were a set of islands known to sailors as the Seven Maws. As sailors were both poetic and original, they called the barrier of razor sharp obsidian glass that surrounded the islands the Teeth.  It was inaccessible from the air as the obsidian apparently carried trace amounts of aether, this aether caused a perpetual lightning storm to crackle over the islands.  Any airship that tried to pass through it was ripped apart by enough bolts to give even Raiden the Storm Father pause.  On the flip side however, to try and sail through the Teeth by way of the water was no task for the faint of heart.  Hannah could count on one hand the number of Captains who had told her they had sailed through the Teeth and that she believed.  Kail wasn’t one of them. “So what are ye talkin t’me fer?  Ye need the best navigator ye can lay hands on.  That ent me.”

“Well..” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ve a navigator already in mind, but I think he’s not of the mind t’accept iffin I’m the one doin the offerin.”

Hannah felt her mouth set into a grimace, here it came. “Why?”

“I sort of ...broke his leg and killed half his crew.”

In the swollen, pregnant, and morning sick silence that followed; Hannah wondered if she could break one of Sarah’s clay jars over Kail’s head without giving her daughter-in-law cause to carry out her earlier threat.  In the end she eschewed the fantasy to continue the conversation. “So yer the bastard Toumgara is swearing up and down the docks he’s going to murder at his earliest opportunity.” 

“T’be fair, he started it, and I ent the only one t’thank fer given him a black eye.”  If Hannah didn’t know any better, there was a fond tone in his voice as he said it.  

“Regardless how the feck do ye expect me t’smooth things oer?” She asked “Toum’s young enough t’still be floatin on his pride, he wouldn’t sail fer ye without a good reason.”

Kail took a sip from his flask, which she never remembered handing back to him.  “He also loves the old stories, and by extension the old crews that helped make them.  I don’t think ye could smooth things oer, but I think Hatchet Hannah could.”  He said, giving her a significant glance that seemed to pierce straight through what she had been building the past twenty years, and to the solid steel tool thrust through the strings of her apron.  She had to put effort into not flinching away from that. With a smirk sharp enough to cut oneself on he added. “Iffin that doesn’t work, tell him there’s treasure involved, that allus works.”  

Hannah blinked as he started to rise from her table, not even waiting for her answer.  She didn’t want to ask...but there was still that small part of her that roared for rolling waves, and sheets full of the southern winds, so she did. “Is there?”

Kail’s face didn’t shift an iota beyond that smirk as he rose, when he stood straight however...he winked at her...or was it a blink?  He left without another word.  She sat there staring at the bowl of pears in the middle of the table, not really sure what she would do now.  After a few moments Sigmund came into the kitchen, herding Juniper and telling her that no she couldn’t have a fox of her own, he didn’t care how cute the other one had been.  Hannah watched them, and knew, sure as spring was coming, that if she didn’t fix this, Sigmund would find out...and he would take it upon himself to do what she couldn’t.  So when her son sat down in the seat that her past had been warming, and asked her what had happened.  She didn’t answer, she just grabbed a pear from the bowl, and took a bite.  

[talldarkandroguesome]

14th of Last Seed, Loredas

I... I feel myself again. I suppose that is the best way to put it.

Nabine led the way to where the thief who had hired the assassin drank. It was a small corner tavern with very little space to sit and a short, liquor soaked bar.

Nabine had painted my face and arranged my wig in such a way as to best appeal to the sort of person that frequented that establishment.

When we arrived, Nabine took the letter I had forged to make it appear as though the assassin was demanding more money and a meet up to discuss terms. I ordered a cheap drink and hovered by the corner, keeping my eye on the situation, focusing as best I could over the din of the drunken conversations as best as I could, so that I might keep abreast of the situation as it unfolded.

The thief and his two companions began to complain loudly. It seemed that only one of them might possibly know what was going on, but the third went along with things to try and intimidate the supposed messenger. Nabine held her ground, I could see that she was fighting the urge to attack them.

They gave her some instructions that were too low for me to here over the mer next to me demanding another pint. A mer who, once her turned to me, began to openly fondle me while asking me how much my services cost. 

Not wanting to risk making the situation worse, I played along, gave some prices to the mer and told him that I was off right now while I had a drink, but that perhaps I had a bite to eat and finished my sujamma, I could meet him at a place of his choosing if he would like.

