#but my point is that i feel like it wouldn’t sit well with extremists. but i’m not actually sure like i haven’t really done any digging

[titsthedamnseason]

to clarify i DO NOT support zionism in any way, shape, or form like at all so this isn’t meant to be a defense for zionists and honestly i could be wrong but i do feel like all the stuff with noah schnapp is extra weird because i’m not sure a lot of actual hardcore zionists would even like what he’s saying? i go to a university with a pretty high jewish population and while obviously i recognize that not every jewish person supports israel, i know a very good number of “zionist and proud” students that i am either friends with (prior to knowing they were zionists. quite frankly maybe even prior to THEM knowing that they are zionists) or just have to interact with because of work and class. and to many people you might see my continued conversations with them as problematic and not at all nuanced which is super fine that’s your choice but personally i have found it really interesting because in the past i’ve been much more of the “politics in a bubble” kind of person where i only care to interact with people that subscribe to my beliefs and avoid others at all costs but i’ve been able to have a lot of really interesting conversations around this issue and speak my piece in very civil settings which i’ve really valued.

anyway, all this is to say that while i haven’t asked (yet), i’m pretty sure the phrase “zionism is sexy” wouldn’t be seen as support to them and might even be considered offensive? like the israel supporters that i DO know take it very seriously and are very convinced in their minds that israel is a victim in this situation and that israelis and jews are facing very real, immediate, and large-scale danger. just to imagine on the flip side if someone was saying “free palestine is sexy” or “supporting palestine is sexy” it would really put a bad taste in my mouth because it’s trivializing something that is such a serious issue/conflict. there’s a time and place for joking / simplifying politics and this international humanitarian crisis is NOT one of them. to summarize, i think noah schnapp sucks from literally all angles and maybe this issue can temporarily unite our divide if we can all just agree to make sure this man never works again and then all go back to hating each other !

[skarmoree]

midnight pharmacy (hit and) run

G, gen, neopolitan & roman torchwick

Roman's partner is feeling a little under the weather, as much as she tries to hide it from him.

written for @sicktember day 3: cramping pain, and day 20: hiding an illness

read here on ao3 / full fic under cut

“What are you, turtles?” Roman shouted, leaning back in his chair to watch the White Fang members move dust loads, “pick up the pace!”

Phase two. Move an entire warehouse worth of dust to a secondary location. Roman, as always, had found a way to weasel out of any heavy lifting, deciding to waste time instead by yelling at everyone else to get a move on.

Neo had found entertainment in plucking dirt specks off Roman’s hat, sitting on the table with her legs swinging gently.

“Really, Neo,” Roman commented to her, dropping his chair back onto all four legs, “you could’ve gone to supervise the other end.”

Neo straightened the feather.

When Cinder had sent the coordinates, Roman had been initially doubtful about any operation out of Mountain Glen working. What was a city abandoned to the Grimm going to do? And then he found they would be working from underground, with a handy path right underneath Vale itself, and things started to make a little more sense. What wasn’t making sense was Neo sticking by Roman’s side, knowing that he liked to have full control over their work, and leaving their new base’s supervision in someone else’s hands was… unlike her.

There was a heavy thud, and Roman’s head shot up. “You morons do realise you’re transporting live dust, correct?” he yelled over his shoulder, “try not to get us all killed!”

“Sorry sir!”

“If you’re sorry you won’t let it happen again!” Roman pinched the bridge of his nose. “I need a cigar.”

Neo transformed into that green lackey of Cinder’s, and mimed flicking a lighter.

“Curse that brat,” he muttered, “How didn’t I catch her dipping into my pocket?”

There was the tell-tale sound of Neo dropping the illusion, but if she responded any further, Roman didn’t see, leaning forwards so his elbows were on the table, still pinching his nose.

“They get harder to deal with every time, those kids,” he said, “and their boss— it’d be easier to pull this kinda thing off with all the details.”

Roman practically had all of Vale under his thumb. Cinder had other ideas. Bigger ideas.

He wasn’t fond of all of those said ideas, but money was money, no matter how dirty. Still, at least they provided him with the men needed to pull off whatever task they wanted— even if they were extremists from a human-hating organisation. But they did their jobs well enough, and ran cheaper than Junior’s hires— he’d daresay they were better too, even if just for the ability to work at night.

Roman sighed, straightening up so he could get to his feet, picking up his cane from beside him as he did so.

“I mean,” he continued, “they want me to speak at a rally? Me? I know I’m brilliantly persuasive when I need to be but come on— in front of a bunch of—” he broke off, waving his hand about vaguely.

“You never have to worry about this, of course,” Roman said idly, leaning on his cane to look to Neo, “consider yourself lucky.”

Neo pointed to herself innocently.

“Yes, you!” he replied, “though I do think an entire presentation led by you would be riveting, I fear I’d be the only one to keep up.”

Neo stuck her tongue out at Roman, setting his hat down and sliding off the table to cross the room to their pile of plans, underneath their lovingly annotated map. On top was the blueprint to the Paladin they’d managed to get their hands on, a scribble of Roman’s head in the cockpit. Neo had been very smug when she showed the art to Roman, and he proudly announced he would stick it to the fridge once they were done hiding out in this place.

Which wouldn’t be any time soon, going by the crawl the White Fang were moving at.

“We can’t move this by daylight without the cops swarming it instantly,” Roman shouted to nobody in particular, shoving a guy to move faster as he walked past, deftly grabbing a dust crystal and tucking it away into his own pocket. Easy. “and I’d rather take as little time as possible so we can get this show on the road.”

All the while, he watched Neo’s back, curiosity piqued. Though Neo wasn’t acting strangely, something felt… off. If it were anyone else, Roman would dare say they were being less chatty. But as it were, Neo was carrying on, business as usual.

There! She leant forwards, bracing her hands against the table for a moment before standing straight again.

“Say, Neo…” Roman began, and she swivelled on her heel to face him, one hand out for balance. He trained one eye to it, only to watch her seamlessly bring it up to sign a ‘what’, tipping her head to the side. He had to give her credit, she was good. “You feelin’ alright?”

She blinked at him, eyes switching colours. It was a trick she had picked up fairly recently, but it wouldn’t throw him off the scent. Another beat, and she gave him a wide grin, nodding firmly.

Then, she leant back against the table, crossing one foot over the other, watching him.

Classic standoff, then.

Roman leant back against his own table, letting his cane dangle from the wrist as he folded his arms. She mirrored the movement, catching on.

“You didn’t skip your way over there.”

Neo raised a single eyebrow, as if to say ‘I don’t have to skip everywhere, dummy’.

“You’ve been quieter.”

The eyebrow rose higher.

“In your own way,” Roman corrected, “are the extremists getting you down? Do you want to go on a good ol’ heist? Will that make you feel better?”

Neo shook her head, an exhale running through her whole body, shoulders deflating.

“But you love heists.”

She shrugged noncommittally, eyes returning to their natural sides, not bothering with keeping up her Semblance. She’d held onto that face earlier for an alarmingly short time, too.

Roman let out a dramatic sigh. “I suppose I will have to make this robbery on my own, then.”

Neo waved goodbye, not rising to the bait.

“Come on, you always jump to join me!”

In any other circumstance, Neo would mock him literally, jumping up (or at the very least rise up onto her toes). She didn’t even do that; instead just flicking her wrist in the approximation of one.

“How much sleep did you get last night?”

Neo’s answering glare was withering, and she held up eight fingers.

Roman gave a low whistle. “Eight, huh? Impressive. I only got two, myself.”

Neo pillowed her cheek on her hands.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll go to bed early tonight.”

She waved around at the warehouse, containers being loaded onto ships, White Fang members pushing trolleys and crates. Then, in slow motion, she pointed out the window to the moon.

“Already late. Going to take all night.”

A nod.

“Then I’ll sleep through the day,” Roman said, “my schedule’s already ruined beyond repair at this poi— hey don’t turn this about on me!”

Neo Signed an ‘oops’.

Roman jabbed his cane through the air at her. “So if you’re not tired, then what’s the problem?”

She shook her head.

“You might be a professional liar, sweetheart, but you can’t fool me,”

The gesture Neo made with her hand needed no translation.

Roman gave an over-the-top gasp, dropping his cane back onto the ground, free hand pressed to his chest. “Oh, my poor, innocent eyes!” he cried, “how will I ever survive you saying such a thing?”

Neo leant further back against her table, hint of a smile on her face, but nothing more.

“I don’t want to have to keep needling you,” Roman said softly, voice carrying across the warehouse with ease, “but I am worried, miniboss.”

Nothing, not even a batted eyelid to the nickname.

He took a step forward. “We’ve always told each other everything,” he said, really pushing the softness in his tone. He had to sell this. “I know you. If you’re not well, I don’t want you to force yourself and make it worse.”

He took a few more steps, closing the gap between the two of them. Neo didn’t move, watching him approach. Another step, and he could see the tense line of her shoulders, the knit of her brow. She really was holding something back, and Roman watched her for a moment longer, trying to piece things together.

“Have you been drinking water?”

A nod.

“Eaten?”

Another nod, slower, eyes narrowing in suspicion.

“What,” Roman held his hands up in surrender, “are you gonna arrest me for expressing concern? I’ve committed worse crimes this week alone.”

She pursed her lips together, turning her face away. Roman took that as a sign to continue.

“Headache? Sore back? Heels hurting your feet?”

Neo pulled a face, before she transformed her face into her father’s. Roman let out an offended gasp.

“How dare you compare me to that man!”

She dropped the illusion, shoulders rising towards her ears. Was that too far?

Roman let out a sharp bark of laughter. “Wait, hold on—” he got out, “was that a ‘you're not my dad’?”

Neo stared at him for a beat, before she slowly nodded.

“Oh that’s hilarious,” Roman said, delighted, “he’d roll in his grave at it. Anyway, have you taken any painkillers for those cramps?”

She got halfway through another nod before she froze.

Hook, line, and sinker.

Roman spun to end up next to Neo, hiking himself half up onto the table, cane over his knees. “Really now, did you think I wouldn’t catch on?”

She humoured a so-so motion directed towards him. He sighed.

“Do you usually take painkillers?”

Neo pointedly refolded her arms at that, and Roman huffed out a noise halfway to a laugh, “it’s not a weakness to need them, you know. You’re as stubborn as they come, but if you need a little medical marvel to help you get through the day, I can’t blame you.”

Her shoulders lowered a little, and she shifted to face him a little more. He nodded down to his cane. “Please, Neo— I’m the last person who would deny aid.”

Neo’s expression softened, and Roman counted that as a victory. “So what do you need? Ibuprofen? Paracetamol? What’s that good shit called, codeine?

She shrugged in response, and Roman chuckled, “buyer’s discretion, alright.”

He went to move, but Neo tapped her wrist, where someone would usually wear a watch.

“I’m sure there’s a twenty-four hour pharmacy somewhere in the city,” Roman said. He crossed the room again, hooking his hat with the end of his cane as he walked past, setting it over his head. “Hold the fort. Make sure these animals don’t ruin all our hard work.”

Neo stomped twice to get his attention as he reached for the door handle, and Roman turned to look at her over his shoulder. “No, I’m not actually buying them, what do you take me for?”

Satisfied, Neo nodded, before slouching.

“Really weighing on you, huh?” Roman said, somewhat of a fond smile flitting over his face. He reached into his pocket, warmth from the fire dust crystal blooming in his hand, even through his glove. They had a warehouse full of the stuff; nobody was gonna notice one teeny tiny crystal go temporarily missing. And hey— it was for a good cause.

“Here, catch,” he called, throwing it towards Neo. With her quick reflexes she caught it easily, blinking at Roman in confusion.

“Heat helps. Take it easy while I’m gone, miniboss— no world domination plots, okay?”

He didn’t need to know Sign to know she said ‘no promises’.

_____

“Hello, I would like to steal your finest painkillers, please and thank you.”

The girl behind the counter looked up, eyes widening. She reached for a button, presumably an alarm, but Roman cut her off with his cane; “ah, ah, ah, none of that.”

“T-Torchwick!”

“Good, so you know of me,” Roman said, pleased, “so you’d know, then, that my recent exploits have all been dust-related.”

Eyes still gigantic, the girl nodded.

“So you must be wondering why I’m in a pharmacy, of all places.”

Slowly, the girl retracted her hand from reaching for the button, visibly trying to stay calm. “The thought- the thought is crossing m-my mind now, actually…”

Sure that she was no longer going to raise the alert, Roman waved a hand in dismissal, turning to the shelves to start picking through them for what he was searching for. “Well, unfortunately for you, I’m in a hurry, and I don’t have the time to explain my motives.”

“E-even villains need me-medication from time to time…?”

“Ooh, villains, I like that,” Roman said, comparing the dosage of two different brands, “usually I’m just called a criminal. You like stories?”

“Y-yes,” she kept glancing towards the button. Distract her.

“You got a favourite?”

“The boy and the beowolves.”

Perfect.

Roman hooked his cane over his forearm so he could have both hands free, reaching for another box. “That’s the one where the boy keeps raising the alarm about Grimm attacks, right?”

“Yes…” she glanced to the alarm button again, hand twitching.

“And when the huntsman arrived, they never found any evidence, and eventually stopped believing him?”

“Y-yes…” her response was quieter this time.

“See, here’s the fun thing about petty robbery, sweetheart,” he sidled back up to the counter, two kinds of painkillers in hand. For good measure, he nabbed a few chocolate bars from the front display, leaning against the counter.

Her eyes really were huge, if they widened any further they were bound to pop out of her skull. “There’s not enough evidence for there to be proof.”

“We- we ah, have security cameras.”

Roman nodded sympathetically, “of course you do,” he said, “and how often do they deter shoplifting?”

“They… they don’t.”

Roman couldn’t help the grin that spread over his face. “Correct. