#and if you looked at it not long after a white pram would show up

[ech0light]

being able to continue dreams once youre somewhat half awake is all fun and games until you manage to scare yourself fully awake and have to calm yourself down afterwards

[naivesilver]

Don't mind me, it's just that I'm still very salty that little Neal Nolan's potential as a character development tool was wasted for most of the show.

---------

August's sister sidles in the seat next to Emma right in the middle of Granny's slowest hour, her stool scraping loudly on the floortiles.

"So," Eliana says, apropos of nothing, grinning that sharp grin of hers, "how has life as an older sister been treating you, then?"

Emma makes a noncommittal noise at the back of her throat, stealing a glance to the boy dozing in the pram by her side, uncharacteristically Snow White-less for once. She's almost amazed that her mother would let him out of her sight at all, actually - neither her not David seem to have slept more than a hour without getting up to check on him, as of late. Even this small detour to Granny's restroom looks like a success, in comparison.

"Could be worse," she says, finally, after a pause that's entirely too long. "At least now that no one's trying to steal him."

And it's not- it's not a lie, necessarily. It has been...an adjustment, no longer being an only child, but not such a hard one as meeting her parents was. Henry is ecstatic, yes, but Henry has taken most additions to their family way, even the more unlikely ones, and the baby is a sweet one, if still nameless due to their parents still following some long gone Enchanted Forest tradition.

Emma just doesn't know what to make of him, is all. She has never been the most adept at caring for children so young, and it's hard to wrap her mind that this drooling, wailing bundle is her little brother of all things.

She'll manage, though. It's not that bad. She'll work things out, the way she always does.

Eliana, for her part, doesn't look very convinced, but she refrains from commenting on it, thankfully. She follows Emma's gaze downwards, instead, looking intently at the baby, and says in a mild tone of voice: "In any case, you should enjoy this stage while it lasts. They don't stay this tiny for long. Or this quiet, actually."

Emma snorts half-heartedly. "Are you speaking from experience?"

The other woman lets out a heavy sigh, shaking her head dramatically. "I wish. August was never so small. He was born a disturbance, that one."

Her expression changes, then, a gentler, warmer look filling her blue-ish eyes and spreading through her features. It startles Emma a little, in truth - she hardly ever appears this soft, Eliana, unless she's speaking with August himself.

"They're the worst kind, little brothers," she continues, somewhat wistfully. "Very good at stealing hearts, you know? Except they usually don't give them back, unlike your friend the mayor."

"Thanks, but that's a little too poetic for my taste, I think."

Eliana scoffs, her customary tartness making a brief comeback. "Don't tell me you're surprised. What, you thought August had gotten his way with words out of nowhere? I was there first, Emma Swan, and if he says otherwise, you've got my permission to give him a good swat on the head."

She lays her hand on Emma's arm, then, forcing the sheriff to look her in the eyes. She's got an impressively unsettling gaze, especially if compared to her father and brother's ones, welcoming and guileless at least for the most part - it gives Emma the feeling, unnerving and yet oddly reassuring, of being scrutinized down to the tiniest detail, turned left and right like a postcard stand.

"I know it's a big change- Gods, I don't think anyone knows it better than me in this damned town. But I can assure you it won't always be like this. It'll get better. You just need to be a little patient, and tune out the people who think they're being helpful, if they become too much."

It's probably the most sensible thing anyone has told her in the last couple days - hell, it's probably the only thing she's heard that wasn't, at heart, just a reprimand coated in a thin veneer of well wishes. Most people tend to assume she's happy with the little bundle of joy that's taken over her parents' attention, and those smart enough to realize it goes deeper than that don't have exactly the best reaction to it, all in all. She's grateful that Eliana's not being that judgemental, at least.

So Emma simply nods, giving her a crooked little grin, and says: "Thanks. I'll…I'll try to keep that in mind. Still a bit too poetic, though."

Eliana huffs in laughter, the sound good-natured despite the flash of concern still present in her eyes, and waves her hand dismissively in the air, as if swatting away a particularly bothersome fly.

"And you've been spending a bit too much time with my brother. You know what, forget what I said - I'll give him that thrashing myself, as soon as I can get my hands on him. Someone needs knock some sense into his thick head."

"You sure it's not too late for that?"

"We won't know until we try, Emma Swan. We won't know until we try."

[mamabearcatfanfics]

Battle Couple

I've had this little idea for a while, and then decided I could bend it slightly to fit this year's @inukag-week's first battle couple prompt. Because not all battles we face have to be huge ones against a deadly foe. Sometimes the battles can simply be standing up for what's right.

Inuyasha dragged the beanie down tighter over his head, stomping towards the exit of the store. He hated this. This is why he bought things online and had them delivered. Because then he could avoid interactions like he’d just had with that racist arsehole. He glanced down at the text from Sesshoumaru again, wondering if there was some other way he could get this gift for Rin. It was the first time his half-brother had thrown a birthday party for his adopted daughter, and no doubt it would be a big deal.

Rin has expressed an interest in this item. Her birthday party is on Saturday at 10am. Do not be late.

And of course the toy Rin had asked for was sold out everywhere online. The tiny dolls with light up dresses and a matching crystal necklace were apparently ‘the’ toy at the moment. She specifically wanted the purple one, the ‘hope’ doll, because it was her favourite colour, and she already had the other dolls in the set. This was the last one she needed. And he hadn’t been able to find it anywhere. He was failing as an Uncle. The last store he’d been to, he’d practically seen a pair of mothers come to blows arguing over the last CrystalShines doll on the shelf.

He was close to the exit of the store when an intriguing scent wafted past his nose. It was another store employee, dressed in the dark polo shirt and black jeans, with one of those ear walkie talkies they all seemed to wear. She was giggling, talking to someone using the button on her mike, her other arm full of a variety of women’s clothing that she was putting back on the racks. Her arms were a blur as she began sorting them into different sizes, working quickly to make each rack neat and tidy.

He watched as she flitted about the store, talking to a customer, smiling and waving at a baby in a pram, folding jumpers and t-shirts. His eyes were drawn to her dark ponytail; the way it swung as she moved was almost hypnotic. Her glossy hair was black, but had a blue sheen to it under the harsh fluorescent lighting, and he had a sudden urge to reach out and touch it, stroke down the length of the swinging tail to see if it was as soft and silken as it looked.

Without even realising it, he followed her, almost bumping into her as she suddenly spun around to go in a different direction.

“Oh! Good evening sir, can I help you with anything?”

There was a pleasant smile on her face, and she was looking at him expectantly. His voice didn’t seem to want to work now he was actually standing close to her, so he turned around his phone, showing her the picture of the doll.

“This is what you’re looking for?”

“Yeah”, he said softly, his eyes focused on hers as she glanced up at him again. He’d never seen anyone with grey eyes before. It seemed they were lit from within like starlight, and now that he was closer to her, she smelt even better. He cleared his throat, trying to get a hold of himself. “My niece wants one of these for her birthday, and I’m having trouble finding one.”

“Okay”, she said, reaching for the button on her headset to talk to the other employees on the shop floor. “Let me just talk to my colleague in the toy department, and I’ll see if we’ve got that item in stock.”

❤

Kagome watched as the man in front of her visibly deflated.

“Don’worry about it then. Already talked to ‘im.”

And then she got it. Ryan was working the toy department tonight. Ryan the racist bigot who didn’t like interacting with any customers who weren’t white, male, good ol’ boys, exactly like him. Usually he worked out the back in the store room, unpacking shipments, but due to the flu going around and the shortage of staff, the evening shift manager had put him on the floor tonight. And he’d no doubt said something innaproppriate to this gorgeous man in front of her, who obviously had some sort of youkai heritage.

She’d had her own run-ins with Ryan. He’d said many cruel things to her over the past six months, since he’d found out what happened a few years ago, cruel enough to make her run to the safety of the women’s toilets to shed a few silent tears in private. He never bullied her in a place where others could overhear, he always cornered her in dark places where there was no one else around. He frightened her. Jak knew she was uncomfortable around him, and did his best to make sure they were never rostered on at the same time, so it had been a while since she’d had to deal with him.

She took in the golden eyes, fangs and the beanie yanked down hard over his long silver hair, but it was the resigned bitter look on his face that caught at her heart. She knew that feeling. Internally Kagome fumed, but outwardly she hoisted her brightest smile onto her face, wanting to make it up to him. She could fix this!

“Wait. I don’t know the toy department that well, but I’m sure I could help. Just give me a moment to put these things down.”

He followed her to a wheeled rack in the aisle where she hung all the clothing in her arms back up, and then turned to him, smiling brightly again.

“Let’s go to the toy department and see if we can’t find this doll for your niece. When’s her birthday?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Oh dear, that doesn’t give you much time to find one!”

“I’ve been lookin’ all week. Online stores have sold out.”

“Well, hopefully we’ll have one in stock. Let’s see, the doll aisle is around here somewhere.”

They walked together down the aisle, both scanning the shelves for the tiny dolls.

“They should be around here”, said Kagome, her finger running along the price labelling on the edge of the shelf, her eyes lighting up as she found the right tag, but sighing in disappointment as she found the shelf empty.

“Yeah”, sighed Inuyasha. “I asked the guy around here if he could find out if there were any more out the back or somethin’ and he, ah…”

“Don’t worry”, said Kagome, a determined look on her face, “I will personally go take a look in the store room for you. Just wait here for me sir.”

“Inuyasha.”

“Huh?”

He coughed a little, his head turning to the side to avoid her direct gaze. “My name, it’s Inuyasha.”

“Oh. Right. Just wait here for me Inuyasha, and I’ll be right back.”

“Thanks Kagome.”

She blinked in confusion as he said her name, wondering how he’d known it, then realised he had read her name tag.

For some reason him saying her name out loud made her stomach swoop, like she was on a roller coaster, even though her feet were firmly planted on the ground. As he gave her a shy smile, she felt her cheeks begin to heat, and she whirled around, making a beeline for the storage room, talking into the mike on her headset as she left.

“Hey Jak, it’s Kagome – just going out to the store room for a moment for a customer. I’ll get right back on those returns as soon as I’m done, okay?”

“Oooh, tell me it’s the hottie with the white hair that I pointed out to you!”

“Jak!”

“Oh it is! Take your time honey!”

“You’re incorrigible, you know that?”

“And you love me for it. Make sure you get his name and number before he goes!”

“Jak!”

“For the customer form darlin’, what else did you think I meant?”

She could hear him still sniggering as she released the talk button on her mike, and she shook her head, grinning despite herself. He was her in-line manager and they got on really well, but rarely got to spend time together, as he was usually rostered on during the day, and her in the evenings so her day was free for lectures and study.

Kagome squeezed her way into the storeroom, scanning the aisles of stock yet to be placed out on the shelves. And then she saw it, the edge of a box with a picture of a tiny doll up on the highest shelf.

Dragging over the step ladder, she placed it under the shelf and climbed up, her petite size meaning she had to stand on the very top to have any chance of reaching the box. She just managed to reach the doll with the tips of her fingers, and nudged it. It tipped forward and fell, and with a gasp she managed to catch it with her outstretched hand, teetering on the top of the ladder, her other arm windmilling frantically to keep her balance.

She took a few deep breaths, trying to calm her frantically beating heart after her almost fall, the box containing the doll clutched tightly against her. But she’d found one for him, a purple one, just like he’d wanted. She had no idea why that made her feel so incredibly happy, but it did.

Grinning widely as she emerged from the storeroom, she began walking directly to the toy department. She could see Inuyasha there, waiting for her. But she could also see Ryan, his arms crossed as he spoke to him, a sneer on his face. She quickened her pace. Previous experience had taught her that expression couldn’t mean anything good.

❤

Inuyasha stood his ground, hands clenched in tight fists by his sides. He had every right to be here – he was a customer, he hadn’t caused any commotion or damage. Kagome had asked him to wait here. But apparently that wasn’t good enough for this guy.

“I told you already, we’ve got none of what your looking for. Nothing for you. Are you deaf, or just stupid?” The volume of his voice wasn’t loud enough to draw anyone’s attention to them, but definitely loud enough to get on Inuyasha’s nerves.

Inuyasha closed his eyes and took a deep breath, his hands shaking slightly as he held back. He would not punch out this idiot – this was a department store, not a battle ground. Even though he deserved it because he was a racist bigoted shit.

“I already told you to leave youkai! Do I have to call security?”

Inuyasha breathed out slowly, trying to keep any trace of anger out of his voice, even though he wanted to let rip. He’d found out the hard way that security tended to not ask questions, just see his youkai traits and assume the worst.

“And I already told you, another employee was taking a look out the back for me. She told me to wait here for her.”

“Yeah, like I’d believe anything one of you would have to say. You’re all the same. What are hidin’ under that hat huh? Some kinda weird freakish thing I’d bet. ”

“Inuyasha!”

Inuyasha turned, his eyes lighting up as Kagome appeared. But she wasn’t wearing the wide smile she had when she left. She was stomping towards them, a box tucked tightly under her arm, the scowl on her face impressive. Thankfully that scowl was not directed at him.

He could smell the nervousness pouring off of her, but you never would have thought it looking at the way she faced off with her work colleague, stepping in front of him like she wanted to shield him from this man's ire with her much smaller body.

“Ryan, I’m handling this customer. And I’ve already found what he needed, so there’s no reason for you to be here. I think you’ve probably said enough.”

There was the barest trace of a tremble in her voice, and Inuyasha moved in closer behind her, wanting her to feel like he was there to support her. He wasn’t exactly sure what was going on, but he didn’t like it.

Ryan rolled his eyes and then sneered at her, his voice low and vicious.

“Ha. Shoulda known it would be you Kagome. Such a helpful little kiss ass. Why don’t you turn that cute little tush of yours around and head back to the ladies department where you belong, unless you’re still that desperate for some demon tail.”

“What?”

Ryan grinned at the shocked expression on Kagome’s face, posturing like he’d somehow scored a point. “Bit ironic really, you working in the ladies department when you’re anything but. A human ain't good enough for Kagome, huh? Wasn’t it bad enough that the last guy you had got fired, now you’re after customers too? You really are a-“

“Don’t. Say. Another. Word.”

Both Kagome and Ryan flinched at the snarled words behind them.

“Kagome, call your manager”, said Inuyasha gruffly. “I wanna report this guy.”

“It’s my word against yours demon, and little Kagome’s not gonna say anything, are you Kagome, because you’re fuckin’ pathetic. There’s nothin’ you can report me for”, snorted Ryan.

“Oh, I don’t know. I’d probably pick being a racist arsehole, for starters”, said another voice cheerfully. "Then maybe we could add workplace harassment."

A tall man in a tailored suit stepped into view, his dark hair slicked back into a short ponytail. He was holding his phone up, obviously still recording the whole thing.

“Here I was, minding my own business in the Lego aisle while I looked for the perfect birthday gift for my little girls, and what should I hear? An employee bad mouthing a customer, when the customer had been nothing but polite and civil. Don’t worry about proof, I’m happy to be a witness. I was recording the whole thing. From the very first racist slur that left your lips.”

Kagome’s eyes were wide as she glanced from the ponytailed man back to Ryan, and Inuyasha could hear her heart beating frantically. He nodded at her approvingly as she took a deep breath, her hand steady on the button on her headset.

“Jak, it’s Kagome”, she said, her voice a little breathless, but firm. “Can you-“

Ryan lunged towards her.

“Don’t you dare, you fuckin’ bitch!”

Inuyasha ducked out from behind Kagome, his fist grabbing the back of Ryan’s shirt and lifting him into the air, Ryan’s legs kicking frantically as he tried to escape. Before Kagome could move out of the way, his steel capped boot caught her on the chin. She dropped like a stone, crumpling to the floor in a heap.

“Fuck, Kagome!”

Inuyasha swung Ryan out of the way and dropped him none too gently, all his focus on the small woman laying prone on the slightly grubby linoleum floor, still out for the count. He could hear a scuffle behind him as the man in the suit and a few other observers struggled to keep Ryan contained, but he no longer cared about him. He knelt down close to her, gently stroking the glossy dark hair back from her face.

“Kagome, can you hear me?”

Inuyasha shook Kagome’s shoulder gently, trying to rouse her, and her eyes fluttered open.

“Inuyasha?” she said groggily, her arm tightening around the box, a wobbly smile on her face. “I got your doll.”

❤

It took a while to sort everything out. An ambulance was called, and the police. The police took statements from Inuyasha, Kagome and the man in the suit, Miroku. Ryan was fired on the spot, and Jak was positively gleeful, despite the mountain of paperwork he’d have to fill out before he went home that evening. When the paramedic suggested that Kagome should go to the hospital to be checked for possible concussion, Inuyasha had immediately said he’d like to go with her, if that was alright with Kagome, and after a few polite remarks about it not being necessary, she’d gratefully accepted. Jak had positively pushed them into the ambulance together, waving them off with a bright smile. It was the most exciting evening shift he’d had in years.

❤

“You don’t have to stay you know. I’ll be fine, I’ll just get an Uber home.”

Inuyasha rolled his eyes, leaning back against the wall, his arm resting on the edge of Kagome's hospital bed.

“For the tenth time woman, I don’t mind. I want to be here when the doctor examines you to make sure you’re okay. And then I wanna make sure you get home safe.” He sighed as he looked at the dark purpling bruise on Kagome’s chin. “I’m just sorry I didn’t throw that fucker down to the end of the aisle when I had the chance.”

“But it’s so late! It’s almost 2am, and you have the party to go to tomorrow. Today I mean.”

“Eh, that’s hours away. She won’t mind if I’m a little late, Rin’s a nice kid. And now I have the perfect present, thanks to you.”

Kagome was quiet for a while. The silence grew to feel uncomfortable, because Inuyasha could sense how tense Kagome suddenly was.

“Inuyasha… I want to explain. About what Ryan said to me.”

“Hmm?” He could smell nervousness again, billowing around her like a cloud, and he didn’t like it. “Doesn’t matter, none of my business.”

“But I want to”, she said, her voice taking on a stubborn edge.

“Fine, I’ll listen. But nothin’ you can say will change my good opinion of you. You stepped up for me back there Kagome, and that don’t happen for me much. I will always remember that.”

Kagome reached out her hand to lightly grasp the clawed one sitting next to her on the bed, and squeezed it.

“Thank you.”

He squeezed back.

“You’re welcome.”

“Anyway”, she sighed. “About what Ryan said. I started working at that department store when I was still in high school, as a weekend job. And there was this training manager, a kitsune. He’d come around every so often, and all the girls thought he was really good looking. He had a little green sports car; a lot of the other girls thought was really important. They all were flirting with him, and then he asked me out. I was so surprised. I mean, me! I’m nothing special! He was so stylish, and so charming. I really thought…” Kagome laughed but it had no humour in it, and Inuyasha squeezed her hand again. She shrugged, her shoulders coming up around her ears as her face turned away from him.

“I was so stupid! It turned out I was right about being nothing special, because he was going out with a couple of girls at every store that he visited.” She flinched a little at Inuyasha’s low growl of disapproval. “There were around ten of us. And because a couple of us were under aged, he was charged. Lost his job. Ryan found out about it a few months ago and thought-“

“Don’t say it”, said Inuyasha gruffly, squeezing her hand again. “Don’t matter what he thought. It’s in the past. And the Kagome I saw tonight was amazing.”

“No I wasn’t!” Kagome shook her head, then winced as her head throbbed, realising that was a bad idea. “I was so scared Inuyasha! I’ve never been able to stand up to him before. But I couldn’t stand the thought of him being mean to you!”

“Then you’re even braver than I thought.” Inuyasha entwined his fingers with hers, and cleared his throat. “Kagome, I know you don’t know me. But I think I’d like to get to know you. Could I call you? Maybe we could go out for coffee or somethin’? I mean you don’t gotta answer, and if you don’t wanna, I totally understand, I mean-“

“Yes.” Kagome giggled at the wide toothy grin on Inuyasha’s face. “Give me your phone and I’ll put my number in.”

“Wait. Maybe you should see what all’a me looks like before you say yes.”

Inuyasha tugged off his beanie, revealing the pointed white dog ears on top of his head. “If you wanna change your mind, I-“

“They’re so cute!” squeaked Kagome. “Please give me your phone!”

❤

Kagome woke up the next morning very late, so late that it was no longer morning at all.

It had been 3am by the time Inuyasha had dropped her home with a bag of painkillers and the Doctor’s instructions for treating her mild concussion. He’d helped her into bed, placed her medicine and a glass of water next to the bed for her, kissed her softly on the cheek and whispered goodnight, closing the door behind him.

She rubbed her cheek gently at the memory of that small kiss, a smile on her face. She still had a headache, so she took two of the tablets, then reached for her phone on the bedside table where it had been charging.

There were two messages.

The birthday girl loves her present! Attached was a picture of a smiling Inuyasha kneeling with his arm around a little girl in a checked orange party dress and sparkly sandals, her dark hair up in pig tails. A wide excited grin split her face, revealing the gap of a missing front tooth. The doll was clutched tightly in her hand, and she was wearing the necklace that came with it.

I told Rin how brave you were, and she wanted you to have some birthday cake. Can I bring some over when you wake up? 🍰

Kagome smiled almost as wide as Rin, despite her headache.

I’d love you to ❤

[sithsecrets]

exchange | din djarin x reader

the crest’s one and only crewmember buys mando a few shirts, and he gives her a gift in return.

---

2k words

mentions: none, this is fluff!

this is part 1 of my valentine’s week special! you can find the other parts here!

---

You take notice of it when you’re doing the laundry.

Mando’s got the Crest cruising through hyperspace, course set for Nevarro, and you’re catching on up on chores in the meantime. The baby’s three little outfits are clean and stain-free, you’ve set aside a pair of your own pants for mending, and Mando… Mando, you come to find out, has two shirts. Total. As in, two shirts including the one he’s currently wearing under his armor. You know he had more than that the last time you did the washing, but— but shit, he got cut by a quarry last week, and another one of his beat-up long-sleeves ripped and bit the dust shortly after that. So yep, Mando’s small wardrobe is now even smaller, and that makes you sigh. Even now, the brown cloth you have in your hands feels thin and worn, rough fibers catching your fingers every now and then. You think about telling Mando that he needs some new clothes, but you know he’ll just put it off or insist that whatever he has now is fine. And so you decide that you’ll resolve the issue yourself, knowing that something from the bazaar will probably do.

Sure enough, you find just what you need. The textile vendor says he can match Mando’s measurements without a problem after you show him Mando’s singular extra shirt, and a droid whips up the garments for you right there. You come away with two black and two brown, all long-sleeves and all made from the same material Mando seems to preder. Two are a bit thicker than the others— something for him to wear in the cold— and you decide that they’ll do nicely for his needs. Back on the Crest, you leave the stack of clothes on Mando’s bed and then promptly forget about them, distracted by the baby’s antics further back in the hull.

Mando asks you about the shirts later, holding the stack out to you like he’s looking for an explanation.

“What are these?” he asks, and you’re too busy with dinner to make a big deal of it.

“Those are for you,” you tell him, cutting the heat under the stew you’re making. The baby’s trying to get his hands in the pot, so you snatch him up, settling the little green boy on your hip as you add the finishing touches on tonight’s meal. “I realized you had like, two shirts when I was doing laundry on the way here.”

Mando sounds absolutely floored. “You bought these for me?”

That earns him a little laugh, and you hand him the baby. “No, Mando, I stole them off an Imperial transport vessel. Yes, I bought them for you! What kind of crewmember would I be if I let you run around looking ragged?”

“I…” Mando trails off, settling the Child in his arms. “Thank you.”

And then the two of you don’t talk about it again, the matter quickly forgotten in the midst of the evening ritual and your departure from Nevarro.

Week later, the Crest touches down on a distant planet, a place you’ve never been that Mando knows well. He tells you that the three of you will be spending some time here, and that makes you happy. It seems like a nice place, and the locals are kind.

Two days into this little excursion, you’re about to crawl in bed, only or stop short when you see a little satin pouch sitting on top of the covers. It’s pale blue, blue like the sky on your home planet, and no bigger than your palm. Curious, you pick it up gently, examining the little white embroidery on the edge, the way the drawstring pulls the fabric together just so. It pulls open easily, and you dump the contents into your palm without a second thought.

Scores of pale, pearly little beads glint in the light, strung neatly on a thin, delicate chain. Nothing about the trinket is particularly special, but it’s the simplicity that makes it stunning, in your eyes. You’ve had jewelry over the course of your lifetime, naturally, but never anything so dainty and pretty as this. The beads and the way they’re strung are styles unique to this planet, and you’ve seen countless people wearing necklaces similar to this one over the past few days.

There’s only one person that could have placed this here for you to find, and you go up to the cockpit to speak with him not five minutes after his gift falls in your hand.

Mando’s a bit busy when you go up there, fiddling with something on his vambrace in the pilot’s chair. You feel a little shy as you come to stand before him, the string of beads dangling from your fingers.

“Did you buy me this?” you ask softly, and that’s when Mando finally looks up at you.

“I—” The helmet tilts in the direction of your hand, and it’s like he’s a whole different person. Mando becomes nervous, back stiffening in his chair as he looks from you, to the necklace, and then back again. “I, um. Yeah, I did.”

Just hearing him say it makes you feel lightheaded, but you tell yourself not to get your hopes up. “What for?”

Mando stutters terribly, but he does manage to give you an explanation. “You— Well, you got me those shirts a few weeks ago, and you take good care of the baby. And the ship. And me. I just— I thought you’d like it, that’s all.”

You study the beads carefully for a moment, admiring the way they shimmer in your hand.

“I don’t just like it,” you declare, “I love it.”

And then you’re threading Mando’s give around your neck, reaching behind your head to do up the clasp. The jewelry is just as light as you thought it would be, sitting daintily against your collarbones. Mando watches you do all of this, and not the hundredth time do you wish you could see his face.

“Thank you, Mando, really.”

He nods. “You’re welcome.”

---

“Ah, so my suspicions were correct.”

The sound of the fruit vendors voice catches your attention, and you find yourself face-to-face with her satisfied smile when you lift your head up. You’ve been doing business with her every so often for almost a week now, always intrigued by the selection she has to offer. She also likes the baby, and he’s more than happy to coo at her for a free morsel or two.

“Excuse me?” you blurt, completely lost here. The old woman shakes her head at you, white braid swishing from side to side behind her back, and the smile on her face only deepens.

“Your necklace, child,” she says, pointing at the beads strung around your throat. You touch it on impulse, the baby wriggling in your other arm, and grow even more confused.

“I don’t understand,” you tell her, feeling stupid now, but the old woman just laughs. Her wrinkled fingers are soft on your cheek, the mirth in her eyes unmistakable.

“You don’t have to be secretive with me, my dear,” she chuckles, “I knew you were the Mandalorian’s woman from the minute I saw the both of you together. No man watches a woman that closely if he doesn’t care for her. And now he’s gotten you a necklace, so.”

She punctuates this with a shrug, behaving as if the meaning of your new accessory should be obvious, and you think you might actually pass out.

“I—” You huff, grasping for the right words. “I’m not— I don’t know the ways of this planet,” you say finally, mostly because it’s the truth and mostly because you don’t know how to so much as mention anything else the fruit vendor’s said.

It feels like you’ve been slapped across the face, like someone picked you up and shook you and until your brain rattled around too hard in your skull. Mando knows this place, he knows this city... Custom and culture are sacred to him, even if they have nothing to do with his own, and you find it difficult to believe that Mando gave you this gift without first considering its meaning. This is the man who speaks with the Tuskens, a man who has committed himself to a creed, a man who never wants to be rude or imposing unless he’s dealing with an enemy—

No. No, Mando definitely bought this for you on purpose.

In the thirty seconds it takes for you to form these thoughts, the fruit vendor comes to realize that your confusion was no act. You must look terrible, for she puts a hand on your arm as if to keep you upright.

“My dear, surely— I mean, the two of you care for this baby, and he is always watching over you. I simply thought there was something there, several people in this market did. Forgive me, please, I had no idea—”

“No, no, forgive me,” you blurt, rushing to reassure the woman that she has caused no offense. “I had no idea what these meant. I would have— Maker above, I should have—”

The old woman’s bewilderment matches your own, and you realize that you’re raving like a lunatic.

“I have to go!”

And then you are going, going and going until you’re back on the Crest. The baby seems content to laze about in his pram, thank the stars, and you put him down almost without a second thought, mind racing a thousand kilometers a second. You clamor up to the cockpit like a woman possessed, the noise movement drawing you there. Sure enough, Mando’s right where you thought he would be, parked in his pilot’s chair and fiddling with something on one of his blasters. He doesn’t even turn to look at you when you come up, completely calm despite your frantic movement.

“How was the—?”

“Why did you buy me this?” you cut, bisecting his question with one of your own. Mando’s hands still at once, and he tucks the gun back in the holster at his side.

“Someone told you,” he declares, finally turning to face you. All you can do is nod, heart beating so hard it almost hurts. You can almost taste it, this thing you’ve been wanting for months now, it’s right there on your tongue— but you don’t want to speak, don’t want to be the first one to suggest it. It’s never worked out for you in the past, and with a man like Mando thrown into the equation, you’re not sure what that kind of bravery might get you.

Mando sighs, heavy and tired. You watch him more closely than you’ve watched anyone before in your life as he stands, coming to face you. It’s cramped in this little room, and if you took even just half a step forward, the two of you would be pressed flush. He doesn’t say a word to you, just stands there and stands there until you can’t take it anymore.

“If you didn’t mean it like that, Mando, it’s fine, but I just want to know—”

“I… I’m not good at talking.” These first words have you cutting yourself short, and Mando continues like you never spoke in the first place. “To people, I mean. I can do what I need to do to conduct business, but other than that, I’m useless when it comes to things like this.”

“You talk to the baby,” you offer, and Mando nods.

“I do talk to the baby. Sometimes I even talk to you, but not enough.” He takes in a deep breath, seemingly gathering the courage to continue. “That’s why I did this.”

Mando runs his fingers along the beads at your throat, and it takes all you have not to fall down.

“This… This said everything for me. Or it was supposed to, at least.”

You melt at that, shoulders sagging. “Mando, I didn’t know, not until today.”

“I know,” he says companionably. “It’s not your fault I’m a coward.”

“You’re not a coward,” you declare, shaking your head. Mando brings his hand up, pressing it to your cheek like he’s been doing it all his life.

“If I’m not a coward, what am I then?”

All you can do is smile. “You’re mine.”

[fanfoolishness]

Translation (The Mandalorian)

(Din Djarin was a man of few words, but many languages.  Some might have thought the Child had no language at all.  Din Djarin and the Child grow to understand each other.  Fluff, feels, found family. Spoilers through the end of season 2, 2400 words.) 

***

Din Djarin was a man of few words, but he spoke many languages.

His earliest memories, half-forgotten, were soft whispers of his parents’ native tongue.  The Basic they spoke carried a sweet, slurred accent he could hear sometimes in dreams, fading as he grew older.  He had known the name and sounds of their language once, but years among the Children of the Watch had long erased them.

He learned other words to replace them, lost the accent of his youth and exchanged it for one of the Outer Rim.  He absorbed phrases and lessons in ancient Mando’a, wrote them in his mind in a way he could never forget, standing tall for lessons with the other foundlings.  They learned the words in hand and bone and soul, paired with the battle training of body and mind, and the words blazed within him.  They were a forge burning blue-white hot, transforming him slowly into a Mandalorian like his saviors.  He spoke those words on the day they granted him his helmet, and he gladly covered his face, the fire within roaring with a newfound pride.

As a young man he traversed the Rim, face always hidden, ears always open. New words were needed for the work he found.  He picked up enough Jawaese to trade with, though he bore little love for the scavengers; sometimes they were his only choice.  He spoke their language haltingly, enough to do what he needed, his mouth straining to shape itself in ways near impossible for a human.  If it was what the job needed, he’d do it.

His work brought him to worlds near and far, places where rule of law was an outright myth.  He took a great deal of work on Tatooine, and soon realized his marks, if still planetside, always fled to the desert.  

He was no fool.  He brought gifts in trade to the Sand People, meager things he could ill afford, but they sensed his respect, and they gave him words.  He learned their signs, hands practicing the movements at night by their fires.  He practiced until he understood the shape of the grammar, how the signs flowed one to the other, sentences constructed in the air before him.  He asked them for aid, and they told him of the trespassers on their land.

The Guild worked often with the Hutts and their empires, and he found himself bristling at droids taking liberties with his Basic for their Hutt masters.  Protocol droids weren’t the ones who’d devastated his world, of course, but they were soulless, empty things all the same.  He practiced his Huttese in seedy bars, in market squares, rarely with marks who behaved themselves for a chance to stay out of carbonite for a little while.  He spoke to the Hutts in their own language, and they learned, with time, to keep their droids back when dealing with the Mandalorian hunter.  

He picked up other snippets here and there, and understood more than he spoke in Twi’leki, Durese, Bocce.  Language was just another tool, another weapon that could be wielded in service of the Way.  He used it for little else.

Until he found the Child, and the words of the Creed flared deep in his bones.

***

The Child had no language, as far as he could tell.  He tried all of them he had, both spoken and signed, on the journey to Sorgan.  

“What’s your name?”

“Where do you come from?”

“Why did the Imps want you?”

“Who do you belong to?”

The Child just looked at him with interest, no matter which language he tried.  In desperation he even tried out curse words from a few he had no other point of reference for, feeling vaguely guilty for doing so, but it was the only other thing he could think to do.  The Child watched him curiously, small green hands folded politely in his lap as if waiting for Din to finish.  

He ended with a muttered “dank farrik,” and leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms.  The Child tilted his enormous ears and blinked slowly, looking at him deep in concentration.

“Eee,” he cooed happily, and Din sighed, awkwardly patting the Child on the top of his head.

“That’s okay, kid.  We’ll, uh, we’ll work on it.”

***

He watched the Child with the village children.  They chattered to him eagerly in Basic, calling for him to follow them, patiently laying out the rules in their little games.  A boy might lift the Child up in his arms, then pass him to a girl who would show him how to play with their game of counting sticks and stones.  For his part the Child laughed and played with them as if he’d been there all his life.

He wondered if the kid could understand Basic, but if his mouth just didn’t work the right way to speak it.  He’d never seen another of the kid’s kind, after all.  He practiced with him at nighttime, just little things here and there, curiosity getting the better of him.

“Come here, kid.”

“That’s called soup.  Sooooup.  Can you -- hey, don’t spill it --”

“Don’t touch that.”

“I said, don’t touch that.”

“C’mon, kid, get outta there --”

Well, if the kid understood Basic, he sure had a funny way of showing it.

***

Peli Motto was a good mechanic.  That wasn’t too surprising; spaceport towns usually had pretty good options.  Anyone who couldn’t wield a spanner was weeded out pretty quickly.  More surprising was the way she handled the kid.  

She sat in the landing zone on a shipping crate, the Child on her knee.  He seemed content as she bounced him slightly up and down, letting out cheery little noises periodically and waving his hands.

“How do you know how to do that?” Din asked, examining the Crest’s landing gear and checking the repair job.  Everything looked to be in order.  “He seems to like it.”

“Kids like bouncing,” she said matter-of-factly.  “Doesn’t matter what species  they are.  They like bouncing, food, feeling safe.  All the good stuff.”

He leaned against the landing gear, folding his arms across his chest.  “He… didn’t say anything while I was gone, did he?”

She shook her head.  “Nah.  I think this little one’s too young for language yet.  But I think he understands more than he lets on.”

Din’s mouth twitched in a smirk she couldn’t see.  “You and me both.  He’s stubborn, this one.”

She laughed.  “Reminds me of you.”

***

The Child was starting to become just ‘the child.’  He wasn’t sure when he stopped thinking of the kid so formally.  Maybe it was a side effect of the past several weeks together, leap to leap, world to world.  He was getting used to the little womp rat being there, messing with controls on the ship, getting into trouble, generally making a nuisance of himself.

Except for when he looked up at Din, his dark eyes open and trusting; except for when he fell asleep in the crook of Din’s arm instead of the blankets in his pram.  

He was kid now, mostly.  Sometimes buddy.  Sometimes pal.  The Child was starting to be reserved for when Din talked to other people.  In the Razor Crest, just the two of them, he was just the kid, and Din was just himself.

***

He cradled the kid against his chest as the wind whipped past them, the Rising Phoenix carrying them back to the Crest over the lava fields of Nevarro.  The kid’s little hands clung to his cuirass, but there was no need; Din held him more tightly, more securely, than anything he’d ever carried in his life.

A clan of two.  You are as its father.  

Dying sunlight glinted on the mudhorn signet, a reflection picked up through the slit in his helmet.  He swallowed, then tilted his chin in towards his chest, making sure the kid was okay in the wind.

A little face turned upwards to look at him, big eyes wide, his mouth dropped open in surprise.  Din chuckled a little, despite his aching head from the injury, despite the fate of the Tribe weighing upon him.  The kid liked the ride.  

“Don’t worry, buddy,” he said into the wind.  “I got you.”

***

The kid didn’t speak Basic.  But he spoke something, and Din began to know more and more of what that was.

There was a little tilt of his head and shift of his ears for curiosity.  A slight coo and wide-eyed expression for delight.  An intent narrowing of the eyes with ears held stiff and back towards the tiny shoulders, especially when he wanted to do something that Din very much did not want him to do.

He tugged Din’s leg for food or to be picked up or changed.  He stared at himself in the reflections of Din’s armor and sometimes reached out to touch the shadow faces in their smooth surfaces, looking up at Din in surprise when there was nothing there but beskar.  He waited until Din looked away to play with knobs and buttons on the control console, and Din got better at always keeping an eye on the kid with his helmet turned just slightly towards him, enough to use his peripheral vision.

He found himself speaking more and more to the kid.  Things he didn’t need to say, words that filled the little cockpit of the Razor Crest with a warmth the place had never known.  The words spilled out of him, and the kid soaked them up like sunshine.

“Good job back there.  You were very brave.”

“Come on now, you know better than to mess with that.  … see?  I knew you did.  Good.”

“Feeling hungry?  Let’s see… I’ve got frog legs, bantha milk -- oh, there’s a thing of soup I can warm up for you.  No, those cookies are for after dinner.  You wanna grow big and strong, don’t you, little guy?  Dinner first.  Cookies later.  If you behave yourself.”

“Time for bed, kid.  No fussing.  I can see how sleepy you are.  Come on, I’ll come to bed too.”

“Night.  Get some rest, okay?”

It wasn’t just words he used.  He found a dozen, a hundred reasons during the day to reach out and smooth the kid’s robe collar, or carefully touch the edge of one oversized ear.  He got used to the weight of the kid on his hip or nestled in one arm.  His gloved fingertips were gentle, brushing against the kid’s cheek to clean his little face, checking his hands and feet for dirt or scratches.  He rested a hand against the kid’s back for reassurance, brushed a hand over the curve of the back of his head to help the kid relax and fall asleep.  He got used to small clawed hands nestled in his own.  And sometimes the kid reached up to touch his helmet, little hand slipping under the brim, and Din let it stay.

***

Turned out there were other ways to talk.  The Jedi turned to him in the misty night, firelight golden on her face, telling him years of tragic history, a constant fear, a lingering anger… a name.  

Grogu.  

It was hard to wrap his mind around at first.  The name fit the kid in some ways -- short and kind of ugly, but in a way that turned itself around to be somehow endearing.  But hearing the name lanced him through the heart, cauterizing like a blaster bolt.  Grogu had a name, and had nearly lost it.  He didn’t want that for him.  Remembered, for an instant, how it had felt --

But you had the Way.  What does he have?

He tried to help the kid -- Grogu -- with his powers, tried to show the Jedi what he could do.  He needs training.  I have to make sure he gets it.  He held the little silver ball, proud as anything when Grogu summoned it to his small hand with a snap.  But the Jedi’s refusal to take him slapped him in the face.  

He took Grogu back to the Crest that night, deep in thought, boots leaving little mark upon the loamy forest floor.  Grogu watched his helmet with wide eyes.  For a moment he felt a pang of jealousy.  How many months had he been with the kid, and never found out half of what the Jedi told him in a moment’s conversation?  

“If I could have, I would have, kid,” he murmured.  “...you know that, right?”

Grogu’s hand came up to twist into the cloth of his cowl, brushing against his neck.  

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he said, and the relief he felt was indescribable.

***

There hadn’t been enough time.

One moment he was laughing in the cockpit, overwhelmed by the way Grogu looked up when Din said his name.  One moment he was whooping when the kid used his powers, eagerly telling him he’d done good.  One moment it was just the two of them, happy, hopeful, safe.  

And then the Jedi Seeing Stone lit up with a glow he didn’t understand, and Grogu slipped away from him.

He fought and Fett and Shand fought with him, and through it all he could only think, Grogu. Kid. I’ll protect you!

A messy, chaotic fight, blaster fire, a direct salvo.  The Crest vanishing under a blinding flash, dark figures launching into the sky with precious cargo at a speed the Rising Phoenix couldn’t hope to match.

He failed. 

Grogu was gone.

And he had no words at all.

***

Din Djarin was a man of few words, but many languages.

Some might have thought the Child had no language at all.

But on an Imperial cruiser, standing before strangers, Din held his son close.  He cradled him to say goodbye, and when the little hand brushed against the brim of his helmet, he lifted it without hesitation, despite the Creed written in bones and blood and beskar.  

Din trembled at the warmth, the softness, of that small hand brushing tenderly against his naked cheek.  And when he opened teary eyes to gaze upon Grogu’s face, he knew exactly what his child was trying to say.

[the-witty-pen-name]

It Happened on Sakaar Pt. 1

Mando x F!Reader; Loki x F!Reader

Rating: M; 18+ Only

Warnings: swearing, mentions of drugs, alcohol, and exotic dancers, grieving, angst, slow burn 

Word Count: 3.1k

Summary: The bounty hunter’s most recent puck sends him across the Galaxy to an unfamiliar and artificial planet named Sakaar- literally the galaxy’s trash can. Sakaar is a bizarre planet, but so is his most recent bounty. Din is chasing a man he only knows as The God of Mischief. The reader lives on Sakaar as a scrapper, a similar trade to that of a bounty hunter and has a tangled history with the man Mando is looking for. Will the unlikely duo team up to capture the mischievous Asgardian or will the reader fall victim to Loki’s promises?

A/N: I had planned on writing this in a few days but as per usual I put off coursework to write this fic! So here it is a couple of days early. I am also working on the next chapter of Deadbeat as well as Rest so look out for both of those within the next couple of days! I also am working on an adorable Obi-Wan x Reader request I received a few days ago that will be coming soon as well!

This is unedited and if I missed anything that I should include as a warning please let me know! Thank you y’all! 

Tags and Requests are OPEN

He promised. 

And you were foolish enough to believe him. 

You were foolish to think you were different. 

You were foolish to think you really got to know the real him. 

You were foolish to think that everything he told you was real. 

You were foolish to think that when he told you he loved you he meant it. 

You were foolish to think he’d come back. 

You, a warrior, a fighter, defender of the throne of Asgard, lied helpless on the ground, broken in pieces as you’re told by Odin that Loki was gone. 

And he was dead. 

You mourned him. 

The ache never going away, day after day, that stupid statue just another thing to remind you that he was gone. 

He wasn’t coming back. 

Until he did. 

And you realized how much of a fool you were. 

And you realized everything you thought you knew was a lie. 

So you left. 

 You left with the promise you made to yourself that you would never return to Asgard. 

In your rage, you were blinded when you demanded Skurge open the bifrost and send you to the furthest planet from your homeland. 

 The thought crosses your mind that if it had been Heimdall, he wouldn’t have let you go, talked you into reason and asked you to stay. 

If it had been Heimdall, Thor would’ve caught up to you in time instead of just missing you when you left. 

You didn’t know where you were going and you didn’t care. Your only thought was to put as much distance from yourself and Asgard as possible. You landed in a gross pile of debris when you first arrived, and from there worked your way up to one of the favorites of the Grandmaster- you were dubbed Scrapper 451 and second in most captures to Scrapper 142. Time works odd in space, you’d been there for three years- completely developed a new life under your new alias. 

You’d bring in life form after life form to the Grandmaster, always pleasing him by bringing him potential fighters. 

You worked alone, you preferred it. The only friend you had was Scrapper 142 and that was hardly a friendship- more just a rivalry you both had your fun with. There was a mutual respect, and a feeling about her you couldn’t explain, but that was it. 

When you met Mando, you almost killed him. You had heard a tip from a local shop owner a ship had landed rather roughly, and you made haste to be the first one to investigate, determined to beat 142 if there was a capture worth making. 

Carefully navigating your way through the wasteland, you had finally found the ship in question. It was a model you had never seen before. You stay crouched behind a pile of trash, your stun gun aimed at the ship waiting for it to open. 

You stopped and lowered your weapon when you saw the armored passenger had a very small creature by his side. A baby. 

You hadn’t seen a baby on this planet since you’d landed. Sure, people have children, but you had never seen anyone bring their child to Sakaar. All the children whom you’ve met, had been born there- no one with a child willingly travels to this part of the Galaxy. 

A metal man and a green baby. You scoffed. What an interesting duo. 

You took in the appearance of the armored man. Sakaar had a very basic premise that determined your survival. Are you a fighter or are you food? This one was very clearly a fighter. Not necessarily one that you think could be a gladiator- not the right type. But you could tell by the way he walked out of the ship, he was a force to be reckoned with. The baby was really throwing you off of your game. You could have this man halfway back to the Grandmaster by now if he wasn’t traveling with a kid. Sakaar has not yet made you completely heartless, as much as you tried to be. You decide to compromise your position, in a hope of being able to just talk. Learn why he’s here. 

No one comes to Sakaar. It’s never on purpose. Lost souls are dumped here. Yet, this man seemed like he was the only creature to intentionally travel to Sakaar like he was just passing through. If you couldn’t bring him in, maybe you could at least salvage parts from the ship. 

“What’s your business here?” You ask, from behind the pile where you hid. You could see him but he could not see you. You watch as his first move is to close the floating pram, protecting his child first as he desperately looked around for the source of the voice.

“I’m passing through,” he replies, looking around at his surroundings. 

“Nobody just passes through,” you reply. “No one comes here on their own accord. No one leaves once they arrive. What is your business?”

“I’m looking for someone,” he says nondescriptly, further irritating you. You stand up, slowly, your gun still pointed at the man as you walk closer. 

“Who?”

“Bounty”

“You’re a bounty hunter?”

“No, I came here for vacation.”

“Don’t be a smart ass.”

“Don’t ask stupid questions.”

“Who are you here for?” 

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” 

“I don’t know.”

“What kind of bounty hunter are you?”

“One of the best.”

“Oh really?”

“Don’t test me, Princess.”

“If I’m a princess what are you?” 

“Knight in shining armor?” 

“Are you really hitting on me right now?”

“Only if you’d want me to be.”

“Gods.” 

You can’t see his face from under his helmet but you could feel the smirk he was making. He clearly didn’t view you as a threat and it really annoyed you. Maybe you came off too friendly? No, you’re still pointing a gun to his head. 

“Who are you?” He asked. 

“Scrapper 451,” you said blankly. “Who are you?”

“You can call me Mando.” 

“Mando?”

“Yes.”

“What kind of a name is that?” 

“What kind of a name is Scrapper 451?”

“It’s a title.”

“Not going to tell me your real name?”

“Are you gonna tell me yours?” 

“How-?”

“I’m not stupid.”

“What’s a scrapper do anyways?”

“Bring mouthy tin men in in exchange for a generous amount.”

“You’re a bounty hunter?”

“You could say that?”

“Are you going to turn me in?” 

“That was my plan.”

“What’s stopping you?”

“The baby.” 

“Slave catcher with a heart of gold?”

“I’ll get that on my tombstone.”

“Sooner rather than later I hope.”

“Ouch. Mando, I thought we were friends.”

“You know I didn’t mean it, Princess.”

“Who are you here for?” 

“Someone who calls themselves the God of Mischief.”

You freeze, and you lower your weapon. You’re stunned. You hadn’t heard that title in years, and although you never forgot about it, you were great at pushing it back so far away where you couldn’t access it. The man is able to read your body language and can tell you know the man he’s looking for. 

“He’s not here,” you finally manage to say, your knuckles turning white at how tightly you grip your blaster. 

“He is here,” he says slowly, pulling out a bounty puck. Clear as day, Loki’s face shows up on the holographic screen. Your stomach churns. 

“He’s not here,” you insist. “If he was, I wouldn’t be here. Trust me.”

“So, you know him?” 

“Not at all.”

“Really?” 

“Really,” you take a few steps backwards to walk away. “I wouldn’t stay on this planet long if I were you. Sakaar has a way of just pulling you in.”

“I think I can manage.”

“Get lodging,” you advise with a smile, “the next person who finds you out here won’t be as nice as me.” 

With that you left, leaving the Mandolorian dumb struck. What was this planet? 

Mando knew well enough to take your advice. With the Crest secured, he and the Child made a journey into the city. 

Your words lingered in his mind. He knew you had information about the bounty you were withholding. He needed to run into you again. He reasoned with himself it was for the sake of catching the bounty, but part of him also wanted to see you again. He just wouldn’t admit it. 

He found a place where he could get a room. An elaborate casino, with ornate decorations and loud music playing constantly. A large bar and lounge also attached. He received his room key and ignored the festivities that occurred in the bustling establishment- his first order of business to make sure the Child was settled and would be safe in the room. He regrets his decision to not ask Peli to watch him, but he knew he’d be distracted being so far away. 

He figured he was far enough across the galaxy; he wouldn’t need to worry about those after his own bounty or the child’s. But he realizes that he forgot about needing a sitter. If he absolutely needed to, he could bring the child with him, but that was not ideal. Especially, since gauging your reaction at the mention of his new bounty, this didn’t seem like it would be any easy task. He sat down on the bed in the middle of the room, and pulled out the puck- reading over what little information he had.

He needed to find you again and desperately needed any information you’d be willing to share.

You were worried. There was no way Loki was here. You knew he wouldn’t have come for you, even if you thought about it when you first arrived. You thought if anyone would come after you, it would’ve been Thor, convincing you to return to Asgard and cleaning up another one of his brother’s messes. It hurt when no one from home reached out once in the last three years. However, you decided you were better off because if Thor had convinced you to return home, you’d have to face Loki again, and you were adamant on keeping your word you would not see him again.

 ***

His funeral was devastating. Although many on Asgard did not care much for Loki or his antics, the throne had lost a prince. It was a dark day. Weather on Asgard usually always seemed to be perfect, but on the day of Loki’s services, the God of Thunder was so distraught, he was unintentionally causing a gray and gloomy sky. Thor and you were affected the most.

You stood next to Thor as Odin spoke, but your gaze stayed fixated on the ground. It felt so unfair and you felt an indescribable amount of pain and loss. Your face was stained with tears, as was Thor’s, and you felt like you had just cried until you were physically unable to do so. He was gone and you couldn’t get him back.

Odin watched you solemnly throughout the services. He had told you that he knew how much his son loved you and how despite his absence, you are still considered family. He insisted you had an open invitation to be at the castle whenever you wanted. You could only nod and offer a very, very meek thank you.

You took advantage of that offer, and honestly, you knew you were overstaying your welcome under the palace walls. You found yourself coming, and spending the days in his room, trying to just feel him in anyway you could. You’d run your hands across the broken spines of his books, look at the kingdom from the view of his window, laying on the bed over the elaborate bedding to just try to feel him. You didn’t even know what you were hoping to feel, but you somehow thought this would help you be closer to him.

At events on Asgard, you continued to wear green, almost like your own twist instead of just the traditional black of mourning. It felt right to wear green in his memory, but it was nothing more than just another attempt to pretend like he was there.

You could imagine how he would react to seeing you wearing his signature color. When he was there, he looked at you like you were the only living soul in the room that mattered. He’d shower you were touches of affection and whisper nothing but praises to you, making you think he had actually loved you. This was back before you knew how foolish you had been, blinded by your own puppy love and your affections towards him.

 ***

You now sat in the lavish home of the Grandmaster. He always had hundreds of people in his home, a constant party, a group made up of Sakaar’s elite being entertained by drinking, drugs, or entertainment of sorts from his um… staff. Drink in hand, you sat cross legged on an elaborate circular couch lost in thought while a dancer performed on a table in front of the group you sat amongst. You didn’t even look up- you hated this part of earning the Grandmaster’s favor. You hated these parties with your whole being. They were hedonistic and you would avoid them if you had the choice. However, you knew the Grandmaster would take offense if you were not in attendance.

Music was loud, and there were many flashing lights. You couldn’t rely on any of your senses to navigate in a place like this, but that was intentional. The Grandmaster set this up on purpose. His parties were meant to be a completely immersive experience. It was probably great for those who wanted to be there, but for you, you wanted to escape and slip out as early as you could.

You weren’t interested in the company and you weren’t interested in the weird substances you didn’t recognize being passed around. You didn’t want to relax, and honestly, these attempts to relax always seemed to make you feel worse. Being sober at these events was invitation for horrible eye strain and a hefty headache.

“451! 451!” you heard a familiar voice call over the loud music in a sing song voice. It was the Grandmaster. He would be the only person at this party who would actually be looking for you.

“Grandmaster,” you smile, getting up and walking over to him. You kiss both his cheeks quickly as a greeting. “You look radiant,” you smile, the compliment going right to his head as they usually did.

“451! Look at you, let me see the ensemble,” he would say, talking a step back, and you would twirl once. It was a long golden dress that draped your body, with a plunging neckline. It was paired with golden arm bands and an elaborate gold necklace. You also had gold flakes throughout your hair. “Stunning,” he praised, “I wish 142 would be more involved like you 451- she’s the best, but ugh, she doesn’t know when to relax. Anyways, I called you over to meet a new friend of mine.”

“Are you replacing me, Grandmaster?” You say with a tone of mocked offense and it makes him laugh.

“451, there is no replacing you- you are the three B’s,” he chuckled, lightly guiding you over to another area of the party. “beauty, brawn and brains, a very rare combination indeed.”

“You flatter me, Grandmaster,” you laugh. If you went along with him to keep him happy, the Grandmaster was actually a pleasant creature to interact with. You had the ability to match his banter and he liked that about you.

“Anyways, anyways 451,” he says, as he remembers his train of thought, “I want to introduce you to someone. He’s devilishly handsome and talks like some stuffy aristocrat, he arrived here a couple of weeks ago and I was finally able to convince him to join us.”

“Did he say where he was from?” you ask curiously.

“Get this,” he chuckles, “Ass-guard. What a hoot, am I right? Anyways, there he is. We got to get whatever stick is out of his butt. I’m hoping you’ll help me to uh, loosen him up. Loki! I want you to meet one of my best, 451.”

Based on the look of surprise, you knew he didn’t expect you to be here. He looked like a deer in the headlights and it angered you that he was here. You felt your teeth clench, and you wanted to just get out of here as fast as possible.

“451 is one of the best scrappers I have,” the Grandmaster talks, “Of course, nothing compares to my Champion but she is ruthless. She’s second in the most gladiators she has been able to bring me.”

“Impressive,” Loki smiles, and you feel the urge to just scream. “I’m Loki, prince of Asgard.”

What an asshole.

“It’s an honor to make your acquaintance, Your Majesty,” you say between your teeth. You could kill him.

“I’m gonna mingle,” the Grandmaster announces, “I’m leaving you in 451’s hands.”

“Please let me explain,” he immediately tries to say as soon as the Grandmaster is out of earshot. You scoff.

“I’d tell you to drop dead if you hadn’t already,” you spit, “Don’t talk to me. I want nothing to do with you. Get off this planet.”

“Please, just allow me,” he begins.

“Fuck off, Loki,” you snap, and make a fast exit. You leave him standing there bewildered and you watch how stunned he looks as the elevator door closes behind you.

You felt small again. Like all the progress you had made gone in a single instance, and you knew tomorrow you’d face the Grandmaster but for now you didn’t care. You craved a warm bed and sleep more than anything else in the world.

You had planned on staying here so you didn’t know how you were going to make it back to your little apartment. You assumed just walk. You weren’t armed and that was always a terrible idea on Sakaar. You didn’t have anything except a dagger that was fixed to your thigh under the dress you wore. You wished you had your blaster.

“You clean up nice, Princess,” a voice modulated voice you recognize says when the elevator door opens.

“Mando,” you say curtly, stepping out of the elevator.

“You clean up nice,” he states.

“Thank you,” you reply.

“Leaving the party so soon?” He asks. You nod.

“Not really my scene. What are you doing here anyways?” you ask, crossing your arms over your chest for a little bit of warmth.

“I received a tip that my target might be here,” he answers, you nod, not elaborating on that you knew for a fact Loki was upstairs. “Did you see him?”

“No, I didn’t.”

PART TWO

Taglist:

@msclifford

[ladydarklord]

The Mighty Boosh on the business of being silly

The Times, November 15 2008

What began as a cult cocktail of daft poems, surreal characters and fantastical storylines has turned into the comedy juggernaut that is the Mighty Boosh. Janice Turner hangs out with creators Noel Fielding, Julian Barratt and the extended Boosh family to discuss the serious business of being silly

In the thin drizzle of a Monday night in Sheffield, a crowd of young women are waiting for the Mighty Boosh or, more precisely, one half of it. Big-boned Yorkshire lasses, jacketless and unshivering despite the autumn nip, they look ready to devour the object of their desire, the fey, androgynous Noel Fielding, if he puts a lamé boot outside the stage door. “Ooh, I do love a man in eyeliner,” sighs Natalie from Rotherham. She’ll be throwing sickies at work to see the Boosh show 13 times on their tour, plus attend the Boosh after-show parties and Boosh book signings. “My life is dead dull without them,” she says.

Nearby, mobiles primed, a pair of sixth-formers trade favourite Boosh lines. “What is your name?” asks Jessica. “I go by many names, sir,” Victoria replies portentously. A prison warden called Davena survives long days with high-security villains intoning, “It’s an outrage!” in the gravelly voice of Boosh character Tony Harrison, a being whose head is a testicle.

Apart from Fielding, what they all love most about the Boosh is that half their mates don’t get it. They see a bloke in a gorilla suit, a shaman called Naboo, silly rhymes about soup, stories involving shipwrecked men seducing coconuts “and they’re like, ‘This is bloody rubbish,’” says Jessica. “So you feel special because you do get it. You’re part of a club.”

Except the Mighty Boosh club is now more like a movement. What began as an Edinburgh fringe show starring Fielding and his partner Julian Barratt and later became an obscure BBC3 series has grown into a box-set flogging, mega-merchandising, 80-date touring Boosh inc. There was a Boosh festival last summer, now talk of a Boosh movie and Boosh in America. An impasse seems to have been reached: either the Boosh will expand globally or, like other mass comedy cults before it – Vic and Bob, Newman and Baddiel – slowly begin to deflate.

But for the moment, the fans still wait in the rain for heroes who’ve already left the building. I find the Boosh gang gathered in their hotel bar, high on post-gig adrenalin. Barratt, blokishly handsome with his ring-master moustache, if a tad paunchy these days, blends in with the crew. But Fielding is never truly “off”. All day he has been channelling A Clockwork Orange in thick black eyeliner (now smudged into panda rings) and a bowler hat, which he wears with polka-dot leggings, gold boots and a long, neon-green fur-collared PVC trenchcoat. He has, as those women outside put it, “something about him”: a carefully-wrought rock-god danger mixed with an amiable sweetness. Sexy yet approachable. Which is why, perched on a barstool, is a great slab of security called Danny.

“He stops people getting in our faces,” says Fielding. “He does massive stars like P. Diddy and Madonna and he says that considering how we’re viewed in the media as a cult phenomenon, we get much more attention in the street than, say, Girls Aloud. Danny says we’re on the same level as Russell Brand, who can’t walk from the door to the car without ten people speaking to him.”

This barometer of fame appears to fascinate and thrill Fielding. Although he complains he can’t eat dinner with his girlfriend (Dee Plume from the band Robots in Disguise) unmolested, he parties hard and publicly with paparazzi-magnets like Courtney Love and Amy Winehouse. He claims he’s tried wearing a baseball cap but fans still recognise him. Hearing this, Julian Barratt smiles wryly: “Noel is never going to dress down.”

It is clear on meeting them that their Boosh characters Vince Noir (Fielding), the narcissistic extrovert, and Howard Moon (Barratt), the serious, socially awkward jazz obsessive, are comic exaggerations of their own personalities. At the afternoon photo shoot, Fielding breaks free of the hair and make-up lady, sprays most of a can of Elnett on to his Bolan feather-cut and teases it to his satisfaction. Very Vince. “It is an art-life crossover,” says Barratt.

At 40, five years older than Fielding, Barratt exhibits the profound weariness of a man trying to balance a five-month national tour with new-fatherhood. After every Saturday night show he returns home to his 18-month-old twins, Arthur and Walter, and his partner Julia Davis (the creator-star of Nighty Night) and today he was up at 5am pushing a pram on Hampstead Heath before taking the train north to rejoin the Boosh. “I go back so the boys remember who I am. But it’s harder to leave them every time,” he says. “It is totally schizophrenic, totally opposite mental states: all this self-obsession and then them.”

About two nights a week on tour, Fielding doesn’t go to bed, parties through the night and performs the next evening having not slept at all. Barratt often retreats to his room to plough through box sets of The Wire. “It’s a bit gritty, but that is in itself an escape, because what we do is so fantastical.”

But mostly it is hard to resist the instant party provided by a large cast, crew and band. Indeed, drinking with them, it appears Fielding and Barratt are but the most famous members of a close collective of artists, musicians and old mates. Fielding’s brother Michael, who previously worked in a bowling alley, plays Naboo the shaman. “He is late every single day,” complains Noel. “He’s mad and useless, but I’m quite protective of him, quite parental.” Michael is always arguing with Bollo the gorilla, aka Fielding’s best mate, Dave Brown, a graphic artist relieved to remove his costume – “It’s so hot in there I fear I may never father children” – to design the Boosh book. One of the lighting crew worked as male nanny to Barratt’s twins and was in Michael’s class at school: “The first time I met you,” he says to Noel, “you gave me a dead arm.” “You were 9,” Fielding replies. “And you were messing with my stuff.”

This gang aren’t hangers-on but the wellspring of the Boosh’s originality and its strange, homespun, degree-show aesthetic: a character called Mr Susan is made out of chamois leathers, the Hitcher has a giant Polo Mint for an eye. When they need a tour poster they ignore the promoter’s suggestions and call in their old mate, Nige.

Fielding and Barratt met ten years ago at a comedy night in a North London pub. The former had just left Croydon Art College, the latter had dropped out of an American Studies degree at Reading to try stand-up, although he was so terrified at his first gig that he ran off stage and had to be dragged back by the compere.

While superficially different, their childhoods have a common theme: both had artistic, bohemian parents who exercised benign neglect. Fielding’s folks were only 17 when he was born: “They were just kids really. Hippies. Though more into Black Sabbath and Led Zep. There were lots of parties and crazy times. They loved dressing up. And there was a big gap between me and my brother – about nine years – so I was an only child for a long time, hanging out with them, lots of weird stuff going on.

“The great thing about my mum and dad is they let me do anything I wanted as a kid as long as I wasn’t misbehaving. I could eat and go to bed when I liked. I used to spend a lot of time drawing and painting and reading. In my own world, I guess.”

Growing up in Mitcham, South London, his father was a postmaster, while his mother now works for the Home Office. Work was merely the means to fund a good time. “When your dad is into David Bowie, how do you rebel against that? You can’t really. They come to all the gigs. They’ve been in America for the past three weeks. I’m ringing my mum really excited because we’re hanging out with Jim Sheridan, who directed In the Name of the Father, and the Edge from U2, and she said, ‘We’re hanging with Jack White,’ whom they met through a friend of mine. Trumped again!”

Barratt’s father was a Leeds art teacher, his mother an artist later turned businesswoman. “Dad was a bit more strict and academic. Mum would let me do anything I wanted, didn’t mind whether I went to school.” Through his father he became obsessed with Monty Python, went to jazz and Spike Milligan gigs, learnt about sex from his dad’s leatherbound volumes of Penthouse.

Barratt joined bands and assumed he would become a musician (he does all the Boosh’s musical arrangements); Fielding hoped to become an artist (he designed the Boosh book cover and throughout our interview sketches obsessively). Instead they threw their talents into comedy. Barratt: “It is a great means of getting your ideas over instantly.” Fielding: “Yes, it is quite punk in that way.”

Their 1998 Edinburgh Fringe show called The Mighty Boosh was named, obscurely, after a friend’s description of Michael Fielding’s huge childhood Afro: “A mighty bush.” While their double-act banter has an old-fashioned dynamic, redolent of Morecambe and Wise, the show threw in weird characters and a fantasy storyline in which they played a pair of zookeepers. They are very serious about their influences. “Magritte, Rousseau...” says Fielding. “I like Rousseau’s made-up worlds: his jungle has all the things you’d want in a jungle, even though he’d never been in one so it was an imaginary place.”

Eclectic, weird and, crucially, unprepared to compromise their aesthetic sensibilities, it was 2004 before, championed by Steve Coogan’s Baby Cow production company, their first series aired on BBC3. Through repeats and DVD sales the second series, in which the pair have left the zoo and are living above Naboo’s shop, found a bigger audience. Last year the first episode of series three had one million viewers. But perhaps the Boosh’s true breakthrough into mainstream came in June when George Bush visited Belfast and a child presented him with a plant labelled “The Mighty Bush”. Assuming it was a tribute to his greatness, the president proudly displayed it for the cameras, while the rest of Britain tittered.

A Boosh audience these days is quite a mix. In Sheffield the front row is rammed with teenage indie girls, heavy on the eyeliner, who fancy Fielding. But there are children, too: my own sons can recite whole “crimps” (the Boosh’s silly, very English version of rap) word for word. And there are older, respectable types who, when I interview them, all apologise for having such boring jobs. They’re accountants, IT workers, human resources officers and civil servants. But probe deeper and you find ten years ago they excelled at art A level or played in a band, and now puzzle how their lives turned out so square. For them, the Boosh embody their former dreams. And their DIY comedy, shambolic air, the slightly crap costumes, the melding of fantasy with the everyday, feels like something they could still knock up at home.

Indeed, many fans come to gigs in costume. At the Mighty Boosh Festival 15,000 people came dressed up to watch bands and absurdity in a Kent field. And in Sheffield I meet a father-and-son combo dressed as Howard Moon and Bob Fossil – general manager of the zoo – plus a gang of thirty-something parents elaborately attired as Crack Fox, Spirit of Jazz, a granny called Nanageddon, and Amy Housemouse. “I love the Boosh because it’s total escapism,” says Laura Hargreaves, an employment manager dressed as an Electro Fairy. “It’s not all perfect and people these days worry too much that things aren’t perfect. It’s just pure fun.”

But how to retain that appealingly amateur art-school quality now that the Boosh is a mega comedy brand? Noel Fielding is adamant that they haven’t grown cynical, that The Mighty Book of Boosh was a long-term project, not a money-spinner chucked out for Christmas: “There is a lot of heart in what we do,” he says. Barratt adds: “It’s been hard this year to do everything we’ve wanted, to a standard we’re proud of... Which is why we’re worn to shreds.”

Comedy is most powerful in intimate spaces, but the Boosh show, with its huge set, requires major venues. “We’ve lost money every day on the tour,” says Fielding. “The crew and the props and what it costs to take them on the road – it’s ridiculous. Small gigs would lose millions of pounds.”

The live show is a kind of Mighty Boosh panto, with old favourites – Bob Fossil, Bollo, Tony Harrison, etc – coming on to cheers of recognition. But it lacks the escapism to the perfectly conceived world of the TV show. They have told the BBC they don’t want a fourth series: they want a movie. They would also, as with Little Britain USA, like a crack at the States, where they run on BBC America. Clearly the Boosh needs to keep evolving or it will die.

Already other artists are telling Fielding and Barratt to make their money now: “They say this is our time, which is quite frightening.” I recall Vic Reeves and Bob Mortimer, who dominated the Nineties with Big Night Out and Shooting Stars. “Yes, they were massive,” says Fielding. “A number one record...” And now Reeves presents Brainiac. “If you have longer-term goals, it’s not scary,” says Barratt. “To me, I’m heading somewhere else – to direct, make films, write stuff – and at the moment it’s all gone mental. I’m sort of enjoying this as an outsider. It was Noel who had this desire to reach more people.”

Indeed, the old cliché that comedy is the new rock’n’roll is closest to being realised in Noel Fielding. Watching him perform the thrash metal numbers in the Boosh live show, he is half ironic comic performer, half frustrated rock god. His heroes weren’t comics but androgynous musicians: Jagger, Bowie, Syd Barrett. (Although he liked Peter Cook’s style and looks.)

“I like clothes and make-up, I like the transformation,” he says. Does it puzzle him that women find this so sexually attractive? “I was reading a book the other day about the New York Dolls and David Johansen was saying that none of them were gay or even bisexual, and that when they started dressing in stilettos and leather pants, women got it straight away with no explanation. But a lot of men had problems. It’s one of those strange things. A man will go, ‘You f***ing queer.’ And you just think, ‘Well, your girlfriend fancies me.’”

The Boosh stopped signing autographs outside stage doors when it started taking two hours a night. At recent book signings up to 1,500 people have shown up, some sleeping overnight in the queue. And on this tour, the Boosh took control of the after-show parties, once run as money-spinners by the promoters, and now show up in person to do DJ slots. I ask if they like to meet their fans, and they laugh nervously.

Fielding: “We have to be behind a fence.”

Barratt: “They try to rip your clothes off your body.”

Fielding: “The other day my girlfriend gave me this ring. And, doing the rock numbers at the end, I held out my hands and the crowd just ripped it off.”

Barratt: “I see it as a thing which is going to go away. A moment when people are really excited about you. And it can’t last.”

He recalls a man in York grabbing him for a photo, saying, “I’d love to be you, it must be so amazing.” And Barratt says he thought, “Yes, it is. But all the while I was trying to duck into this doorway to avoid the next person.” He’s trying to enjoy the Boosh’s moment, knows it will pass, but all the same?

In the hotel bar, a young woman fan has dodged past Danny and comes brazenly over to Fielding. Head cocked attentively like a glossy bird, he chats, signs various items, submits to photos, speaks to her mate on her phone. The rest of the Boosh crew eye her steelily. They know how it will end. “You have five minutes then you go,” hisses one. “I feel really stupid now,” says the girl. It is hard not to squirm at the awful obeisance of fandom. But still she milks the encounter, demands Fielding come outside to meet her friend. When he demurs she is outraged, and Danny intercedes. Fielding returns to his seat slightly unsettled. “What more does she want?” he mutters, reaching for his wine glass. “A skin sample?”

[forever-rogue]

hello ☺️, idk if ur accepting requests but i world really like to read about y/n being injured and hidding it because Din can be very overprotective, but he discovers it and shows reader his concern about she being in danger, and reveals his feelings.

I made this a little soft and funny, but I hope you enjoy 🥰🥺

The Mandalorian Masterlist

»»————-　♡　————-««

"Remember," you grinned at your small son, laughing as he cooed and babbled at you. You set him down in his small pram, and started to pull the soft blankets around his little form. His large inky eyes were starting to flutter closed, and you could tell he was fighting sleep with every fiber of his little being. You couldn't help but laugh as you leaned down and pressed a few kisses to his forehead, "your papa will be home soon, sweet little love. But you need to rest. You'll see him in the morning."

He must have sensed, somehow known that Din was coming back this evening because he had been running around excitedly all day. You were just as happy of course, but unlike the small child, you contained your giddiness and spent the day making sure the Crest was clean and everything perfect for his return. He'd been gone for several days, off chasing another bounty and insisted that you stay back, that it was too dangerous. You'd been annoyed and tried to fight him, but he wasn't having it. He'd reminded you as well that someone would need to look after the petal eared womp rat, and you couldn't argue with him on that point. You'd put yourself in harm's way much sooner than you'd let anything ever happened to him.

Before you could say wish the little one a good evening, he reached for your arm, his little fingers finding the bandages that were currently covering your left arm. You winced slightly at the feelings more out of surprise than pain, quickly pulling out of his touch.

"It'll be okay," you promised him, making sure he was probably tucked and settled. A yawn finally win over and and laid back, seeming to relax more after hearing your words of reassurance, "tomorrow morning will come soon and everything will perfect. Just rest now, my love."

You stayed with him for a minutes, humming lightly under your breath as you rocked his little pram, hoping to send him further into his little dream world. Only when a few tiny snores met yours ears did you stand up and stretch, letting out a long yawn of your own. Switching off the light, you tiptoed out of the room and headed to the kitchen, deciding to make some caf so you didn't fall asleep. You knew Din wouldn't care if you were rest or catching up on some much needed sleep when he arrived, you wanted to be up, you wanted to welcome him home.

»»————-　♡　————-««

Sitting at the small kitchen table, you leaned back in your chair, a million thoughts swirling around in your mind as that drank the warm, sweet brew. At one point you'd realized your sleeve had fallen back and the bandages on your arm were clearly evident. Sighing, you slid your sleeve back down, making sure everything was hidden. You'd used bacta spray and patches on the wound you had acquired, but it hadn't been enough; the injury was still clinging on. You also didn't want Din to see; he'd just worry and that meant you might be felt behind even more often. Besides all of that, you really didn't want to admit how you'd actually gotten the injury. It was silly, foolish even, and you just cringed at the memory-

"Cyare?" Din's warm voice interrupted your thoughts and you almost dropped your cup in surprise. He'd been so quiet, and had almost managed to scare you. He couldn't help but chuckle lightly at your reaction, as you settled down and clutched dramatically at your heart, "I didn't mean to scare you. I called but you didn't answer."

"Din," you almost jumped to your feet, feeling a warmth creep up into your cheeks at the sight of the armored Mandalorian. The back T of his visor was practically burning a hole into you, "I just...got lost in my thoughts."

"Credit for your thoughts?" he asked as you stood up and went over to grab some more caf. You skirted by him, feeling nervous for some reason. He seemed to notice that something was off, as he turned and watched you.

There had been about a hundred million times that you'd considered telling him how you felt. That you liked him more than just a friend or a partner. But you always fell short, the words becoming lost as he would intently wait for you to day something.

"It's nothing," you promised, but the Mandalorian was smarter than that. When he remained silent, gaze still trained upon you, you sighed heavily. Deciding to change the subject you quickly thought of a new question, "what does Cyare mean? You've always called me that but never told me just what it means..."

“It’s just a nickname,” he insisted, his voice cracking slightly as he finally looked away from you. You were suspicious, not quite believing his answer. You leaned against the counter, making a noncommittal sound as you drank the remainder of your caf. You weren’t going to push him, despite the fact that you wanted to know. A silence hung over the two of you for moment as he slowly started to take off his beskar, in an attempt to get more comfortable.

But just as you raised the cup to your lips to take another sip, Din’s head snapped in your direction and he was standing in front of you in a flash.

“What is this?” there was a note of panic in his voice as he gingerly grabbed your bandaged wrist. Your eyes widened as you realized you had been careless and completely forgotten about covering your arm up. His breathing was stunted as he took your hand and pushed your sleeve up to your elbow. A small, choked modulated sound met your ears, “Cyare-”

“Din,” you set the cup down and tried to pry your wrist out of his grasp, but he refused to let go, “it’s fine...it’s nothing.”

“This doesn’t look like nothing,” he said as he touched over the white wrapping, attempting to see what it was had happened, “were you hurt? Did someone do this to you? I know I shouldn’t have left you alone. This is all my fault-”

“Din, it’s nothing. Really, I did-”

“I’m not leaving you by yourself ever again,” he promised, giving your hand a gentle squeeze, “imagine if something else had happened. I can’t lose...I don’t know what I’d do without you...”

“Din,” you repeated his name firmly, “it’s nothing. I...did to myself.”

“Kriff,” he sighed, “what happened?”

“I-I...don’t laugh,” you almost pleaded with him, giving him a sheepish grin, “I was...cleaning the weapons rack and the kid and I were playing and I had the flamethrower thingie and then one thing led to another and I burned myself...”

“Are you...” he trailed off and slowly peeled back the bandages, and you let him. You waited for him to yell, to tell you off, something. But instead his actions were tender and when he saw the burns on your arm, a small hiss escaped his lips, “oh my. You really did this to yourself?”

“I told you it was stupid...”

“While you were messing about?”

“I never claimed to be a smart woman...”

“Does it hurt?”

“Not much anymore.”

“Cyare,” he paused, taking off his gloves and gently tracing his fingers over the unharmed part of your arm. There was a shift in the air as something changed, something you could both feel.

“I’m sorry, Din, please don’t be mad,” you pouted at him and he just shook his head, a strangled laugh escaping his lips, “the baby’s fine...”

“I’m not mad,” he promised, “I was worried. I want you both fine. Always. I don’t know if I could...if I could ever manage to go on without you or if something ever happened to you.”

“Din-”

“Cyare,” he said suddenly, a bit of shake to his face, “it means beloved. It’s not just a nickname...I call you that because....well...”

“Oh,” you said as a flush of warmth rushed over you and you slowly put two and two together, “oh...”

“I’m sorry if that’s too forward, too much-”

“Can I...call you Cyare too then?” you asked softly and he lifted his gaze to meet yours. Even though you couldn’t see his eyes, you knew they were glued to you, “I’ve....I’ve felt that way about you for a long time too, Din.”

“Yeah?” he asked incredulously, his hands finding the side of your face as he touched your ever so gently. You nodded, and a small sigh came from under the helmet, almost like a sound of relief, “may I...may I kiss you?”

“Yes,” you nodded as he dropped his hands from your face and slowly went to reach for his helmet. Your breath hitched in your throat as you knew what was coming, a burst of butterflies in your stomach, “please.”

“Cyare...” he said gently as he set the helmet down and you found yourself grinning not at your Mandalorian, but  at your Din. You wanted to cry at the sight; it was better than you could have ever imagined, “you have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this.”

But before you could even try and guess how long, he kissed you. And then he kissed you some more. And then more - just like you how had been wanting to go for so long.

[peakywitch]

Alibi - Sean Wallace

“ Hiya creative human being! I was wondering if you could make an imagine with Sean Wallace using 19,28,54 in which he comes back home after been hiding and find out his girlfriend was pregnant and they have a 2-moth-old baby girl???? Random, I know. Love your writing, bye 💕 “

19.  “It’s a long story.” “You made me believe you were dead. For eleven months. I have time.” 

28.   “What…is this?”

54.   “I had no choice.”

words: 3097

TW: strong vocabulary, blood, death and yeah

Jesus i have been writing this shit for months MONTHS now, hope you enjoy it!

MASTERLIST

A year ago

"Marian?" Y/N's voice sounded behind the door of the Wallace residence, alarmed “Marian, your car is outside! Open up, please! "

The knocks of her hand against the door sounded incessant. It was eleven o'clock on a cold and rainy Sunday night. No one was to be seen on the street. Her white sneakers were soaked in water and mud, staining them in strange colors. She had stepped on several puddles while running the blocks that separated her from her mother-in-law.

Through the window, Y/N could see that the light came on in the hallway, letting her know that someone was in the house. Impatient and nervous, she clenched her fingers tightly. When the lock began to click, Y/N bit her lip, and nervously combed her hair.

"Y/N?"

Marian was wearing black satin pajamas that brought out the white of her skin and was barefoot but wearing stockings. How could she?

"You were Sleeping?" Y/N asked, unable to understand the situation.

"Of course, Y/N. Tomorrow I have to work early."

The woman spoke tiredly and calmly, she was not upset.

"So Sean is here." She affirmed, breathing for a second and closing her eyes. She realized that she was holding her breath, or at least taking short breaths.

"Sean is not here." The woman denied.

The girl's eyes widened in fear. Marian knew in an instant that everything was wrong.

It was five in the morning; the moon was still hidden behind rain-laden clouds. Three hundred and fifteen calls had gone out of Y/N's phone to Sean's phone. Marian, with her phone, had sent hundreds of messages and the whole family was alerted. No matter the schedule, there were people on every block in London looking for Sean Wallace.

Each call that was diverted to the mailbox was one more tear than Y/N cried. Finn had been killed a year ago, but this had nothing to do with the anniversary of his father's death. He would have warned Billy, so his brother can explain to us all. This was not typical of him.

Nine months ago

Marian set the food on the black marble table and began to store groceries in each drawer. She started the conversation by suggesting to her daughter-in-law that she go to a doctor, to which she laughed.

"I don't want to go without Sean, I won't do this alone."

The woman rolled her eyes, she was stubborn.

"You will not be alone, Y/N." she whispered, as she put down the milk cartons and hugged the young woman. “I am with you, I will help you with whatever you need. Always."

"I can't do this without Sean, Mar." The girl cried, in the woman's arms "I just can't, I ..."

Marian's heart ached just to see the girl Sean loved so devastated, sad, and desolate. There were no words to comfort her or enough hugs to heal her. Her heart ached, she felt lost.

"I will go with you. I will hold your hand and celebrate with you if it is a boy like you want. I will help you put together the room, the crib ... I will teach you everything I learned with three children." She smiled through tears, as she stroked the girl's hair with teary eyes.

Y/N's arms encircled Marian's body, as she

smiled and affirmed that everything would be fine over and over again.

Three months ago

Y/N was in the hospital bed, her white and pink coat was tied and the sweat on her forehead was dry. Marian was sitting in the chair to the right of the bed. She was reading a magazine while thinking that Y/N was resting.

Although she had her water broken, the doctors found it appropriate for her to rest a couple of hours to regain energy before starting the final stage.

"If Sean doesn't show up today..." Y/N whispered, diverting Marian from her magazine. She raised her eyes and approached the young woman so that she did not have to exert a lot of force "If he doesn't appear these days, then..." she took a deep breath, swallowed with effort, and continued "then he is no longer here with us."

"Y/N, Sean... he..."

“No, he promised. He would never leave me alone in this. No ant moves a damn leaf without the idiot knowing. If he doesn't show up in a week, then he's dead, Marian."

The anger in the girl's voice hit her like a bucket of ice water.

Her son.

Her Sean.

Dead.

Marian's eyes filled with tears, just thinking about it broke her heart. The pain made her ignore the apology the girl whispered. Everything was spinning.

So what if Y/N was right?

What if Sean was dead?

Even with the weight of the woman's words, Marian remained there in the hospital. She moved impatiently in time with the clock on the wall. After three hours of parading down the long, white corridor a few thousand times, the doctor mentioned Y/N's name.

"Yes, I am her family." She responded with a slightly nervous smile to the doctor's question. Marian walked shyly through the door, and there she saw Y/N with a small baby in her arms and a smile as big as the sun on her face. Her eyes were full of tears, and her fingers gently caressed the baby's small nose.

Y/N looked up and saw Marian nervous and anxious at the door, watching from afar.

"And?" she smiled "Wouldn't you like to meet your granddaughter, Marian?"

Marian was able to regain consciousness when she saw the blue eyes of a baby staring at her. Those blue eyes, so typical of Sean. Her eyes were very prominent. She had pink cheeks, a nose as small as a button, and soft, plump lips.

"Say hello to your grandma, Olive."

"Olive Wallace," Marian smiled, "Welcome to the family, beautiful."

Present

Marian, Y/N, and Olive had been the best trio London could have ever met. The baby was a fan of photos, or so it seemed since in each photo she looked excellent. Wherever Y/N and Olive were, Marian was by their side. They took care of each other and helped Y/N rest on days that work took a little longer and Olive wouldn't stop crying. Marian had been faithful to her, teaching her tricks, unthinkable ways of doing things, and offering her a shoulder to cry on when she felt like she couldn't take it anymore.

That afternoon had been like any other. After lunch they both bundled up, Y/N bundled Olive up and went for a walk so they could enjoy the cold with a coffee and a good chat.

When they returned, laughing they opened the door. Olive was sleeping peacefully in her pram and Marian was remembering aloud one of the most disastrous days of her life.

"I swear to God, I love my kids but I would never go back to that damn picnic."

Marian took Olive upstairs so she could put the baby to bed in her adorable pink crib. And while Y/N took off her cover, she walked to the kitchen to start making Olive’s dinner.

Although she was happy and infinitely grateful to Sean's mother for having always been by his side, Y/N kept wondering how this last year would have been with her husband by her side. Would he have taken more photos than Marian? Would he speak to Olive, trying to calm her down all those early mornings before her birth in which she wouldn't let her sleep? And suddenly, among so many questions, her eyes burst into tears when she imagined what it would have been like to paint Olive's room with him, see him full of paint, excited, tired, perhaps frustrated by something with the brush or the color. She couldn't help it, the pain overwhelmed her every time Sean's face appeared in her memory. She couldn't even look at his photos, how would she tell Olive who he is, or was, Sean?

She wiped her tears with the sleeves of her woolen sweater, lightly scraping her skin and looking out the kitchen window that overlooked the backyard. Sean loved that garden. He liked to sit on the grass on the days he had off in the spring and read. Or he would watch Y/N take care of her plants for hours, from sunrise to sunset. Then he would fill her face with kisses, pulling grass out of her hair and putting a flower in her ponytail.

“Sean, I ask you for the love of Olive, don’t be dead. I know you checked the cameras every night, so you will listen to me. Please…” she whispered through tears “please don't be dead, come home, I won't be able to without you. I don't want any of this without you. "

As she got ready to prepare Olive's bottle, she heard the rain begin to fall heavily. The sky seemed to fall, as did Y/N's hopes.

As she waited for the microwave timer to ring, her cell phone rang.

Elliot, she read.

"Hello, Elli." Y/N smiled, tired, and trying to sound normal.

"Are you at home?" he asked, agitated. A shrill horn sounded, a few screams, and more honks.

"What happened?"

"Are you at home, or are you not? I need help!" he yelled, then cursed another driver. She pulled the phone away from her ear, briefly stunned.

"Yes, how far away are you?"

The adrenaline rush of the Wallace family business was something that always left a sweet taste in her mouth. She hated violence, but she was almost addicted to the adrenaline it brought.

"I'm parking outside."

The cell phone fell from Y/N's hand, allowing her to call out to Marian with a yell and run to the door at the same time. She flung it open, watching as Elliot and Bill lowered a man with his face covered in blood.

"Oh shit." Y/N was disgusted, containing the retching.

Elliot and Billy knew Sean and Y/N's house by heart, so they took the dying man to the bathroom.

Or so she thought.

The amount of blood she saw made her dizzy, her eyes closed and her back pinned itself to the wall. After taking a deep breath, she felt Marian close the door.

She corroborated the girl's state with a simple question and a caress on her hair. The poor girl could only smile.

"I think that man is going to die, you know?" laughed sadly Y/N “We can only send money to his wife and children. As we do with everyone. "

Marian's lips were tight, she was disgusted, but Y/N was right. That was something she admired about her, she was always right and it was easy for her to tell the painful truth.

She followed her into the kitchen and watched her sit at the table, staring at the wall. Marian was pouring her a glass of water so she could calm down. They remained silent, and it was not until she had completely drunk the glass that she spoke.

“Sometimes I wonder what my life would be like if I hadn't met Sean. I think I would still be at my mother's house, without a partner, and with a cat."

“There is no way to know that, Y/N. Because you met him and now that…” the woman stopped short, she wouldn't say it “and now that you are here, we are a family. With Billy, Elliot, Olive… we are a family, okay? And we will be there for you, always."

When she was about to answer, Elliot walked into the kitchen. His shirt was bathed in red, all wrinkled. The bleeding cut on his eyebrow alarmed the two women, and the interrogation soon began.

What happened, why, how, where.

Elliot answered everything. An undercover agent broke his alibi, a gang from a strange-named country, near downtown.

"Where is he?" Y/N asked.

"In Sean's office." Elliot replied.

"What is he doing in Sean's office!?" yelled Y / N, and ran off.

"Y/N!"

Elliot chased her through the house, calling out her name. But Y/N all she heard were complaints from herself, Sean's office? Really?

"You have to ask for my permission, Elliot!" she yelled, reaching the door.

"No, Y/N, we ..."

“You nothing, Elliot. This is my house and Sean’s; you can't put anybody in his office! "

Y/N was furious, the screaming had awakened Olive.

“What even is all of these?!” she screamed, the blood always drove her crazy “Listen to me well…” the woman pointed out to the man covered in blood “when I come back in two minutes, I want my husband's office empty and that man in the bathtub in the downstairs room. I don't want blood on the rugs, because you'll clean it up yourself. You heard me?"

Elliot nodded poker-faced, as he watched the woman walk away from him.

Y/N entered her screaming daughter's room with a tired smile. And having closed the door behind her, she took her in her arms and began to sing a soft song to her so that she could fall asleep.

"Olive... princess, sleep with the little angels, mommy loves you..." she whispered at the end of the song, as she left the sleeping baby back in her crib.

"So, I'm a nobody?" a voice whispered from the door.

Y/N spun as fast as light.

There was Sean.

Bathed in blood, with his hair short and no beard. His face was swollen from several punches and had a new scar on his lip. But still, he had that mischievous smile on him. His eyes were tired, but they still held the same sparkle as Olive's.

"You're dead." Y/N assured.

"No, Y/N, I ..."

"Marian!" Y/N cried out.

The rapid footsteps climbing the stairs were heard throughout the house, Sean did not move his eyes from his wife.

"Sean..." Marian whispered in shock. She looked him up and down, saw the blood, the blows, and the cuts. Then, between tears and a sob, she hugged him. They both hugged tightly, and all Y/N wanted to do was throw up.

The blood, the smell, her husband… everything. Everything made her dizzy.

“Where were you?” she murmured, a shiver bathed her body.

“I am sorry…” he started, but she interrupted him abruptly.

“I don’t fucking care if you are sorry or not! Tell me where the fuck you were, because I just went through the hardest year of my life alone, Sean!” she shouted from the top of her lungs.

“It’s a long story, baby, and I am all beaten up.” He smiled tiredly.

He has the nerve to smile?

“You made me believe you were dead. For eleven months. I have time.” She said, now calmly but cold. “Plus, I had to drive a car while on labor, because you decided to disappear. So, start speaking or I swear to God, Sean Wallace, this time it will be you the one suffering a loss.”

 “Y/N…” he whispered, trying to get close to her. He tried to take her hand in his, but she got further away from him.

His smile disappeared and got exchanged with a sad look on his face.

Right there, in Olive’s room, he told both women everything. A deal he did a year ago, enemies, guns, drugs, and city from the third world he had to hide in and every name from the people he had to hide from. They spent two hours listening to Sean’s misfortunes, but Y / N wanted to be able to recriminate everything that made her go through alone and to be able to get rid of the anger that was eating her inside. 

"Well, the blood on me is a sign of the end of this problem." He had a nervous look, you could see it even though his face was covered in blood. So much seemed fictitious.

Y/N sighed, getting up after her husband finished telling the story.

"Ok." She whispered, walking out the door of her daughter's room with her in her arms.

Sean wanted to follow her, but Marian recommended him to leave her alone for a while, there was too much information she had to process.

Hours passed, Marian, Elliot, and Billy had left the house hours ago and Y/N still did not speak to Sean. For hours she had been sitting on a blanket in the garden. With a book in her hand and a tea by her side, which was quite possibly already cold.

When the sun was no longer visible on the horizon, that was when Sean became concerned. The chill of the London night was ugly, even worse for a baby. Then it was decided, he took two jackets that were in the room and went outside with a doubting pass.

"Hey…" he whispered, sitting next to her and covering her shoulders with his cardigan. She did not answer.

“Where you watching over us?” she asked, on the verge of tears.

“Couldn’t keep my eyes off of the security cameras.” He laughed shily.

“How many times did you see me…asking for a sign?” she began after a few seconds of silence. “How many fucking times did you see me cry at night, Sean?” she started to shed tears. “While you were God knows where, doing Devil knows what…” he interrupted her.

“Y/N, I told you, I had no choice…”

“No!” she spat “Shut up, Sean! Just… shut the hell up. I dreamed of this reunion every single night and prayed every fucking morning. So just let me tell you I fucking felt. Because I was alone, as alone and desperate as you felt when your dad was killed. So please, just understand I won’t be jumping into your arms right away. Even though I missed you, fuck… I missed you like crazy…” he smiled sadly “I am so, so angry Sean. And I want to make you go away again, but the truth is… I can’t be away from you any longer.”

Sean rested his right arm over his wife’s shoulder, and his hand got her head closer to him, allowing him to kiss her skin for the first time in months. After she got the kiss, she broke down in tears, not being able to compose herself.

“I am sorry, I will never leave you again.” He promised while holding her steady against him.

“I know I left, and I hurt you. But you were never alone, you were being watched over, night and day, you and well, that little munchkin.” He said, timidly.

“You want to hold her for the first time, Sean?”

His face lit up.

[probably-writing-x]

Feeling for the Future

Arón Piper x Reader

Request by anon: Heyyy would you be able to write an imagine where the reader is dating Aron Piper & they like both get baby fever but he doesn’t say anything until they get home since he’s a reserve & shy person...who wouldn’t want to have his babies 🥵 plz & thank u 💖

Gif is not my own

Requests are open🤍

“Honey are we going to be able to fit this in the car?” You laugh as you cautiously step down the last flight of stairs and reach the front door of your apartment block.

Arón walks backwards on the other side of the wrapped box to you as his head pokes above the surface, “I fucking hope so.”

You carry it the final few metres as you reach where his car is always parked, opening the trunk to somehow try and fit the present inside.

“Did you really have to get her such a big present?” He shakes his head, “You’ll have to walk there if I can’t get this in here.”

You hit him on the arm, “It’s her birthday! And I couldn’t not get it once I’d seen it, it’s perfect.”

He smiles at you before trying to make enough space to fit in the present. It was your niece’s second birthday today so you were heading over to your sisters house to give her the present you’d bought specially. It would be from you and Arón but, of course, it had been completely your choosing.

Eventually, Arón manages to fit it inside the trunk and you both take the drive to your sister’s.

- - - - - -

“Hellooooo!” You call as you open the front door and walk backwards inside, carrying the box with Arón once again.

Instantly, you’re met by someone running behind you and grabbing your legs.

“(Y/n)!” Your nephew grins when you turn around to see him, the oldest of the three, “You’re here!”

“Hello little man!” You beam, kneeling down to give him a hug, “How are you?”

He starts rambling on about school and some of his new toys as you listen to every word. Your sister walks through the lounge door with your now two year old niece beside her and your youngest niece, only six months, in her arms. It still baffles you that she manages to cope with all three of them.

“Hello gorgeous!” You beam as the birthday girl comes over to you and you lift her into your arms, “Whose birthday is it today?”

“Mine!” She exclaims, eyes widening at the present on the floor before looking over to Arón.

“Happy birthday,” He says to her, always becoming so much more timid when he was around anyone but you or his friends. He’d become more confident with your family over the years but still remained bashful and so different from the boy he was with you.

“Show me what else you got for your birthday,” You smile at your niece as she waddles off into the living room.

You turn to your sister and kiss her cheek, “It’s good to see you, darling.”

“You too, they’ve been so excited all day to see you. Both of you,” She smiles at you and your boyfriend, “Would you mind taking her Arón and I’ll help (Y/n) with the presents?”

Arón widens his eyes a little bit agrees nonetheless as your sister hands over her youngest daughter to him. He settles her onto his hip and keeps his arms tight around her, cautious and evidently fearful of doing anything wrong.

“You’re fine, love, you know how to hold a baby,” You laugh, “Don’t you remember when she was born?”

He glares at you jokingly, “But she’s like... sitting up now.”

You scoff, “Just try to avoid making her cry and we’ll be fine.”

He carries her through into the living room and takes a seat on one of the couches, resting her on his knee. Somehow, she’d already become infatuated with him - her hands moving to reach for the loose threads of his ripped jeans as she grabs them into her tiny grasp.

You turn back to your other niece and nephew as your nephew tries to help her with all of the presents she’d been given for her birthday, “What does this do?”

Your nephew starts to explain it, stumbling over his words as he talk but nevertheless getting there in the end.

Time always seems to fly when you’re surrounded by them. Your nephew drags you off to show you how he’d been practising his letters and how he was getting better at writing his name. And your niece is now talking more than ever, figuring out all of her new toys along the way. You’d bought her a pram for her birthday, decorated with her name across the back and made out of a white painted wood.

“It’s beautiful!” Your sister smiles, “Look at her, she loves it!”

And, rightly so, your niece is fascinated by the new pram, that she’d already placed three bears into.

“There you go, honey,” You beam as she starts at walking across the room towards her big brother.

Arón looks at you watching them as a smile warms his features. Your youngest niece had now moved on to being focused on the tiny tattoos scattering his skin, poking at the eye on his arm as she giggles a little.

“You’re a natural Arón,” Your sister encourages, “She loves you.”

He chuckles a little as he looks down at the tiny human sat on his lap, she looks up at him and tries to reach for the curls on his head.

“So, what do you think?” Your sister looks between you and your boyfriend, “How long will it be before I’m buying presents for your kids?”

A blush heats Arón’s cheeks instantly, “Oh... well... we haven’t really...”

“Don’t start,” You roll your eyes at your sister, “You’ll terrify the poor boy.”

She laughs, “I’m telling you Arón, you seem like you already know what you’re doing.”

“Definitely one day, right?” He suggests, focused only on you as he speaks.

You see how natural he does look sat there with the little girl. And you could just imagine her being your own. She’d have curls just like him and she’d grow to have bright smile lines just like Arón. You’d hope for her to be every piece of him wrapped into one little package created by both of you. You’d teach her everything you’d seen your sister do with her own children and they’d grow up absolutely loving their little cousin. Yeah, Arón would definitely be the one you’d want your family with. You couldn’t ever imagine it any other way.

“One day.”

He tries to calm the grin that spills onto his features, looking at you with so much adoration that it seems like you’re the only two in the room.

- - - - - -

By the time you get home, it’s already past dark as you’d stayed all afternoon. You make your way up to the flat and start cooking dinner, as it was your night to do so tonight. Arón flops down onto the couch but doesn’t bother putting anything on the TV.

“What do you fancy tonight? We’ve got pasta so I could make-“

“Were you serious when you said about us having kids one day?” He blurts out, unmoving from his spot as he stares up at the ceiling.

“What?” You laugh, watching him as he pushes himself to sit up so that his head is visible over the back of the big couch.

“Were you serious? Or did you just say it so that your sister would stop asking questions?”

You feel a lump form in your throat at the words. Of course you’d meant it. But you’d never spoken about having kids before. And who were you to think that he meant it too?

“I mean... I’ve always thought about having kids. But we’ve never really spoken about that sort of stuff so I wouldn’t expect you to-“

“I meant it too,” He interjects, “I’ve never really thought about it until I met you. You’re the only person I’d ever want to have kids with.”

You walk over until you’re stood at the armrest of the couch, perching on the edge of it, “Really?”

“Seeing you with your family today, I kept imagining what it would be like if they were our kids.”

“Three?” You raise your brows, “Thats a big commitment.”

“Yeah but I think we could do it. And we’d have sleepless nights and we’d argue with each other and we’d get stressed out, but it would be worth it when we’ve got our own family from it.”

You smile at the thought. The two of you never argued much at all but that would definitely be different if you became parents. It would be over the silly things. Like him forgetting to pick up nappies on his way home, or you leaving him for two nights in a row on his own when you were working. All of the simple family life dramas.

“We’d have to buy a bigger place, obviously. With a garden so that they’ll have somewhere to play, maybe even a pool and we can teach them how to swim,” Arón beams, “When I was holding your niece today, all I could think about was holding my own daughter like that.”

Your heart melts at the thought, Arón as a father. He’d be more proud of that than of anything he’d already accomplished.

“So, when do you see all of this happening?” You ask him.

He reaches out his arms and pulls you down to lay on his chest, “I don’t know. But it’s exciting to think about.”

“Yeah, it is,” You glance up and kiss his lips quickly, “But, right now, I need to go and cook dinner.”

“Nah, we’ll order a takeout,” He brushes you off, wrapping his arms firmly around you to keep you locked against him.

You settle into the feeling and find it impossible to say no, listening to the calm beat of his heart always had that effect.

He speaks up shortly after, “So, what names do you like?”

[eleven-times-lively]

The Twins - Part 2

In which you and Fred continue to raise your beautiful baby girls.💕 masterpost

Summary: The twins grow up from babies into toddlers, and from toddlers into children. Word Count: 3368 Note: Sorry this is so short! This chapter was basically just a way to give some happy moments with the twins and to serve as a bridge into the next chapters.

Two days later you and Fred could finally bring the babies home. You each held one infant as you came in the door, Fred whispering to the babies once you were inside.

“Hi, girls. This is your first home. Your whole family worked so hard on it, and so much love went into it. You’ll both grow up here and be very happy with your mummy and I.” You just stood staring in complete adoration for the man before you. The love of your life, your husband, and the father of your children was the most perfect human being on the planet. “Oh dear, mummy is staring at me. You know, the last time she gave me that look, we ended up making you!” “Fred Weasley not in front of the babies!”

He just laughed as the two of you managed to swap; he took the hospital bag out of your hands, holding it with the other bag he had, as he handed you the baby he was holding. “Shall we show them their nursery, love?” he asked you, already heading up the few stairs. 

You and Fred entered the beautiful nursery, which he hadn’t been in since the two of you did up the room shortly after finding you pregnant. You on the other hand would spend a lot of time in there when nesting tendencies kicked in, especially when you couldn’t sleep. The former guest bedroom had been totally converted to comfortably accommodate the two babies. The walls were a soft yellow and the ceiling was a light blue, to resemble the bright sky, and you and Fred had painted a few small flowers here and there on the walls. The room was practically a mirror image on each side. A white wooden crib and rocking chair were on each wall, with identical mobiles above each crib. At the back wall was the dresser/changing table. On the wall above each crib was the respective baby's name painted in swirly pink letters. Fred placed the babies’ bag on the floor to be unpacked later before heading into your room to place the hospital bag down. Once he returned you handed him a baby--Callie--and you each sat in a rocking chair on the side of the room for whatever twin was in your arms. You and Fred remained silent for a moment, rocking the babies until they fell asleep.

“How are you, love?” He finally piped up.

“Fine, I guess. I mean, as good as someone can be after having just had twins. Overjoyed to finally be home with my family.”

He gave you a soft smile before continuing, “When do you think we should have the family over?”

“Well I suppose it isn’t terribly urgent, they were all there when I had the twins. Maybe give it a few days for us to rest and enjoy our babies, yeah?”

“Whatever you say, love. How about you go take a nap, I’ll stay in here with them.”

“No, Freddie. I want to stay with the babies.”

“Y/n you’ve barely slept in three days. You need it.”

You sighed before carefully standing up. You set Cassie in her crib before giving Fred a kiss and begrudgingly heading into your own bedroom. You were asleep mere moments after getting into bed. Fred stayed with Callie in his arms for a few more minutes before setting her into the crib and sitting back down in the rocking chair, where he stayed awake diligently watching the babies.

***

After a few days of rest and recovery, you felt well enough to start doing more around the house again. Fred had been so sweet and considerate, not allowing you to do anything strenuous. 

“No, love, please sit down and let me do the dishes.” “I’ll change the bedsheets, it’s more than okay, yes I’m sure.” “Can I get you a cup of tea? Do you need anything?”

While you appreciated your husband’s efforts, it was becoming a bit suffocating, and you couldn’t take anymore. “Fred, my love, I appreciate everything you’re doing, but I think I’m fine to undecorate the tree on my own.”

“Are you sure, y/n? I don’t want you to do something you can’t handle just yet.”

“I know,” you gave him a kiss, “you know what you can do for me?”

He practically jumped up and down, “Yes?”

“Watch the girls for a bit so I can finally finish my book?”

“Of course. Wait, the book you started five months ago?”

You chuckled lightly, “Yes, Fred.” He gave you a warm smile and a kiss before the two of you parted ways for the afternoon.

After finishing your book, a long-forgotten thought came back to you. You searched the house and found Fred in the nursery, watching the babies sleep. He perked up when he saw you enter the room.

“All they do is sleep!”, he whispered, “I just want to play and have fun with them, but all they do is sleep and eat!”

You smiled at him as you said, “You know, love, we never added their birthday to the doorframe.”

“Oh! Shall we go do that then?” He stood up and made his way over to you, placing his hands on your hips when he reached you. He gave you a sweet, wanting kiss before smiling. 

“Do you think they’ll be okay without us here?” You wormed out of his grasp and turned to gaze into the room. 

He placed an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side. Kissing you on the forehead he whispered, “I’m sure, love. They’ll be alright.” He walked out of the room and started to head down the stairs when he noticed you weren’t with him. “Coming, love?”

“Hmm?”, you whispered, “Oh, yeah.” You shuffled away from the doorway and took his hand to head downstairs.

You grabbed the paint and brush from the drawer and crouched down to paint, when you noticed something on the doorframe. “Fred, the paint is chipping.”

“What?”

“There’s a whole flake of paint missing, love.”

“Oh dear. Can you repaint it?”

“Well yeah, I’m just not sure how it came off.” You shrugged it off as Fred handed you the gold paint to fix the door frame before you added the words in black.

December 27, 2002: Calliope Molly Weasley and Cassiopeia Ginevra Weasley are born

Fred knelt down next to you to admire your work. After a moment he helped you stand up and the two of you were standing in the doorframe pressed together.

“I love you,” you muttered as you pulled him into a kiss.

“Love you, too,” he responded as he ran his fingers through your hair before pulling away. 

You stopped to look at him a moment before a thought hit you, the store. “Fred, love, when do you need to go back to work?”

“Oh, right. Georgie and I agreed that I should take as long as I need to help you. And of course you can come back whenever you want.”

You were an auror for the Ministry at one point, but quit about two years ago to help Fred and George run the store. Coming up with new items with them was your favorite part of the job, but you mainly handled the finances and business side. “Very well, then. When do you suggest we go visit mum and everyone?”

“Well they’re all still in town for the holidays, so preferably before we start to disperse again. Charlie already left, I’m afraid.”

“Oh, pity. How about over the weekend?”

“Brilliant.” He placed a kiss on your forehead just as both of the babies began to cry. He let out an airy chuckle as he took your hand and led you upstairs with him. 

***

Two days later you and Fred were preparing for your first outing with the babies.

“Can you believe they’re a week old already?” Fred mused as you and him carried the babies downstairs.

“Two weeks and a day, to be exact,” you added with a laugh. The two of you got Cassie and Callie settled in their prams before apparating to the Burrow.

“My goodness look how big they’ve gotten!” Molly exclaimed when you and Fred stood at the front door. You got things organised with the twins and entered the house.

“Mum, they’re only a week old,” Fred chuckled.

“Oh I know, but babies grow so fast, and oh look how cute they are!” she exclaimed gleefully as Fred handed her Callie.

“Oh miss Calliope you are just gorgeous!”

“You can tell them apart?” you questioned, handing Cassie to Ginny.

“Of course?”, Molly responded, “How could I forget my namesake! Besides, I have some experience in the twin department.” She winked at Fred before settling on the couch, Ginny beside her. 

Ginny was softly cooing to Cassie as everyone else filed into the living room upon realising you and Fred had arrived. After a moment, Molly perked up remembering something.

“Oh, Merlin, I almost forgot!” She stood up gently before handing Callie to Bill--the nearest person--and running upstairs. Bill looked absolutely bewildered, but adapted quickly--especially with Fleur cooing over his shoulder. Molly was back downstairs in an instant, carrying two tiny lumps of yarn. “The girls’ jumpers!”

You lightly yelped with excitement before heading over to her. You placed them in the baby bag for later, and you and Fred thanked her.

A few hours later everyone had admired the babies, and of course asked their multitude of questions for you and Fred. You packed up the babies and went home after the tiring visit.

***

Five years had gone by in the blink of an eye. On the first Valentine’s Day after the babies you and Fred celebrated your first wedding anniversary, and he went back to work that Monday. Three months later you were back as well, leaving the babies with Molly and Arthur every day. This routine continued onward as the babies grew. Birthdays were celebrated, milestones reached, and memories made. The once tiny and adorable babies had grown into toddlers with budding personalities, and then young children learning about the world, but they were still just as adorable. 

“My love, where are you?” Fred called from upstairs.

“In the kitchen, dear.”

You could hear his feet padding down the stairs before you felt his arms around your

waist and his breath on your neck. “Hello, love.”

You chuckled, “Hi, Freddie.” You spun around to face him, and put his hands back on your hips. You pulled him into a deep kiss when the two of you heard snickering from behind you. 

“Look at mummy and daddy!” Cassie giggled.

“Cassie!” Callie groaned, “Stoppit!”

You and Fred turned to face your adorable daughters standing before you in the kitchen. Fred cocked an eyebrow at them as a smirk spread across his lips. As if knowing what was about to happen, the girls went off running and screaming, with Fred laughing “I’m going to catch you!” as he went after them. You heard a squeal from the livingroom as he picked up the girls and there was laughter all around. You finished cleaning up the countertops and went to join them. You grabbed Callie from Fred and the four of you sat down on the couch. The girls tried to worm away from you and Fred, but you both held them firm. 

“I think,” you began playfully, “we should take the girls to Diagon Alley tomorrow and show them around the store.” You shot a wink at Fred as you spoke.

“Oh… Well absolutely, I think it’s time to show them the ropes.” The girls’ attentions were piqued as they both stopped squirming.

“I wanna go see mummy’s store!” Cassie yelped over Fred’s shoulder.

“Mummy and daddy’s store. Me too!” Callie yelped in response. You and Fred shot silent smirks at each other.

“Maybe we shouldn’t…” you began, earning a chorus of ‘nooo!’ and ‘whyyy?’ from the girls. “Girls with a messy bedroom shouldn’t go to Diagon Alley.” You winked at Fred once again.

“Exactly!”, he responded, “I do believe that there is a rule. No little girls with messy rooms shall be allowed.”

“What!?” Callie exclaimed. She successfully wormed her way out of your grasp and down to the floor. “C’mon, Cassie. Come clean!” Both girls ran off hoping to be able to go to the store.

You and Fred smirked at each other. “That is top notch parenting,” you said. He and you high-fived as you stood up to attend to other matters around the house.

***

Once the girls turned eight you and Fred started to bring them to the store with you each day. They absolutely loved it and they took quickly to the space. They were meant to stay in one of the back offices and to not get in trouble, but Fred or George would often bring them out into the main part of the store. This only resulted in you constantly stressing and running around after the girls. You found them one day in the potions section, reading the labels and nearly testing some out. You rounded the corner just in time to see Cassie test some Confusing Concoction.

“Cassiopeia Weasley do not drink that!”, you yelled, causing her to drop the bottle, which in turn shattered. 

“I told her not to…” Callie muttered.

“I don’t care who had the idea or who advised against it. I care that you broke the rules!” You were utterly baffled, they had never gotten into much around the store before. “Back in the office!” You were met with a chorus of ‘But mummm!!” as Fred rounded the corner as well to see what the commotion was about. 

“Daddy!” Callie cheered as Fred picked her up, cocking an eyebrow at you. “Mummy says we have to go to the back again and can’t be out here!”, she pouted.

“Oh did she now?” Fred said, gazing at you, “Well I suppose we better listen to mummy, then.” With Callie in one arm and his other holding Cassie’s hand, he brought the girls back to the offices. He was also met with his own chorus of protests.

With a flick of your wand, the mess on the floor was cleaned up and you returned to work.

The funny thing with children is that they usually end up inheriting much of their parents’ personalities. So while your’s and Fred’s cleverness and wit had come in handy throughout Hogwarts and your adult life, it was an absolute nightmare coming from two eight year olds. The girls escaped from the office more times than you could count. Of course they weren’t locked in there, but you usually caught them fairly quickly upon an attempted egress. Yet somehow they managed to get by you at least three times a week.  On one such occasion, the girls snuck out and hid inside storage boxes until you had walked away. Fred found them a while later playing with some pygmy puffs. 

“Hello ladies,” he smirked, peering into the box.

They startled and shrieked. “Daddy!” they both exclaimed. They climbed out of the box and prepared for a punishment from Fred.

“Looks like you take after your dad!” Fred exclaimed, astonishingly proud. The twins looked up at him more than confused. “Your uncle and I were masters of disguise and sneaking around. Good on ya!” Fred looked genuinely proud as he walked off. The girls exchanged smiles before climbing back into their little hiding space.

***

The girls grew less energetic over the years, but unfortunately for you and Fred they grew to be smarter and more cunning. Even though they didn’t have magic yet, no room could hold those girls. This, of course, got them into a fair share of trouble--which they always managed to talk themselves out of. Aside from this, they were constantly devising plots and plans to mess with Fred and yourself, but more typically each other. They certainly were Fred’s children. Countless nights were spent with you and Fred simply lounging on the couch as you admired the beautiful girls you had raised. However a heavy air loomed over that no one seemed to want to discuss: the girls would be leaving for Hogwarts soon. They had just turned eleven, so come September they would be off to the school. You and Fred both knew that the other was upset beyond explanation. You and Fred had gotten so used to seeing them every single day that the absence would surely be strange. You’d find yourself getting into sullen moods where you would ponder this, and these were always the times you would regret not becoming a professor. However Fred was always there to cheer you up and reassure you.  Eleven years had gone by in an instant, and you weren’t sure you wanted it to end just yet. Fred was always so carefree and happy, but you could tell he was hurting too. 

The four of you spent the summer having fun and enjoying being with each other. You let the twins help you out in the gardens for the first time, and even let them plan out their own sections. Fred and George took them to quidditch games along with George’s kids, and brought everyone to the store everyday. Then the fateful day came when the girls received the Hogwarts letters.

“The owls are here!” Callie and Cassie shouted in unison as they ran down the stairs to the front door. You and Fred knew that letters would be delivered and were already at the front door waiting for them. Callie flung open the door and retrieved the letters from the doorstep. Naturally, the girls were ready to tear into their letters immediately.

“Hold on a second, girls,” you chuckled, “Come to the table.” With everyone seated, the girls carefully opened their letter and each read them aloud. There were excited screams from the girls and joyful smiles and glances from you and Fred. It had been a while since either of you had seen an acceptance letter, and you’d forgotten how exciting it was. 

“Congratulations, girls,” Fred smiled down at them, “We’ll go shopping tomorrow.” There were more excited shouts at the girls ran upstairs to their rooms. “This should be fun,” Fred chuckled.

“Shopping for one is hard enough,” you began, “let alone two.”

“Oh but think of the exciting parts!” Fred exclaimed, “Getting their wands will be the highlight of their year.”

“Maybe just the week,” you laughed, “they’re pretty excitable. Come outside with me?” You asked him, but he was already standing and taking your hand, the same idea in his head.

The two of you strolled into the gardens and sat in the white chairs in the center. “The girls did surprisingly well in the gardens,” Fred remarked, glancing around.

“They have quite the knack for gardening,” you smiled, “and a brilliant taste in flowers.”

“That’s only because you convinced them to plant roses,” he laughed. “I’m going to miss them.”

“Me too, Freddie. But we’ll see them at Christmas.”

“I suppose, it’ll just be a new adjustment to get used to.”

You let your eyes close, enjoying the late afternoon sun and breeze. You were so wrapped up in your own little world that you hadn’t even noticed Fred stand up and take your hand. You stood up with him, more than puzzled.

“Dance with me?” he asked, winking.

“You’re such a dork,” you laughed, “With what music?”

“I don’t need music when I’m with the most bloody beautiful woman in the world,” he smiled down at you as the two of you began to sway back and forth. He kissed you lightly and let his forehead rest against yours. “I love you,” he muttered.

“Love you, too, Fred.” However the moment didn’t last long as out of the corner of your eye you caught the girls watching from the upstairs window. You looked downward as you smirked, separating from Fred. He looked confused before he saw the girls. As soon as they realised they had been spotted, the girls disappeared within the house. You and Fred both chuckled, yearning for more moments like this.

[trillian-anders]

amor de mi vida - 1946

pairing: bucky barnes x latinx!reader

warnings: racism, prejudice, fluff, angst, smut

word count: 2843

description: Bucky Barnes is a sweet young Brooklyn boy, just on the cusp of manhood, a hopeless romantic that falls in love with almost every girl he sees. when he sets his eyes on a young girl fresh off the boat from Cuba he finds out how hard love can really be.

for @cake-writes 1940s challenge.

The cries of a newborn, sweet to those who no longer have one, but frustrating to those still dealing with one. 

Christmas of 1945 was a blessed Christmas. The first grandchild receiving the most presents even though the baby hadn’t even been born yet. Hand knit booties, little caps, a crib that Bucky and Steve put together and set in the corner of your bedroom. The nursery painted and nested. 

Winnie gifted you with a rocking chair. “You’ll thank me later.” She said. And it did come in handy. The gift left in the nursery soon was dragged into your bedroom, late night feedings while you rocked both you and the baby back to sleep. 

It was a long and arduous labor. Almost a year to the day Bucky had returned. The contractions started just after breakfast and labor lasted well into the next day. It was as dawn broke that his cries broke through the air for the first time. 

Your sweet little boy. 

He was laid onto your chest, wailing halting as his skin touched yours, lips smacking for the first time in open air. His little fists clenched tight. James Buchanon Barnes II, Jaime. 

His hair, eyes, and skin were yours. Everything else was his fathers. If Bucky had brown eyes they could have been twins as a baby. 

Jaime was a good baby for the most part, alert, always looking around and didn’t cry too often. But he had a lot of trouble throughout the night in the early days. 

You resented Bucky and glared at him while he slept, Jaime suckling on your raw nipples and fatigue plagued your body. 

“How can I help?” Bucky would ask. But beside changing diapers and watching him while you napped there wasn’t much else he could do. Bucky had gotten pretty good at changing a diaper with one arm. Once every two or three months Howard would have another prototype, something else for Bucky to try but had volunteered a break while the Barnes’ got settled with their new baby. 

And a sweet baby he was. 

A spoiled baby he was. 

Winnie loved taking him. George couldn’t put him down. And the girls loved passing him around and cooing as he began to babble. 

Bucky was obsessed with his son. The man cried when he was born, when you nestled his little body in the crook of Bucky’s arm. He said, “Thank you,” with tears in his eyes, he pressed his forehead against yours, “Thank you for this.” But you were thankful. Thankful for your little family. The baby you’d been craving for so long. 

The future you wanted. 

“Can I hold him?” Peggy held her hands out, letting you place Jaime into her arms. A smile stretching across her lips. “He’s gorgeous.” 

“Thank you.” You smile, brushing a curl off his forehead.

“Howard is trying to break James down into joining us.” She says, bouncing the now giggling Jaime on her knee. “James would be an incredible asset to the team” At the moment ‘us’ was only Howard, Steve, Peggy and the rest of the commandos currently enjoying their time off having returned to their families at the end of the war. 

While you were focused on Bucky the rest of the world celebrated the end of the war. Men came home, husbands, fathers, sons… reunited with their families in the wake of the utter destruction the US laid on Hiroshima. 

“They were ready to surrender,” Steve spat, the day it was announced, his jaw hasn’t been unclenced since. “It was unnecessary.” The US did the one thing he hated, became a bully. He felt disrespected by it. Like he just went and fought to defend the helpless, take down an international crime syndicate in the name of justice, only to come home and have the United States act on a grudge. 

He now manned the small grill in your new backyard. “The kid needs a backyard.” Bucky claimed. It probably had little or nothing to do with the fact that he was a disabled war vet who was married to a Cuban woman and the stares he’d been getting pushing the pram around were starting to grate his nerves. It was in a cute little suburb outside of the city, still close enough that you could continue with dress orders and he could help George with the shop when he needed it, but far enough away that no one really knew you there. 

And no one had said anything about the two of you as a couple. Yet. 

A bottle of beer passed between the two men, while you took Jaime back into your lap. “Howard is getting close.” Peggy said, “Maybe this week.” Bucky smiled at her before turning to his son. This week maybe he’ll have his arm back. A kiss to your forehead and he scooped up the little boy from your lap, holding him tight to his chest and blowing a raspberry on his stomach. Jaime giggled and squirmed in his grip before turning his head to look back at you and cry. 

“He hates me.” Bucky sighs, the baby reaching his chubby little arms out to you. 

“He doesn’t hate you.” Jaime rests his head on your shoulder while you rub his back. His fingers gripping at your shirt. “He just loves me more.” Bucky presses his lips to yours before pressing a kiss to his son’s head of curls. 

“We need to have a girl next,” He says, “So she’ll love me more.” The entire pregnancy Bucky had been hoping for a girl. He wasn’t disappointed when you had Jaime, and he liked to spend time with him, but Jaime was definitely more attached to you. 

“I’m his food.” You laugh, “Of course he wants me more.” 

“He’s a mama’s boy.” Bucky jibed. “I want a daddy’s girl.” Steve laid out the burgers on the table, taking his seat across from Peggy. 

“Have you thought any more about it Buck?” You settled Jaime into the wooden highchair at the end of the picnic table and Bucky began to give him little pieces of squished blueberries which Jamie seemed content to play with. 

“I’m just not sure I want to be that far from my family.” He says. “We’ll talk later.” And it was always later. He didn’t want to talk about it in front of you. The danger that the missions had. You rested a hand over your belly, Jaime just learning to eat soft foods and you were already pregnant with baby number two. It was another reason why you’d agreed to move out of the city. 

“I could always go back to working for my Pa.” He’d say while you’re getting ready for bed. “Once Howard finishes my new arm.” He’d gotten pretty good at surviving without one though. He could do pretty much everything he could do before, within reason. 

“But would you be happy doing that?” You asked. Jamie was sleeping in the room beside yours, trying something new now that he was sleeping through the night. “Would you be happy to settle for going back to work at the shop?” You knew what his answer would be. He’s been following Steve since they were kids, protecting him, making sure he was safe. “Would you be able to let him go out there alone?” 

“He wouldn’t be alone.” Bucky argued. But he knew what you meant. He stepped behind you at the vanity, squatting down to wrap an arm around your middle, splaying his hand wide over your growing belly. Your first pregnancy you hadn’t started showing until you were four or five months, but this one seemed to sprout right away. “But you would be.” You sigh and lean back against him, meeting his eyes in the mirror. 

“I want you to be happy.” 

“I am happy.”

The house was white, with powder blue shutters. The porch was large and Bucky recently hung a porch swing with the help of Steve. Together they put up floral wallpaper and carried in boxes, setting up your home while you held the still newborn Jaime. 

Now it was well lived in and not suitable for company most of the time, but it was your home. And you told Bucky you weren’t going to move again if you couldn’t help it. The big surprise was the spare bedroom he’d made into a sewing space for you. Your Mother’s old sewing machine, a place to organize fabrics, buttons, and thread. 

You were finishing dress orders every day, but it was becoming a little too much. 

“Why don’t you ask some of the girls to help you?” Bucky was talking about the girls from the factory, not all of them completely abandoned you when you married him, but you know some had started families of their own. He was holding your son, Jamie playing with a scrap of tulle that was shimmering in the sunlight. “You’re not going to be able to keep this up much longer, mi amor.” He was right, your back aches and your belly was growing every day. Soon you’d have two babies and it just wasn’t going to be possible. Especially if Bucky went back to work. 

So you outsourced. 

Two girls, friends you hadn’t talked to in a while agreed to help. Amara and Rosalyn. ‘Friends’ who had always been very close from what you’d seen. The girls still worked at the factory, but with the dress orders you had it would give them significant income. You were currently making $50 a week selling these dresses, but with the two of them you could do three times the work, $150 a week, with both of them getting 15% was good money. They couldn’t say no. 

With that kind of money coming in, “You wouldn’t have to work if you don’t want to.” Bucky wasn’t having it. “I’m making $105 a week with these.” A kiss to his palm. 

“I want to work again.” He says, “I want to help provide for our family.” 

The new arm was a little heavy, “But that will get modified over time.” Howard claimed. It was metal and cuffed around his upper arm. His shoulder was sore from the initial nerve connection, but stayed always a little stiff because of the weight of the arm. 

The first week or so a lot of dishes were broken, doors pulled off their hinges, and Bucky was refusing to hold Jaime. Something that he didn’t realize Jaime would have such a problem with. The sweet little boy crying and fussing, reaching out for his father but Bucky wouldn’t do any more but rub his back or kiss him before bed, 

“Not until I get this arm figured out.” He didn’t want to hurt him. Which was something you could understand, but your 6 month old baby could not. Jaime seemed to go backwards, waking up in the middle of the night wailing, unable to sleep. Crying uncontrollably no matter what you did. It wasn’t until Bucky stopped breaking things around the house, when he practiced fine motor skills with Howard, did he feel comfortable enough to finally soothe your son. 

Your body woke up on its own. Startled out of sleep by the silence, you’d been expecting Jamie to wake you up like he had been every night before but he was quiet. The house was quiet. Your hand brushes against the empty sheets, still warm from where Bucky’s body had once lay. 

You find him in the nursery, the shining metal arm beneath Jaime’s butt, the small boy lay on his chest. Skin to skin. His right palm splayed on his son’s back, rocking him back to sleep in the rocking chair you definitely thanked Winnie for, multiple times. 

His eyes were closed, his head leaned back against the chair. A pile of drool on his chest from where Jaime’s mouth was open. You sigh, placing a hand on your belly and leaning against the doorway of the bedroom. It was a relief. 

You admired the two of them for a minute, rubbing your belly and feeling the little movements of the baby still inside you and for a moment, not for the first time since finding out you were pregnant, did you wish your Mother was still alive. 

There was a bit of grief in that moment, knowing how much she would have loved having grandchildren. How she would have doted on them. Maybe if this baby was a girl you could name her after her grandmother. 

Steve showed up a few nights after that, fully geared up in a suit you hadn’t seen. One like the suit he wore in the films, but more muted. Something easier to get by in, and a duffel next to him. 

“I can’t leave her Steve.” A whisper in the hallway. The duffel dropped on the floor. 

“I need your help with this pal.” Steve replied, “You know I hate to ask, but I need you.” You step out into the front hall, your husband’s back blocking out most of Steve. 

“What’s wrong?” Your back hurt like hell, breasts heavy with milk for the feeding you knew Jaime would want soon. Feet swollen in early third trimester. Bucky sighed and turned to you with a smile, 

“Nothing sweetheart, go get ready for bed. I’ll be up in a minute.” Your eyes met Steve’s and his face was serious, brow pulled tight, jaw clenched. 

“Steve?” You step further towards them, “Is it serious?” A curt nod. 

“I wouldn’t ask him to come...” You nod, looking back at your husband. His fists clenched at his sides. 

“You should go.” His face falls, 

“But dahlin, I can’t leave you here alone.” 

“I won’t be alone.” You soothe, “I’ll call your Mother in the morning, I’m sure she’ll be happy to stay with me for a few days.” You didn’t want him to go, not really. But Steve was never gone for more than a week, and you could tell how badly Bucky wanted to go. There was something in him that needed to follow Steve, every time Steve left on a mission Bucky would be anxious and couldn’t focus on anything. The worry. 

“He just rushes into things,” Bucky explained once, “He wasn’t particularly good at making plans.” Which was true, but most of that was left to Peggy. 

“You want to help him,” Bucky wrapped his arms around your waist, “So help him.” A soft, languid kiss. 

“Are you sure?” He searches your eyes for the truth and you meet his lips again in reassurance.

“I’m sure, just, when you’re done, come home.” He nods, leaning his forehead on yours for a moment before looking at Steve. 

“Let me go see Jaime and I’ll be right out.” 

The first time he came back it was frightening, all the bruises. A gash in his side hastily stitched, but healed within a matter of days. It wasn’t easy seeing him go each time, albeit not often did he go, but the reunion of him coming back was heated and passionate. 

Rushed kisses and his hands curled into your hair. The pleasure in having both arms so he could do everything he wanted to, but couldn’t before. Fingers in your mouth pressing down on your tongue while cool metal digits strummed pleasure under your skirt and stuffed into your panties while Jaime napped. 

Both hips held for leverage while he was buried inside you in the only way you could get comfortable, grinding against your pussy to make you cum quickly before the both of you left the bed to start your day. 

He whispers into your neck, moaning as he held you over the washing machine, his hips slapping against yours in a steady pace, “I told you I would take care of you.” A whimper from your lips, “I’ll always take care of you.” Fingers laced in yours on the table top over the laundry, his hand met your chin, turning your mouth to meet his as you came, moaning into his mouth. 

He was almost his old self once he started going back out on missions. The anger of last year faded into dark moments and restless sleep. Some nights he wasn’t able to sleep at all, but the resentment you felt when you’d been awake with the baby was washed down with the fact that he needed every good night he could. 

After the incident in the old house, the bruise on your arm was the only memory for weeks after, he’d never taken his anger out on you again. He’d gone back to boxing, a hobby in his teen years, an outlet for the anger and trauma he’d experienced out in the field. 

Now that he was working with Howard, Steve, and Peggy, he was training a lot more. The muscles in his arms and legs are more defined, his soft belly tighter. 

And he was happy. Truly happy, for the first time in a long time. 

.

.

.

taglist //  @corneliabarnes @bookish-shristi @saturnki @jennmurawski13 @geeksareunique @albinotigerpython @cake-writes @iheartsebastianstan @000bananaclip000 @shadowbuisness​ @sprinkleofbooty @gifsbysimplysonia @vhsbarnes @loseralert @wendaiii @mcueveryday @alwaysbenhardysgirl @beck-alicious  @thefandomzoneisdangerous

[peakyblinders1919]

Shelby Tattoo Parlor

With a baby finally on the way, it was time to make room for him. Yes, Polly and Arthur insisted it was a boy, but you had your own family traditions and maybe you were biased but it was definitely a girl. Boy or girl, you still had a room full of stuff you two had accumulated over the years and it was time to transform it into a nursery.

“Arthur, get up here!” You heard him waking up the stairs with a grunt, but how could you get any of this done by yourself if he didn’t even allow you to move boxes? Even if you were only 3 months gone and barely showing, you’d use it to your advantage.

“What do you want, woman?” He joked.

“We need to go through this mess. And I can’t move anything, so get in there,” you smiled, kissing him on the cheek before pushing him into the mess of boxes, standing in the threshold with your hands on your hips.

“Alright, you hand me a box and I’ll go through it, you go through that one there. We’ll make a pile of things to keep and things to get rid of, deal?”

“Deal,” he smiled as he passed you a box and for the next hour or so you were sorting through mostly garbage but some memories as well. The great progress you two were making quickly was often interrupted with an antidote associated with some old teddy bear from your childhood or some trinket Arthur had taken to France. It became a lot of “remember when” or “remember that time when I got you this…” and of course you said you remembered even when you didn’t and suddenly the keep pile was growing out of nostalgia.

The sun was setting quickly now, another sign of just how long you two had been at it, both ready to call it quits when you stumbled upon the best memory of all. You kept it to yourself first, flipping through every page, running a hand over the markings delicately, purely amazed that you were looking at a quick sketch rather than a painting worthy of being hung in a museum. 

“Arthur, come look at this.”

After maneuvering, and falling over some of the boxes, he came to stand over your shoulder, though you turned to watch his eyes fill with joy and pride as he looked at the pictures in your hands. “These are your drawings, aren’t they?”

“Yeah, yeah, they are.” He took them from our hands, flipping through and looking over the sketches of horses and landscapes with hills and valleys, some other animals and a few buildings. You sat silently, watching a smile across his features before he coughed and handed them back over to you. “I was shit, wasn’t I?”

“What? Arthur, are we even looking at the same thing? These are wonderful.”

“You can’t tell me that looks like an elephant?”

“I….oh...I thought it was a horse.”

You both looked at each other before breaking into a fit of laughter, showing his shoulder playfully as he was teasing you of course.

“I remember when I first met you, you were always scribbling in some notepad.”

“I was a boy Y/N…”

“But you were good at it and you liked it, didn’t you? You could give it a go again, you know? Instead of that mechanic shop you want, you could become an artist or something, I don’t know. You could make a real living off of something your love, you won’t need to rely on your brother… think about it, yeah?”

--

“Arthur! Dinner’s ready!” 

“I’ll be there in a second!” 

“I’m hungry Arthur, if you're not in here in five minutes I’m starting without you.” Your little babe was ravishing now as he or she was big, so big in fact you couldn’t see your feet over your watermelon stomach anymore. 

“Start without me love.” 

You sighed but were more than happy to dig in. This had been common for a few months now, ever since you found his sketches in the newly painted yellow nursery. He had taken your words to heart, which you couldn’t deny warmed your heart, but he seemed to be busier now than when he worked for Tommy. 

Still, at least this work made him smile. He was calmer now, not the same Arthur everyone claimed they knew. Even if he was busier, at least usually came home with his hands covered in charcoal or ink rather than blood. 

You had already devoured half your plate of meat and potatoes by the time he showed up and just seeing his face free from stress and full of calm made you smile as he took his seat across from you.

“What’re you busy working on now?”

“A sketch for the Garrison window. But I’ve been brushing up on my skills and flowers and all like you said. A few more weeks and our little Shelby will be here and only a month after the shop’ll be open.” The smile on his face as he explained the business plan was genuine and even if it meant he really wasn’t going to be around anymore, you were happy for him. 

“Show them to me after?”

“Sure.”

--

The buzz of the machines in the shop could soothe Arthur to sleep. No one ever really yelled from pain; most of his customers were ex-army men or Peaky Blinders or the like who could swallow pain like a pill. Smoke always hung in the air mixing with the smell of ink and the undeniable smell of metallic coming from the machine and needles. 

The shop was successful, almost surprisingly so, but that was due to the fact that Arthur didn’t always believe in himself. Thankfully you did and he wouldn’t have opened his own tattoo shop if it wasn’t for you finding his old sketches buried in those boxes. Tattooing gave Arthur a way to continue to draw and also make a respectable living. 

Arthur was finishing up a ship tattoo in black and white thoughtfully placed on the client's biceps, his hands steady for once as he dragged the needle across his skin, making quick and precise movements to add depth to the image. He was just about done, wiping the excess ink from his arm and showing off the artwork. The man thanked him before he started cleaning up the show, turning to yell that he was closed when the bell chimed over the door. He was surprised to see you however, little Alexander in the pram. 

“Hey, someone wanted to stop by to see Daddy.”

“There’s my boy,” he smiled as he walked over and kissed you before looking at the baby sleeping. It was a rough day in the Shelby house when it turned out Arthur and Polly were right about the baby being a boy. 

“Just wanted to see how everything was going.”

“Great, great. Just finished a piece, cleaning up the shop.” It filled your heart that he was happy, he was taking such pride in his craft. And he was good at it. You looked at the sketches he had before he transferred them to skin and his skill honestly surprised you; the horses and guns and roses and skulls were all drawn to precision and explosive colors. Honestly, since he opened the shop, you couldn’t remember ever seeing him as happy as he currently was. 

“I’m proud of you.”

“Yeah? Well, thanks love,” he smiled as he turned and kissed you, wrapping his arms around you. “I’m happy, really. I like this work, it keeps me calm.”

It was great to hear; he was happy doing something he loved while making enough money to provide for his new family. But for Shelby’s it was never that easy and the Blackhand currently sitting in their mailbox at home would change everything.

[wonderinthoseeyes]

Second Birthday - Mysore Diaries

Excited about taking off for Aadyaa’s second birthday, I got in touch with our usual travel agency for suggestions to escape the sweltering May heat and yet have fun. After some back and forth, we decided on going down South for a week...to Mysore, Coorg and Kabini. 

We flew to Bangalore from Pune and then headed to Mysore by road. The journey took twice the time than usual, since everyone was headed out for the long weekend it was and the highway was choked. Aadyaa slept through the drive, so it was peaceful and restful for all of us.  

We stayed at the Mysore Infosys campus for three days and it was beautiful, lush green, vehicle free and secure. We could let Aadyaa be as she roamed the picture perfect landscaped premise, interacted with people with naughty smiles and chuckles and made her presence felt. 

On her birthday the next day, we went to Mysore Zoo to show her all the animals from her board books in flesh and blood. Boy was she excited! There is a white peacock enclosure as soon as you enter the Mysore zoo and we were lucky to see it dancing in full glory as we entered. It just set the tone for the rest of the experience. She was happy to walk around and show her excitement as she saw the animals she recognized! Some were a shocker as we could tell from her expressions, since they all look the same size in a board book after all! :) A towering giraffe was definitely not what she expected to see, nor was the gigantic elephant! But we could tell that she enjoyed herself and it felt like mission accomplished :) A birthday well spent! 

We also went to Mysore Palace the same evening to fulfill our touristy obligations, but she couldn’t really enjoy that since she was exhausted from the zoo earlier in the day. Also, the Mysore Palace was crazy crowded and there was no place to take a baby sleeping peacefully in a pram around. We didn’t feel the need to wake her up to see the structure, so we took turns in going in and seeing it and called it a day! 

The next day was dedicated mostly to the famous Brindavan Gardens. It was also crowded, but the magnanimity of the gardens just grows over you once you step in. We walked up and down twice because Aadyaa just couldn’t get enough of the fountains in there! I still remember having a well deserved cup of tea and snacks at the Royal Orchid Brindavan Garden Palace Hotel situated just atop the gardens. The outdoor deck gives has a spectacular view of the gardens and the seating there is just perfect! 

We headed back to the Infosys campus after pretending to enjoy the musical fountains, which I don’t remember seeing much of anyway. I say pretending, since there were way too many people between us and the fountains, so we managed to get only glimpses of the fountains...but there she was dancing (from a mother’s point of view, of course...moving arbitrarily from the point of view of most onlookers I’m sure) to the music and having fun anyway, so we waited till it was almost over. 

On the last day of the Mysore leg, we went to the Ranganathittu Bird Sanctuary...give yourself a little treat if you tried to read that name and got it right on the first attempt :) The bird sanctuary is great, but not very pram-friendly. We went around most of it anyway. There is a boat ride you can take to see birds like storks and cranes nesting on the other side of the water body, but I wasn’t very keen once I knew that the water was home to crocs! To say that my hydrophobia was accentuated by that ‘fun fact’ would be an understatement! 

All in all, the Mysore leg of the tour was awesome and that birthday celebration in the zoo priceless! In hindsight, this trip was all about animals, from the zoo in Mysore, to the Elephant park in Coorg to the jungle safari in Kabini. 

More soon...

[missnmikaelson-main]

The Forgotten - Chapter 5

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4

1914

She stared up at the imposing structure – three stories, Grecian columns, and towering turrets. The dark house bore little resemblance to what she had always considered a cottage to be; where she came from the term brought images of quaint and cozy buildings to mind, buildings filled with happy people and laughing children. The sprawling mansion before her invoked a sense of trepidation – larger than the Boarding house and Kol’s home combined. The house would take days to properly search. She possessed the length of a Catholic mass, and being raised Protestant she was unsure how long the service afforded her.

She estimated an hour.

Her time slipped away the longer she stood rooted to the sidewalk, balking at her impossible task.

He had asked what she believed in and after everything she had seen and been through – vampires, werewolves, doppelgangers, hybrids and actual death – she had been unable to provide a true answer. How could she believe in someone who allowed horror to seep into her life?

She wasn’t sure what she believed anymore, but she found herself praying for a miracle as she ascended the steps because she knew Kol would never gain an invitation from the dowager.

A length of wire and several spare hair pins weighed a hole in her pocket; she pulled them out with a deep breath and inserted the wire in the lock. She had picked more sophisticated locks than the state of the art 1914 technology before her, and she had done that drunk.

“Shh,” Caroline stumbled, giggling, “you’re gonna wake the neighbors.”

“Then they’ll call the Sheriff,” Bonnie slurred.

“Are you too drunk to remember the security code?” Elena pushed up the sleeves of Matt’s letterman jacket and wiggled the pin to click the last tumbler in place.

“How dare you?” Caroline gasped, full of mock indignation. She threw her unsteady weight into her gasp and stumbled.

“You were too drunk to search for your keys,” Bonnie nudged the blonde with her hip.

“I know exactly where my keys are,” she huffed, “they’re in my locker. Oh…” Caroline clapped her hands; a half formed idea flashed in her unfocused eyes. “Let’s go get them…”

Bonnie grabbed her arm, pulling sharply so that both girls stumbled against the porch rail.

“I’m not picking the school lock and getting detention on top of a grounding,” Elena twisted the knob.

The door swung inwards.

She stepped inside, closing the door behind her. A round table stood in the center of the foyer with a single lamp the dowager had left to light her return. She picked up the lamp and moved towards the stairs, but a cabinet in the parlour caught her eye.

Hoisting the lamp aloft, she approached on silent feet. Her hand slapped over her mouth, stifling her startled shriek. Dozens of dead eyes stared out at her from behind the glass: heads stacked one atop another.

“Creepy,” she breathed, making no attempt to hide her shudder. She turned away and prayed the search would not lead her back to the cabinet of doll heads.

Most people she had met kept the items they valued most close to them and locked away, but most people were not paranoid someone would steal into their homes in the dead of night – at least not to the point that they never left.

Her father had always kept his treasured items in the home office; a wall safe contained the Gilbert heirlooms and personal papers of the family. A typical house – mansions included – featured offices and studies on the first floor; she counted several that she knew of while peeking into each open door: the Boarding House, the Lockwood mansion, and Kol’s house.

Locating a room full of shelves and a desk she gave a silent cheer, adding the cottage to her list.

The desk drawers slid open with ease and her heart sank, but she persisted in giving each a thorough search. Her efforts were rewarded with a black box; the satin lining revealed a large indent in the shape of a precious gem, but the diamond remained missing.

She replaced everything and checked her watch: twenty-five minutes. Her eyes flickered to the shelves, but she shook her head. A hollowed out book felt too obvious.

With the lamp in hand she oved back toward the parlour, pausing to open boxes and baskets along the path; every container came up empty. At the round table she checked her watch again: fifteen minutes.

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes to rack her brain for everyone she knew to be paranoid; only three names came up.

Katherine Pierce would have compelled someone to hold the item and plant decoys, or hold it on her person. The first scenario seemed unlikely, and if the second were true Kol would have the gem soon enough.

Klaus too would keep such an item on his person – provided it held no danger to him.

And then there was Damon – Damon who had hidden the moonstone in plain sight with artisanal soaps. Where would he hide a perfect paragon diamond large enough to fit in a decanter?

Her eyes snapped open. A glance at her watch showed twelve minutes as she raced into the parlour.

++++

Astrid had thought she knew of chaos and death – the war had brought curse upon curse to the city – but never in her life had she known such needless violence. From the moment Mary-Alice drew her to the other side she had expected it in some way, and now her fears had come to life on a grander scale than she could have ever imagined.

She remained unsurprised, yet her voice stuck in her throat. Her heels clicked over the wooden floors slowly allowing her eyes to roam from one empty face to another as the feeling of horror mounted. Every face built up the rage until it burst forth, fueled by the final sight of a blood splattered pram.

“You’re a monster,” she jerked against Mary-Alice’s hold.

“I didn’t know what the dowager looked like,” Kol wiped a spot of blood from his thumb. His stomach lurched but his voice came out cloaked in a heavy layer of indifference. “Best just to kill them all.”

“You knew she didn’t look like the altar boy,” Astrid spat.

He hopped down from his perch on the alter, ignoring her outstretched finger. He knew what he would find at the end of her point: crimson stained white silk and unseeing eyes.

“I was parched,” he shrugged, catching a glimpse of his blood streaked skin. He would need to clean up; luckily he kept some clothes at the compound. She need never learn of his lost control. “I’m off to a family dinner now. I’ll see you later tonight.”

He strode around the pair towards the arched doors, but froze in his tracks.

“We are not helping you!”

He spun around to face them. Their hearts stopped when he glowered, but Astrid maintained her determined stance. His eyes cut to Mary-Alice. The blonde relented, addressing her friend over her shoulder.

“We’ve come this far, Astrid.” Her breath caught in her chest when she turned back and Kol grinned before pressing a quick peck to the corner of her mouth.

He vanished into thin air, and she touched the blood clinging to her upper lip.

Mary-Alice cleaned her face with a handkerchief and stared at the stain for a moment while drawing in a slow breath.

“I’ll meet you outside the cottage at nine,” her voice sounded distant to her ears. Astrid’s came from further away. “I have something to take care of.”

Astrid waited a few moments before following her friend’s path out of the church, but by the time she stood on the steps Mary-Alice was gone and a woman was coming to a stop, bending over the railing to draw in quick breaths.

“Good evening, Elena,” her voice sounded hollow.

The brunette’s head snapped up as she reached for her left hand with wide eyes.

“Your coat is distinctive,” Astrid breathed, descending the stairs.

Elena’s shoulders sagged with relief. She straightened up and swallowed. “Have you seen Kol, Astrid? I was hoping to catch him before he went to dinner.”

Astrid tilted her head, looking down the last three steps into the doppelganger’s bright eyes; Elena bounced on the balls of her feet, practically vibrating.

“The last I saw him he was inside,” she jerked her thumb over her shoulder.

“Thanks,” Elena’s eyes narrowed. There was something unreadable in Astrid’s gaze, but she shook off the feeling and hurried inside.

Astrid watched her go, listening for a moment to the reigning silence before making her way down the street.

Inside the chapel Elena paused.

“Kol,” she called softly, knowing he would hear her. The smile slid from her lips and the blood drained from her face. She wondered what it said about her life that her first response was not to scream.

She rushed to the first body and sought a pulse. She hurried from body to body in search of anyone still alive. She had no idea what she would do if she located a survivor; medical attention wasn’t exactly a phone call away. The only thing she could do was hold their hand, but everyone – all twenty-seven bodies – lacked a heartbeat.

She ripped her bloody gloves off and fell back against the alter. The wood dug into her back. Her fingers tore through her hair knocking her hat from her head and dislodging several pins.

A soft rustle drew her attention to the corner of the room. Loosened tendrils of hair tumbled around her pale face as she climbed to her feet, gloves and hat forgotten.

The pram sat half-hidden behind a column. Blood dripped from the polished wood to the tall wheels.

Her heart thumped.

Holding her breath she inched closer until she heard a second rustle at which point she sprinted the remaining distance and bent over the open basket. Large blue eyes stared back.

++++

“What troubles you this evening?” Rebekah scrutinized the brewing storm behind his eyes over the rim of her wine glass.

Silverware clinked. Three sets of eyes locked on his profile, searching for what Rebekah had already noted in his silence and picked over food.

He loathed his baby sister’s perceptive nature. He never could lie to her.

Nine hundred years of life – six hundred years of awareness – and he had never hidden anything from Rebekah. Every time she caught him in a lie – as a mischievous child there had been many instances – he always told her the truth and brought her in on the game, but there were some things she could never know; at least not while they sat in present company.

Horrified screams, empty eyes and toppled furniture flashed through his mind; he did what came naturally after centuries of practice and shoved the rising guilt down to be buried with everything else he refused to acknowledge for the sake of his sanity. Then he did something that had never come naturally.

“Nothing,” he lied.

“I believe that is the first lie you’ve ever told me,” she cocked an eyebrow and sipped her wine.

“Not still upset about that woman, are you?” Klaus smirked when Kol’s jaw ticked.

“I’m certain I will regret asking this,” Elijah sighed, “but what woman?”

“I found her in his house yesterday,” he grinned. “She ran out of there so fast,” his eyes flickered to Kol, “I’m sure that must have been bruising to your ego.”

“Did you stop to think she ran from present company,” he gritted his teeth, “and not past?”

“Nonsense,” Klaus scoffed, “I happen to be delightful company.”

Rebekah choked on her wine.

Elijah bit his tongue.

“She was of a different opinion,” Kol tilted his head.

“There was something familiar about her,” Klaus hummed. “Have I met her somewhere before?” His eyes hardened.

The blood drained from Kol’s face.

“No.”

“Perhaps I should remedy that –“

“Stay away from her Nik,” his tone betrayed his annoyance.

“In case you’ve forgotten little brother, I don’t take orders from you.”

“Niklaus,” Elijah warned, catching a glimpse of Kol’s features.

“Don’t fret Elijah,” Kol glared, “I will refrain from starting a fight.”

“That’s unlike you,” Rebekah frowned.

“I have a previous engagement,” he stood, pushing the chair back with a screech, “and I would hate to be late.”

“We’ll see you at the Christmas Eve ball?” She twisted in her seat.

“Don’t count on it,” he murmured and flashed away.

“Well done, Nik,” her shoulders slumped, “you’ve driven him away.”

“By all means, sister, chase after your favorite brother,” Klaus snatched up his wine glass.

++++

Hark how the bells, sweet silver bells, all seem to say, throw cares away…

Kol pushed open the iron gate and stepped through, pausing to watch the firelight flicker over the faces of the Christmas carolers. The small group paid him little mind in favour of the bonfire and their song.

… Christmas is here, bringing good cheer, to young and old, meek and the bold…

Mary-Alice fixed the head of a porcelain doll to the fence post and murmured a spell under her breath, sealing the house against the unwanted visitors.

… ding dong ding dong, that is their song, with joyful ring, all caroling…

Kol moved up the path as the music continued behind him, following him over the porch and to the door where he paused. His brows drew together as he caught the lingering scent too faint to properly identify.

The door swung inwards to reveal Astrid. He shook away the feeling and stepped over the threshold. Pulling off his gloves he tucked them in his pocket and accepted a Gaslamp from a smiling Astrid.

“Alright, darling, you know what to look for.”

He watched the witches take off in opposite directions before following the light floral scent through the entry to a glass cabinet. The gas lamp reflected off the empty eyes of several dozen disembodied doll heads.

“Creepy,” he muttered, opening the cabinet. Heads rolled over the hardwood as he tore the cabinet apart before moving on.

The parlour held five jewelry boxes; he emptied them all and kept one ear on what was happening through the house. Mary-Alice and Astrid made no attempt to keep their actions silent, nearly drowning out the music on the street.

… on on they send, on without end, their joyful tone, to every home…

He caught sight of the bar from the corner of his eye; the promise of a stiff drink called to him and he abandoned the wicker box in his hand. He held out the lamp to examine the liquor on offer: bourbon, scotch, wine.

Rainbows reflected on the wall.

He froze, staring at the effect. Lowering the lamp he tilted his head and picked up a bottle stopper, peering at the sparkling interior of the stone; it glinted grey and white.

“You sly old bat,” he smiled. His grin turned to a smirk when Mary-Alice and Astrid stepped into the room. “Clean up. Meet me at the cemetery. This little beauty and I have a date with a dagger.”

He didn’t wait for a response before fleeing the house.

“He’s such a fiend,” Astrid seethed. She surveyed the damage with narrowed eyes.

“He is,” Mary-Alice agreed, “but so am I.” She toyed with the bottles on the bar. “I spelled the door to his clubhouse shut. If he wants his precious dagger back he’ll need a Claire witch to open the door.”

Astrid spun to face her friend with a line between her brows.

“All this time I thought you were blinded by your lust for him.”

“I know what you thought,” she snapped.

“This doesn’t have anything to do with-“

“No,” the reply came too fast to be convincing. “Come,” she took a deep breath and plastered on a smile, “let’s explain to him that if he wants his dagger back he’ll have to start acting with a little decorum.”

++++

Kol paused outside the cottage, listening to the sudden silence. The absence of carolers set him on edge but he didn’t know why until he passed through the gates and his arms were taken.

“You’re looking very dapper this evening Kol,” Klaus grinned, “I don’t believe I mentioned that earlier.”

“Though, gloves without a tailcoat?” Marcel hummed. “Unusual, wouldn’t you agree Klaus?”

“I would,” Klaus nodded. He paused and held up a finger. “Unless, of course the gloves are utilitarian in nature…”

“I didn’t realize you lovebirds were so interested in fashion,” Kol sighed.

“I can take it or leave it,” Klaus shrugged. His lips curled in a slow smirk.

“Did you follow me brother?”

“It’s always best to know where the hurricane is brewing, but no, I did not. The mayor came to me concerned about the rash of thefts in the city, so I put Marcel on it…”

“After a little digging, and a little compulsion, I formed a theory, so I had my informants follow out suspect…”

“And he led them here, to the mansion of the Dowager Fauline – who rumour has it met a grisly end earlier this evening. You know,” Klaus met his brother’s eyes, “she’s famous for her collection of rare and priceless jewels. Most notably, of course,” he reached into Kol’s pocket, “the perfect paragon diamond.”

The jewel glinted in the moonlight. Klaus nodded to a nearby woman in black who began chanting over the doll’s head.

“I don’t know what your plan was, but I wouldn’t bother waiting for them,” Klaus smirked over his shoulder at the mansion, “they will never leave that house again.”

++++

She sat cross-legged before the tree with a needle in one hand and two bowls at her knees. Every few seconds the sturdy weight between her legs would shift, forcing her to lower her garland with a deep sigh that lacked any true exasperation or malice.

“If you keep this up, my cranberry to popcorn ratio is going to be skewed.”

A cranberry disappeared from the bowl.

“I suppose you’re right,” she sighed. “A whole lot of popcorn with cranberries throwing in for colour is nice too,” a second berry vanished, “but you’ve got to leave me some berries.”

A third berry fell against the floor, rolling under the tree. The weight between her legs lurched after it, vanishing beneath the greenery.

She giggled, placed the half-finished garland on a nearby table and lowered herself onto her stomach. Reaching under the tree she snatched the choking hazard and placed it on the table. She prepared to reach beneath the branches again, but was stopped by a slamming door. The branches rustled but there were no signs of distress from under the tree so she sat up in time for Kol to storm in.

He had replaced the crystal vase Klaus had broken with one of porcelain and it toppled from the table as he strode into the parlour.

She cringed, glancing at the tree.

“Damn him,” he seethed, kicking over an end table.

“Problem?” Elena slid onto her belly. “Was dinner lacking in holiday cheer? Or is it mass that’s set you off.”

In his rage he missed her biting tone. He paced in front of the fire, attempting to stifle the urge to tear the room apart with his bare hands.

“Kol,” she prompted, stretching her arms under the tree.

“I went to the cottage,” he curled his fingers into fists. “Niklaus followed me.”

“Naturally,” she murmured, “likely exercising his power as an invasive ass.”

His mouth quirked up in a wry smile, but his humor faded.

“That invasive ass took the diamond,” his voice dropped to a growl, “and had one of his witches manipulate Mary-Alice’s boundary spell. He turned the cottage into an inescapable prison. I have no diamond, no witches, and no way of protecting you!”

“What about – what was her name – the woman who made the rings?” She slid forward on her stomach, but her fingers came up short.

“Freya left town this morning and will not return for a week,” he shook his head, “and even if she were here, Kemiya requires two witches; I shall have to start at the beginning.”

“So, what you’re saying is you have no witches, no gem, and no dagger…”

“I have a dagger!”

“Mary-Alice sealed the tomb with some kind of blood spell,” Elena nudged the sofa with her toes. Her foot brushed Kol’s leg when he moved to pick up the short note. “I don’t know why she sent that to me.”

His eyes scanned the page, heart beating faster with each penned word.

“No witches, no diamond, no dagger,” she continued, “and twenty-seven people dead for no reason.”

He stiffened, focusing his gaze on the back of her head. His voice emerged in a whisper.

“You went to St. Anne’s?”

“You mean the site where you massacred over two dozen people – including the altar boy?” She pushed up on her hands, twisting to glare at him.

Her head barely reached his knees, but her eyes managed to make his heart clench.

“You were never meant to see that,” he twisted the letter in his hands.

“And that makes it alright?” She struggled to maintain her anger in a low voice.

“Yes,” he threw up his hands, “no,” he groaned. Ignoring her wide eyes he fell to sit on the sofa next to her and ran his hands over his head to grasp the back of his neck. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” Her voice cracked. “Twenty-seven people are dead and you don’t know?”

“I had to kill the dowager,” he propped his elbows on his knees and brought his hands together. “It was the only way to gain access to her home. She needed to die…”

“Twenty seven dead,” Elena whispered, blinking back tears, “including the altar boy.”

“I didn’t know what she looked like,” he swallowed, “and once I started…” His gaze dropped to his joined hands. “I never learned control Elena,” he met her eyes again, “I was so angry after turning that I didn’t want to… until tonight. I told myself I would only kill the woman old enough to be her, but then the bloodlust took hold of me…”

“You could have waited,” she whispered the words, “come up with a better plan… saved innocent people from losing their lives.”

He shook his head, exhaling sharply.

“It couldn’t wait, love, Klaus came too close to discovering you. Eventually Freya’s glamour will wear off completely and when it does nothing will stop him. The dagger is locked away, the diamond resides in my brother’s care, and even if I had both it would take months – time we do not possess – to train witches in the art.”

“You could have waited,” she snapped, “for an alternate solution.”

Her grey skirt reached nearly to her ankles and boasted deep pockets hidden in the pleats; she rummaged in one for a moment and then slapped a folded sheet of heavy paper in his hand.

He cast a questioning glance at her as he unfolded the page to reveal a sketch of a paragon diamond. He tilted his head, scrutinized the image and came to the conclusion that the picture was a perfect copy of what he had recently held in his hands.

“You drew it?” He cocked a heavy brow.

“Nope,” she popped the ‘p’. Her eyes flickered to the page. “I did not draw that, but as it turns out I can make a very convincing…” she drew her hand from her other pocket, burying the sharp point of the star into his palm, “… copies.”

He grunted when the blade pierced his flesh. Putting down the paper he pulled the devil’s star free and watched the single cut knit itself back together before he sought out her eyes.

“You didn’t find the diamond,” she licked her bottom lip, “and Klaus doesn’t possess it, I do,” she held out her hand for the page.

“This is the diamond?”

“Yes.”

“Klaus has a copy?”

“Yes.”

“So, technically, I possess it?” He smirked.

“I’d love to see you take it out,” she scoffed. A trace of amusement flashed in her eyes.

“Very well, darling,” he chuckled, “you possess it.”

“That’s right,” she tucked the page away, “finders-keepers applies in this situation; at least until everything else falls into place.”

He examined her smooth features with narrow eyes.

She saw his gaze and frowned.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he sighed, “you’re just taking this mass murder rather well.”

“I’m not taking it well,” she gripped her skirt. “People are dead because you couldn’t control your bloodlust. How many innocent people have died because you couldn’t control your bloodlust? Do you know the number after nine hundred years? Did you ever count?”

“I know the exact number of bodies left in my wake, Elena. I remember every face, every lost life. I assure you darling that in another nine hundred years I will remember the night I killed everyone in that church.”

She searched his earnest gaze for a long moment before her eyes were drawn to the rustling branches of the tree. She released a breath as something small thumped on the hardwood.

“What the bloody hell is that?” Kol’s eyes narrowed. His mouth twisted into a frown as Elena spun around and lay out on her stomach to poke her head under the tree again.

She shimmied forward a few inches and his eyes traced the length of her spine, admiring the drape of her skirt. She wiggled enticingly as she moved into place and gave a tiny grunt of exertion. He had to admit he enjoyed the sounds she was making, but then a second sound came from under the branches: a high pitched giggle.

The laughter swelled as Elena backed up, shifting onto her knees.

His eyes grew round and for a split second he forgot how to breathe as curious blue eyes turned on him.

“What is that?” His eyes flicked to Elena.

“You missed one,” she swallowed, cradling the small baby to her chest. “I know you’re old, and that it’s probably been awhile, but you should be able to recognize a baby.”

The boy regarded Kol with nothing but curiosity in his eyes and he had yet to scream blood murder; those coupled facts told Elena her suspicions were likely correct.

“It seems he slept through the entire ordeal,” she bounced the baby gently before setting him on wobbly legs.

“And you brought him here?” Kol backed up an inch when the baby reached for him. “Why?”

“Was I supposed to leave him there, surrounded by the dead?” She chewed her bottom lip. “I couldn’t do that. I brought him here until I could find his family.”

“Klaus thought you looked familiar,” he listened to her pounding heart, “it’s only a matter of time before the glamour wears off completely, if it hasn’t already.”

“I can’t go outside,” her breath shook. House arrest, again.

“Not until the glamour can be renewed,” he shook his head, “and as I’ve said Freya will be gone for a bit.”

Elena nodded and took a deep breath. Her eyes shifted back to Kol. “I guess that means you’ll have to do it,” she got to her feet, balancing the boy on her hip. “Let’s call it your penance.”

She headed to the door, pausing when he called out.

“If he has no family?”

Elena turned her eyes to the baby. He had stuck two fingers in his mouth. She watched him for a second and then glanced back over her shoulder. A lump formed in her throat.

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

2011

“There’s no chance I can talk you in to staying, is there?”

Elena paused on the sidewalk. She pivoted on her heel and came to face him with a playful smile on her lips. Her eyes twinkled.

“You are nearly a hundred years old. Do you really want your old mom hanging around?” She held his elbows in the same way she had as a child; the only difference being that she didn’t have to kneel down to his level anymore.

“I’ve missed you,” Thierry shrugged, “Marcel has too, even if won’t admit it. I just have to prepare myself for when we get to the end of the street and you leave New Orleans.”

“If you want I could stay; it would piss Klaus off enough that he would probably come looking for me.” She tilted her head, releasing his arms to clap her hands together. “I could stay and show your lovely girlfriend you baby pictures; tell her about the time when you were three and refused to take a bath. Do you remember? You went running out the front door completely naked.”

“You know what,” he spun her around by her shoulders, “on second thought; you’ve been waiting almost a hundred years for this. I’d hate to take that away from you.”

Elena laughed as they came up on Caroline and Bonnie where they leaned against the car. Caroline flashed a cheeky grin.

“So this street you lived on… was it crowded?”

“I forgot you were a vampire,” Thierry muttered.

“Very,” Elena grinned, “and it was right about the time people were returning from work.”

“Mom!”

“Sorry, sweetie,” Elena giggled.

“Why do I get the feeling that this car ride will be filled with embarrassing stories about me?” He crossed his arms.

“Mothers brag about their kids,” Elena smiled. She stood on tip toe and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I know it’s been eighteen years, but that’s no excuse for not calling your mother.”

He rolled his eyes. “I’ll text you every day and call as often as I can,” he promised, “I love you, mom.”

“I love you, too,” Elena adjusted her purse. She took the second bag from Thierry and loaded her things in the trunk. With one last goodbye she climbed in the car.

@elejah-wonderland @elejahforever @eternityunicorn @morsmornte @fandomrulesall @xanderling @cry-btch @kol-and-elena-fanfiction @geekofmanyfandoms

[doof-doofblog]

"We've Got Him!"

Monday 16th March 2020

Good evening folks! How are we all doing? How was your weekend? It's a brand new week and once again I have some #SPOILER news for you! I'm sure the majority of you have already heard by now, but EastEnders have revealed that Mick and Linda will be leaving ...... (Hold your breath! Not the soap!) .... the Queen Vic! Yes, it has been made known that Mick will be selling the Vic in an attempt to help support his wife overcoming her alcoholism. We know Linda is on the road to recovery, but obviously Mick feels living under in the legendary pub is only going to be harrowing reminder for Linda, best case scenario, get her away from temptation as soon as possible! So the question that will be on viewers lips will obviously be ... Who will be the new Landlord and Lady of the Queen Vic?! Now I've been thinking about this ... I know a few names have been thrown into the hat, but my thought strategy was ... Sharon?! Think about it ... She's currently homeless right now, she's been thrown out of the Mitchell house hold, after the revelation of Keanu being her baby father, she's currently living with Ian and Kathy as they have very kindly put her up until she's back on her feet, we know she's currently grieving for the death of her son, and she's due to make a heartbreaking decision ... what if it she gives up her new born son, then decides to make a new start for herself and return to the one place she felt safe, the place she spent her childhood, the place she used to call "Home" .... The Queen Vic! Plus of course Linda is best friend's with Sharon, she will trust her to make sure The Vic stays a running success! Who else could possibly come close?! To me, it seems like a no brainer, but then again ... I could be completely wrong! .... Who do you guys think should/could be the new Landlords of the Queen Vic?! I'd really love to hear your take this one!

Also, new pictures have been released of Phil's return, viewers will know that the last time we saw Phil, he was a passenger on a rescue boat, during the boat crash, and he watched from a far as young Dennis was pronounced dead. New pictures reveal that he will return to the Square on the day of Dennis's funeral wanting to speak to Sharon. Where has he been? And what has he got to say to her?!

In other news, Shelley makes an appearance at The Vic, on the looks of things to cause a bit of trouble. Fans will know that Linda attempted to befriend Shelley outside the school gates of Ollie's school, but it soon turned sour as Shelley looked down on Linda! Will Linda now take a charge and stand up to Shelley?! Do you feel for Linda or do you think she kinda brought it on herself after the way she acted, due to her alcohol addiction?! I'd love to hear what you guys think! 

Now, tonight's episode ... ooooh so much to focus on, it seems a few of characters are struggling to move forward, to name mainly, Sharon and Keegan! Okay, so, let's start with Keegan ... I am feeling a little sorry for his character right now, I get he feels like people look at him in completely the wrong way due to the colour of his skin. He gets treated differently by the police, receptions and now solicitors. Is he ever going to get the loan he desperately needs to get his business off the ground? I'm starting to feel sorry for Tiffany too, as she's having to try and console Keegan as much as possible, and support him in the best way she can, being the doting wife, but for Keegan, it just isn't enough. He seems to think that Tiffany just doesn't understand, but I think she really is trying to. The conversation Keegan had with Denise, I found it very sweet. We haven't seen these two characters come together this way and share a very meaningful conversation. Denise clearly understands Keegan's frustration, I think it was nice for him to have someone there who actually gets it! With Denise being the same colour as Keegan, she's experienced exactly what he is currently going through and can shed some light on it for him I guess. I, personally, never released that (some) coloured people still suffer racial abuse, it's the 21st century, we should be well and truly passed this! I hope Keegan will try and move forward and eventually get some luck, he's been through a tough time and deserves to make something of his life!

Oh, so Ben is going to go ahead with the operation?! Let's hope to god it brings back his hearing, or at least helps to some extent. I don't believe he'll fully recover but I do believe he'll able to communicate a little better even if his hearing ability increases by just the smallest amount. I still think EastEnders are portraying this story-line brilliantly, still showing Ben hearing muffled sounds, it really puts it into perspective. Oh no! Danny's back! What could he want?! He knows what happened at the boat crash and he knows Phil is currently away ... what on earth could he be back on the square for?! I really hope Ben doesn't make a huge mistake and get involved in some dodgey deals because he basically couldn't understand what Danny was saying!! I think Danny obviously knew Ben had lost his hearing, otherwise he would never have shown his face, I think he's taking advantage here, Phil isn't around and Ben is vulnerable ... kinda makes the Mitchell clan look weak, and we all know that the Mitchell family has a history of hold up a reputation. I can see it now, Ben being dragged into a dodgey deal he can't get out of, Phil comes back while everything is going on and there'll be nothing he can do to help but try and get revenge on Danny .... what do you guys think could be in store for the Mitchell's now? And what do you think Danny could be back for?!

I just want to put it out there .... Max and Isaac?! Who thought of those two becoming pals?! I feel sorry for Patrick, the more we see of Isaac, it seems the more disappointed Patrick is of him. Would it make much difference if he knew he was his Dad? I'm not so sure, I think we'll see more anger coming from Isaac. Although, it was a really sweet gesture from Patrick to celebrate the life of Isaac's "Dad". Maybe this could be the turning point? Could Isaac now warm to Patrick? Guess we'll have to wait and see!

Awwww man, I just want to hug Sharon. She looks so run down and depressed and as if she's had no sleep at all! She looks a white as a sheet! I know I've said it before and yes, i'm going to say it again! She just doesn't want her new born son does she?! She had to be forced to go and register him, she asked Linda to bathe him for her and she got so upset over a twisted wheel on the pram. I get she's grieving, but Linda is right ... Kayden also needs his Mum! I can't see her carrying on to be honest, I still believe that she's going to give up her newborn, what else could her heartbreaking decision be? She's just too soaked up in grief, she can barely interact with anyone. I was beginning to wonder whether EastEnders will show Dennis's funeral, I mean it would be cruel not to I think, in the circumstances the character passed away. It would only be right to give Dennis a good send off, right? Or maybe it should be very quiet and very personal, what do you guys think? Can Sharon ever move on from this agonising grief?

Okay, time to focus on Chantelle and Gray. Did anyone else see the bruises on Chantelle's ribs left behind after the beating from Gray? I noticed that she was ignoring every word Gray was saying to her while she was doing the washing, Gray was doing all the talking and she didn't respond to a word he said, and yes, I hope that made Gray feel guilty, as he knew he'd done wrong! Poor Chantelle could barely move around the kitchen, I did fear that he was going to lose his temper with her again because she was ignoring him, but it seemed to do the trick, he clearly felt more and more guilty. The way she flinched as well before she left to go to her second job, she's visibly shaken and scared of him. But things could be looking up .... I was literally talking to the TV when Gray was in Whitney's bedroom "Look up! Look up!" and then when he saw it "Yes! Yes, Gray!" ... HE KNOWS LEO WAS IN THEIR ATTIC!!!!! Finally the break-through, literally, everyone has been waiting for! Gray can start to build a case and prove that Leo was stalking Whitney, Whitney will get to have her say in court and hopefully if they have enough evidence, Whitney will be free and Gray will be back at work! ..... Of course that may be false hope, this is EastEnders we're talking about, it is just a start anyway, I'm sure Gray has a long way to go to prove Leo was in Whitney's attic and also stalking her ... I've always said they need to find Whitney's diary ... what ever happened to that? Maybe it's long gone but even so, there still could be a twist and it still could be found?! Who knows? But hopefully, if things go well, Whitney will eventually get out of prison and Gray will be back at work, which may even stop him feeling completely under pressure and stop lashing out at Chantelle. This is of course wishful thinking, I have no idea what's going to happen next but, I feel, it's all looking positive! What do you guys think? Will Gray be able to save Whitney? How long will it be until the Taylor's find out about Chantelle's abuse?! Please leave me any theories or thoughts you may have to any of the current story-lines happening right now, I'd love to hear your input!

Thank you guys for your on-going support! I hope you guys enjoy reading my blog as much as I enjoy writing it! I'll be back again tomorrow for another blog, looking forward to seeing what happens next! Goodnight ya'll! xXx