He agreed and gave me directions to his room at a seedy inn off a notoriously dangerous alleyway.

Then I turned to find that Nabine and the three thieves were no longer there.

I cursed myself. How did I get so sloppy and so unobservant?! When did I forget all the skills that were honed over a century and half?

To my relief, I made my way across the small room and saw the three of them just outside the window, talking and I made my way out into the night.

Upon seeing me, Nabine called me over, asking where her tart had run off to. I made small gesture of apology and staggered my way, seemingly inebriated, to her side and kissed her.

The thieves asked what the deal with me was. I put my hands ‘round her waist and kissed her neck as she claimed to be my mistress and I her little harlot. The thieves gave me a once over before relaxing.

Nabine offered my services to them, saying that I had been spending more time drinking than earning my keep as of late anyhow and that I was good with my mouth in particular.

The third of the thieves turned up his nose, but the main thief’s second companion seemed rather taken with the idea and asked about if I did only solo work.

I opened my mouth and Nabine pulled my hair and told him that I could be arranged to any sort of engagement that he wished. He gestured to the main thief who seemed to be willing to maybe consider it when business was concluded, but not before.

Nabine told him she would be happy to discuss the matter at length after she was finished with setting up the meeting for her employer. The main thief agreed that this was best and proposed to meet up in a week. Nabine said that the assassin had agreed to meet the next day or there would be lives on the line.

That made the main thief rather nervous and so he said that he needed at least a couple of days in order to gather the money but assured Nabine that it would be forthcoming if he was just given a couple of days.

She said she would check to see if that was acceptable and be returning with an answer soon, then turned to leave.

The thief’s companion stopped her and asked about my services and they spoke as we walked. The man seemed to get more and more excited. He even asked Nabine how much for her to join in.

It was clear that she was still not up to her usual resilience and fighting not to attack the man.

Then, I do not know what came over me. I was suddenly filled with a rage. I wanted to harm this man very, very badly. But it was more than that. There was a voice in my head telling me to get him alone, to get his lust to a fever pitch and then slay him.

I was startled, almost worried about the Dremora whose soul had been captured. Had another Dremora come to take her place?

Then I realized, it sounded familiar. It was soothing. Almost seductive. And I wanted very much to do so. I felt compelled to.

So I said to Nabine in Bosmeris to let me go to him.

She seemed uncertain, but I said I was in need of a hunt of my own. She agreed and then told the man it was his lucky day and that I was wanton enough to be unable to resist his offer and she set a more than reasonable rate for my company and asked when he would like me.

The man seemed surprised, but pleased and said he had friends he was going to entertain on Sundas, but that he would not mind getting to sample me and asked if I could not return to his home with him. Nabine was reticent to leave me, but she agreed and told me to be very, very careful. I agreed and went with the man. He asked me what I was interested in and willing to do and I told him I liked to play little games and he was very much interested and we discussed a scenario, all the while that voice caressed me with suggestions of what do to to this man. How best to seduce him. How best to dispatch of him.

And I followed the instructions. The voice felt like it entered my body and was coaxing me into action. I let it take hold. I let it guide me. And as it did, I felt a great pleasure take hold.

But from that pleasure grew something else. Something darker. A desire to take lives. And even as I felt him struggle below me, too caught up in the ecstasy I brought him to stop, even as the breath was denied him.

And I felt myself take an extra certain type of glee from the process that I have hardly before felt. It was not the usual sort of power high that so many often describe. Rather, this was a sensation that is far harder to explain.

The feeling one gets upon taking a restorative potion and you feel yourself growing in strength. That is not quite correction either, but it is the closest to what I can describe. It felt like I was growing. Not in size, but in something deeper. Something internal.

As soon as it dawned on me what I was feeling, I was horrified.

Yet, simultaneously, I was still feeling so good. Yet not satiated. I wanted more. More sex. More blood. More death.

It was frightening to recognize that within myself. I was disgusted.

I fled, not even bothering to clean up after myself.

Of course, this meant that I would have the issue of the body and suspicion to fall upon Nabine and I even further. But I knew that I could deal with that as well.

Then, I ran into the drunkard that had propositioned me earlier and that voice came back to me.

I let it go, let it guide me. The mer was so drunk I could lead him to the home where I had strangled the thief without him realizing anything was amiss. I had him undress and I began to get him close. Then I had him come and sit into a special chair, which was the thief’s lap. Then I continued to play with him, reveling in his lack of awareness and in the anticipation of what was to come. I took off a handkerchief and wrapped it ‘round his eyes. Then I positioned the corpse between us and asked him to choke me a little. He complied, his hands gripping the throat of the dead man. And as he did, I slid a dagger into the corpse’s hand and held it from below so as not to disrupt too much of the blood that was to come.

That silk-smooth voice told me to make sure that he was at his most vulnerable moment when I made my strike. So I waited until just before he climaxed, then I stabbed him in the chest. He cried out and gripped harder at the corpse, screaming that he would kill me. I made the sounds of struggling, knocking a few things over. Then I slashed out wildly as I could, making sure to make as many cuts as possible. Then I slashed across the throat. The mer grabbed at his throat. I waited until he was barely still breathing, then put his hands up around the corpse again.

He tried to say something, but I took my leave. I left, even as that feeling of growth persisted.

Maybe growth is not correct.

That is it! It is the feeling of completion. It is that same feeling of when I touch the aetherial shards. Like I am whole again. I wonder what that might be....

I rushed back to Nabine, who took me with open arms and said not to do that again. She was clearly more worried than I expected of her. I told her of the experience I ha and it only served to make her look more worried. I poured us some wine, which we polished off quickly. Then she held me and stroked my hair until I had relaxed and we made love until she fell asleep.

I only hope that tomorrow I will be more myself.

[lilolilyr]

Fics I Wanted To Write This Year But Didn't, Part 2: Star Trek AU

For @spookyvoidangelskeleton for this ask

Now I suppose these would have been several fics, but in a series or a collection as they're all about the same main storyline: The collapsing of a (or several) universe(s).

If you've known me for a while, you know that I am very into Multiverse Theory, both real life and fictional, and Star Trek with the Mirror Universe is of course one of the first fandoms that comes to mind for me to write my batshit ideas in xD

Basically, in my personal little (fictional, bc I know and understand 0 about real life physics or whatever would be relevant for this) multiverse theory, there are an infinite number of universes, evenly spread around the multiverse, and a new universe comes into existence when a timeline/universe (same thing) can go into 2 seperate ways naturally, or when there is timetravel involved to manually change a timeline: The original timeline won't be affected, you can't change what's already there, but a new changed timeline will be created.

Now, in some cases that works out well, with the timetraveller ending up in the new timeline and never knowing that their original universe is still out there- in other ways of time travelling, not so much. If the person trying to make a change manages to do just that but never notices, because they or a version of them is stuck in the orginal timeline, what do they do?

Try again, with the same result, many many times.

And that's where it gets problematic, because the multiverse gets unbalanced, and whether you see it as a sentient entity connected to the Qs in Star Trek or just as something that Works That Way automatically: the multiverse doesn't want to be out of balance, so the new universes start to collapse in on each other, creating a Splitter-verse and leaving its inhabitants to a fate arguably worse than death (in this fictional world): they completely stop to exist. This doesn't just affect the new universes but the surroundings ones, which would have split earlier and are already more different from each other, too, to make sure the one that was the cause for it all falls, too.

Now (of course, because I can't help myself) this would be part of @thelucyverse , with there being Central people trained in spotting such time anomalies before it is too late, but with there also being time-bombs (yeah hahah) created in inter-universal wars to create smaller, controlled splitter-verses (I say small and controlled here but like. We're still talking about entire universes), and with Central having back-up plans to get people out of the 'verses, in order as follows: anyone visibly IDing as Central (the organisation is still largely volunteer-based, shit's got to have some perks), then everyone whose energy indicates recent travel in-between universes, as these are also most likely to a) be Central and b) be okay in a new 'verse, after that, if there is still time and anyone willing to go back into the falling universe, children as they are also more likely to adapt in a new world. If there is enough warning, they also get out whoever people Central members want to have saved, but usually it just turns into whoever stands close enough to grab and get the hell out of there.

Whether taking people out of a universe against their will is a good thing or nah is ...debatable and still being debated amongst those who do it and those who think that taking someone away from the possibility of dying death in their own universe is vile (as amongst most religions, it is thought that you can only reach the same afterlife as those who died in the same umiverse- but again most also think that there probably won't even Be an afterlife in a splitter-verse).

Sometimes, people are also pushed out of the universe by the explosion itself, but they then tend to die upon impact as they seldomly end up exactly at the coordinates where they left, which leaves them either suffocating in hard matter or in space.

If you want to use these ideas for your own fanfic feel free, just give me credit and link this post as inspired by/ link to my ao3 or @ my tumblr!

Anyhow! To Star Trek... and I suppose this is now SPOILERS not rly for any Star Trek canon but for these fanfics, if I do end up writing them!

I tend to forget which characters are canon and which are complete OCs because I spend Way more hours on tumblr and ao3 + thinking about my own headcanons than I spend consuming the original media, but I am fairly certain a canon Joana McCoy, daughter of Leonard 'Bones' McCoy exists? If no and I stole the idea from sb else's fanfic I am sincerely sorry. Gotta look that up.

In one universe close to what would be the centre of the splitterverse, Joana- as a young child nicknamed 'Jojo', but now as a young teen trying to get rid of the childish nickname- has a younger part-vulcan girl as a friend, and this girl, nicknamed Aka, has, through having sticky fingers and connections to Central, a device that allows you to jump between universes. She's used it before and gotten into a lot of trouble for it, but to her it had always been great fun- until reality is starting to collapse around them while she is visiting Joana, and Joana is the only person she can reach in time and take with her to the next universe.

Distraught, the children are left in a new world, debating what to do, waiting for Central to contact them, hoping that they saved their families- but of course, Central has quite some different problems right now and won't contact them any time soon, and even if they did it wouldn't be with news of their parents: the adult families of non-Central members who only happened to have jumped between universes before themselves are really not the top priority, and the universe is collapsing too quickly to even get down the prio list to 'children',

Aka wants to leave the universe again and look for Central elsewhere, hoping that her moving around will attract their attention. Joana has enough from universe jumps for a lifetime. Thus, they part ways.

While Aka at some point does run into a group of Central troubeshooters who more or less adopt her as one of their own and teach her how to work their equipment and use magic and weapons and starships (not what a child her age should be learning. But then, none of the adults there ever signed up to be a parent, so who's to blame them), Joana goes looking for her family in this world.

Now I could write entire novels about Akas adventures and how it may or may not be healthy to not have a home at all and decide to not rely on anybody instead of either finding new versions of her original parents or letting someone new into her life properly (spoileralert: it isn't healthy at all), and how meeting a girl from one of the original splitter-verses (the not bombed ones) telling her not to make the same mistakes she made finally makes her think about her choices and and and, but this post is already going to be Long so I won't. That would all be a seperate fanfic anyways.

Joana finds a girl her age who looks just like her and acts almost exactly like her, too- the only difference seems to be that there's no Aka around, which made this version of her less used to adventure but also less wary of it.

The version of Joana from this universe- she decides to call herself Joan when they are alone, while the Joana we already know goes with 'Jojo'- her once loathed childhood nickname now a connection to her past- is thrilled to meet her and begs her to stay, I mean what is cooler than suddenly having a twin, and won't it be fun there is so much they can do! As their parents are seperated, they manage to spend their time mostly at one of their homes, either together when the parent is too busy to notice that there are two kids around, or one at each place, guessing correctly that if the parents were to talk about it, they wouldn't even think of the possibility of there being two children and instead just get mad at each other.

This goes on for a few months during the summer, with Jojo feeling vaguely guilty both to her original dead parents and these new ones who think that she is their real daughter, and the girls are just deciding about what to do when school starts again when-

Reality breaks apart around them.

Jojo clings to Joan in fear, and- as Jojo is now on the list of people who have travelled between universes in the past, she is saved by Central, and Joan with her. They are placed into a universe further away this time, a safe distance to the only slowly contained Splitters.

Meanwhile, in the same universe, two people were currently out on a space-walk: Michael Burnham and Philippa Georgiou.

They are thrown out of the universe in the explosion, and as they are wearing their suits, they survive as they end up somewhere in space again, but- they don't end up in the same universe. Michael ends up about 20-30 years earlier in a universe further away, and she doesn't even end up in what would've been federation space in her old 'verse. Philippa is only thrown one universe to the left and picked up by Central. As Central likes to name their acquaintances in some way that makes it easier to identify just which version of a person you are talking to without having to add the long universe number (even harder when the universe was destroyed and there isn't a known number), they ask Philippa to pick a new name. She is way too rattled and desperate to go looking for Michael as quickly as possible to care about what name she is supposed to have, so she goes with the first option given to those who don't have their own nickname ideas: lastname for firstname, making her Georgiana, short Gia.

Through Central, she finds out that the universal explosion left her and Michael connected- but it won't be much help in the search, basically just a way to say 'alright this verse is closer to it than that one', it's still trial and error... (I could also involve some body switching here, idk I already wrote a long fanfic with that trope in the Andromaquynh fandom, but I happen to Like that trope so yeah maybe I'll recycle some parts of In Your Stead if I ever do manage to write this Milippa story. Which, btw, if not already obvious, would again be a seperate fic from the Joana universal-sister story. On the other hand, Aka runs into Georgiana a lot, even calling her 'auntie Gia').

Meanwhile, Michael doesn't have to jump through universes but make her way through just the one universe to get to federarion space. Except what she find's isn't the federation at all... you guessed it, the 'verse she ended up in is more similar to a mirrorverse than to Prime. However, the Georgiou of this world isn't the emperor yet, she's young and Michael is able to influence her enough over the years so that she turns her back to the Empire.

Yes, it takes years for Michael and Gia to find their way back to each other, maybe decades... they also wouldn't have spent exactly the same amount of time apart as they aren't in the same 'verse. In fact, Cleo of Central carefully tells Gia that Michael might have died by now, but of course Georgiana doesn't want to hear this.

Michael and that universe's Georgiou also get quite close, though Michael doesn't want to cheat on her Philippa... of course, after years of this, she might think that she will never see Philippa again... (We are approaching ot3 territory here lol, and I don't even want to think about the potential of ot7 with the two canon mirror and prime versions adsfghjkl because if I finish this story here, I would 100% write a lil fix it where Central! Gia Mikay and Phil go fish Mirror! Michael and Georgiou out of a splitter-verse into the next prime verse in which Michael already knows that Georgiou... and ad they're already at it they also get half dead! Prime Philippa away from the Klingons... heheh sounds like the kind of poly chaos I would enjoy writing, but sadly I have to make it through all the Plot first)

Anyway! Back to Jojo and Joan: they decide that while they maybe should have told Joan's family about Jojo's existence soon if they had stayed in that 'verse, the initial idea of staying with one's universals wasn't so bad, so they go looking for this universe's Joana McCoy. The girl- (nicknamed Anna, which makes Joan decide to change hers from Joan to June because she doesn't want to be half Jojo and half Anna), is happy enough to meet them, but often feels left out from the other two as they act as if they've known each other forever even though of course it's only been a few months... In turn, Jojo and June aren't sure whether Anna really wants them around, whether she might think they're trying to steal her life and family from her...

Lots of potential for conflict! Yay! XD would of course come to a happy ending, with at least Bones accepting his three daughters, dunno yet whether they'd tell the mom... also Aka ends up in the same universe at some point, together with a version of her vulcan birthmother who she had never known the original version of but now gets along with alright... oh and if I do write aforementioned Milippa ot7 bullshitery, this would also be the Prime!verse for that, so all stories in the series or collection interconnect again!

this got... long... and I could obviously go on but I need to go back to writing my Bachelor thesis :(

@whoever read through all of this, do let me know whether you like these ideas and which you would like to read proper fanfic for! Might influence future writing decisions.

[captainjimothycarter]

How about modern Steggy meeting at Pride? Both bi, but that's not why she's there, she's there cause her young child is trans and she's not letting them grow up ashamed of this ("Even if it does turn out to be a temporary questioning 'phase', I won't let them ever be ashamed of being who they are."). Cause like 10 year old Carter child who's a little antsy to be there, Peggy with bi-pride tipped curls, and Steve with the trans flag painted on his cheek

OP YOUR MIND!! They would fiercely protect the Carter Child, not that Steve thinks she can’t do it, but he’s downright feral at times when it comes to kids in danger. This might not be what you had in mind, so I do apologize. This got ahead of me is quite long.

--

“Ignore them,” Bucky breathed in Steve’s ear, tugging on the blonde’s hand to get him away from the protesters that are somehow legally allowed here. This was borderline abuse if you asked him. Sure, freedom of speech but it was quickly cut off when you yelled at children and elderly people for being themselves. 

Steve growled under his breath and tugged his hand away from Bucky’s, careful not to touch the drying trans flag painted across his cheek. Natasha would be furious if he messed up her work. Or touch the chalk-dye of the flag in his hair.

“I’m fine,” he grumbled, despite Bucky didn’t look like he’d believed him. The guy stood out like a Christmas tree, literally with the bi flag colors wrapped around the metallic arm and shining bright enough to land a plane. “Just go find Clint, I’m going to walk off. Need to cool down.”

Before the man could say a thing, Steve was stomping off, in midst of the crowd to get away from his rightfully worried, best friend.

The last he expected was when he emerged from the other side of the crowd was to be tackled-hug by a ten-year-old child with bright hazel eyes, a buck-tooth grin, the same colors in his hair dyed on their hair, and wearing a shirt that read, ‘i’m the trans kid your parents warned you about.’ 

Steve fell to his backside to avoid instinct-wise to protect himself, an arm wrapped around the kid to prevent any of them from being trampled over by the crowds rushing from one stand to another.

“You’re Captain Ameria!” The kid sat upon his chest, still bright-eyed, kneeling rather painfully. “You’re Steve Rogers! I did reports about you.” They were actively bouncing up and down and Steve was doing his best to school the pain the sharp knees caused. 

“I am,” he grunted. “Can we keep it to a whisper, son? It’s a secret.” He pressed his finger to his lips to indicate hush, hush until he saw the kid’s eyes widen and go glassy. “Oh no, no. Hey, hey, did I say something wrong?” He sat up and the kid latched on, imitating what Steve imagine what it was like to hug a Khola.

His arms wrapped around the kid and gently held them close, kissing their temple in a show of calming them down. What could he say? He still had parental instinct installed in him from his mother. 

He could feel the kid’s sobs against his chest, feel their fingers dig into his shirt, refusing to let go while he tried to calm them down. If anyone noticed Captain America clinging to a sobbing kid, no one stopped to say a thing.

“Michael?! Michael!” 

A breathless woman with flushed cheeks, the same brown eyes, and her hair dyed in the bi flag colors scrambles to them. She drops to her knees beside them and slides the last few steps, looking from her child to Steve.

“I-I don’t know -” Steve breathed, a panic looked etched on his face. “They tackled me and I-I fell and-and accidentally said son, a-a force of habit and they started crying. Did I say the wrong thing?”

The woman’s eyes lit up with recognition as to who Steve was before her face softened, tenderly laying a hand on the back of Michael’s hair and stroking it out of the way. “No,” she breathed. “No, you said the right thing. The perfect thing for them to hear. They ideologize you and always have. I guess seeing you here is...well, overwhelming. Michael, love, we got to let the Captain go.”

Slowly peeling away from him, the kid sniffles and rubs at their face, smearing the flag’s paint without realizing it. His face is flushed and eyes red, with tears still in them. He looks almost ashamed as he climbs from Steve’s lap to his mom’s. He could hear the murmurs of an apology.

“Hey now,” Steve breathed, fully sitting up now. “There’s nothing to apologize for.” He can’t help himself in tossing the guy’s hair and wiping away a stray tear. It makes the kid smile, at least. “You were just excited and overwhelmed, there’s a big crowd here today, huh? And I guess...me calling you son didn’t help did it? Just burst that bubble.” When the kid flushed, Steve just gave a helpless smile. “When my ma first called me Steve, I cried so hard I managed to throw myself into a panic attack.”

“I bet that did nothing to help the asthma,” the mother muses, giving Steve a fond smile. At Steve’s surprised look, she shrugs. “I might be a Brit, but I grew up on your story, Mr. Rogers. I’m Peggy, by the way. This is Michael.” 

Steve shakes their hand and nods. “No, it didn’t. Managed to give myself a nose bleed too. It’s good to meet you two. Here, let’s get up before we’re trampled.” Getting the pair off of the ground, Steve brushes the grass stains off of their clothes out of habit. “I take it it’s your first pride?”

“For both of us,” Peggy muses, kissing her embarrassed son’s cheek. “Michael wanted to go to his first pride since coming out and I wasn’t going to tell him no. We’ve already been yelled at by them.” The tone alone tells Steve well enough who them is.

“Tell me about it. I’ve already gotten into two screaming matches before my friends had to drag me away.”

“That was you? Crickey, no wonder people looked nervous. Well, yes they’ve called me quite a few names already. Child abuser. Pedophile. Rapist. Disgusting, barbaric group.” She sets Michael down and hugs him close to her frame. “Even if this is a phase, I don’t care. I’m going to support and love my child regardless. They do not deserve to be ashamed of themselves.”

Steve’s eyes fall to Michael whose still staring up at him like he’s the moon and stars and it makes him both antsy and warms his heart. “I wish I had that line of thinking,” he sighs, shaking his head. “Not that I’m ashamed of who I am, anyone with the right knowledge can research about me, history can’t erase that forever, but...the backlash one could’ve received in my time...it leaves a mark on you.”

It was a struggle in his mentality. Steve supported, openly every LGBT organization, spoke out against protestors, and haters. Donated large, marginal amounts of money, but when it came to speaking about his struggle and making an ‘official’ public remark? That’s when he backed out. 

“But Mr - Captain…” Michael sputtered, tugging on Steve’s shirt.

“Steve.”

“S-Steve.” He was still breathy from the crying spell but his excitement to get to call his obvious hero by his name was etched into his face. “There are lots and lots and lots of people who would be happy to know that you’re like us too! You might get people mad at you but then they weren’t fans of you in the first place if they don’t support your decision. I know lots of my friends would know and  be happy to know that you’re a-a-a trans guy like me!”

Well, what in the hell could he say to that? He looked from the smart kid up to his mother who just smiled and shrugged her shoulders. “He’s right, you know?”

“Yeah,” he breathed, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Yeah, I do. I think you’re right, Michael, I shouldn’t hide who I am. Been asleep far too long and I think I got work to do to fix this mess.” He paused for a moment, reaching into his jeans to hand Peggy a business card [Tony’s idea] with a hologram of himself in his uniform and saluting, his name and personal number on the back.

“Call me tonight? I want to talk to you about this. I have to go.” 

His eyes flew to something past the pair and Peggy’s neck craned to see over the crowd, clicking her tongue as she spotted what Steve had seen. 

If it was just her, she’d help, but Michael was here and perhaps didn’t need to see his hero fighting a bunch of bigots. He was still quite sensitive to violence, the poor thing. 

“Okay,” she agreed, scooping her son up and tucking his head into her neck. “You go do that.” She paused to kiss his cheek. “And be safe, please.” 

--

That’s how, two days later, Steve finds himself standing in the very park Pride had taken place, on the portable stage with his team behind him. He still sported a black eye, almost healed but the remains of a yellow bruise were still there. His ribs ached from being kicked, but he was still standing. It was on the news for days how Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes and Clint Barton ruthlessly attacked a bunch of peaceful protesters.

Peaceful, my ass.

They didn’t see the symbols they carried, the signs, the proud man who stood in front of them? Steve wasn’t standing in 2013 anymore, he was in 1943 and standing before a german officer, wearing the same grin on his face. He knew his choices, the power of his voice, and money, and knew them well. He also knew what the other side of Steve’s fist felt like against his jaw.

“They were Nazis,” he tells Tony over dinner, rolling his eyes. Peggy’s on speaker between them, having just gotten done lecturing him. “I don’t give two shits what the media says.”

“Language,” Peggy muses, though Steve can hear the smile in her voice. “I have a son.”

“Whose asleep,” Tony interjects. “Cursing is allowed when the kidlets are asleep.”

“Says you.”

Steve rolls his eyes at them and downs the rest of his beer. “Pepper is gonna smooth it out, anyhow. I’m not making some public statements on how sorry I am ‘cause I ain’t. Don’t show up to an event and not expect a backlash. They’re lucky that’s all we did was break a few bones. Maybe it’ll teach ‘em next time. Besides, they attacked us. We gave them clear enough warning not to touch us.”

They had formed a barricade, protect those Pride Idiots from charging inside while the cops did nothing. Even Tony had to call in a few suits and help, Pepper immediately on the scene with her trusted news crew. 

“I ain’t worried about it,” He continues, shrugging.

“Spoken like a true American,” Peggy teases, making Steve flush. “So have you given any thought to our earlier conversation?”

Tony’s staring at him from across the way, Steve’s started to nervously play with the end of his binder. “Yeah,” he sighs. “Yeah, I have. I’ll call you with the details.”

Taking in a deep breath to calm his nerves, Steve’s eyes scan the crowd. He knows there are a few of those Pride Boys out there, but he can’t make them out. He doesn’t care to. They wouldn’t dare to attack a stage when Captain America stands in full uniform and his team behind him. Pepper had brought out her news crew again, live broadcasting this emergency meeting, as well as a few other news sources. 

She’s smiling at him from the side, giving him the thumbs up.

Steve’s eyes fall to Bucky whose gotten up with Clint and stood beside him, giving his shoulder a squeeze. “About time you’re doing this, though you owe Dugan 50 quid for this,” Bucky teases, leaning up to just barely kiss Steve’s cheek in a public display of affection. “I’m proud of you.”

Clint’s beside them, towering over Bucky, holding the life out of Bucky’s flesh hand and pulling him close. His head tilts to the side and signs to Steve, asking if he’s ready. 

Steve nods, his eyes finally falling to the two people who got this started. Peggy Carter and her son. Michael runs up to him from the side of the stage when they arrive, climbing onto Steve’s shoulders like he’s always belonged there. Steve can’t help the laugh he lets out as he grips Michael’s legs around his chest to keep him secure. Peggy, for her own sake, smiles as she stands beside Steve, Bucky moving over to let her get closer.

“Alright,” He sighs into the microphone, perhaps too close. “Let’s get this over with.” He pauses, counts his heartbeats, feeling them in his throat. “It goes without saying, who I am and whose in my company, but I think we need to make some personal facts clear in the light of recent news.”

He stills and takes in a sharp breath, eyes scanning the vast crowd before he feels Peggy’s hand on the small of her back.

“My name is Steve Rogers and I am a transgender guy.” There’s a mixture of stilled silence and gasp throughout the crowd, followed by intense murmurs. Yet no one raises their hand or shouts questions. Pepper has these guys whipped. Good.

“That might come as a surprise to some of you and regardless of your personal opinion, I do not care. Let me restate that, I do not care if you support me or don’t. I want one fact and one fact made clear, if you decide to attack me, my friends, or anyone for being who in the hell they are, no amount of legal fear and paperwork will stop me from doing what I think is right to rectify that situation.”

“I was thankful to have heavy support during my time serving, before, and after, and even waking up here. It was recently brought to my attention as to what me coming out officially could do for the young LGBT youth and I am only sorry it’s taken this long for me to realize it.”

“To be fair,” Peggy muses. “You’ve been a little busy.”

Steve laughs, unable to help himself. “A tad bit.” He squeezes her to his side and presses a small kiss to her temple. “Now,” he speaks into the microphone. “If anyone else is curious, I’m bisexual too. And in this recent news, my team and I have gotten together to design a program to help the LGBT youth seek the sanctuary they deserve. This means after school programs for all ages, cafes, safe bars, book stores, all opened 24/7 to offer them help. There are homeless shelters in place that will help the youth kicked out, programs we’re establishing to help with anything from name changes to hormones, to funds to get back on their feet. Counseling as well for any who wish to seek it. Adoptive parents who figuratively would want to ‘adopt’ and assist the youth.”

“Who’s paying for all this?! It sounds like -”

The reporter, someone in the midst of the crowd, that Steve can’t see is instantly shut up when Clint charges off the stage and heads in his direction and pulls the man up to his feet by the collar of his neck. 

“Who in the hell do you think is?” He snaps. “I wish these programs were around when I was a kid, then maybe I wouldn’t had destroyed my body using makeshift binders that hurt me. These kids, adults, whatever will get the help they need. If you have a problem with it, then I suggest you shut the hell up.”

“Thanks, Clint,” Steve breathes, jerking his head at Bucky to go get his boyfriend. “In a better sense of words, I am. Now, any questions?”

There’s a hell of a lot of questions that go over Steve’s head. 

When did your name change? What’s in your pants? Did you have surgery? Did you have bottom surgery? Is that kid yours? Are they paying you to say this? 

There’s plenty of statements too, raging from support but more often protest and the second it gets rowdy, it’s put to a stop when Natasha and Tony are strolling around the crowd. 

Bucky and Michael are right - this is a long time coming. The youth, the people of today deserved to know who Steve truly was. Not that he’s ever denied himself. They deserve to know that he would do anything to protect them, even if it involves a few legal cases of punching a Nazi here or there.

Michael was certainly right, the youth of today deserved to know who had their back, and how proud he was to come home one day and run straight into Steve’s arms while his mum was at work, to tell him how he stood up to his bully and made sure the substitute teacher called him by his real name and how he got to tell them that his new dad was Captain America.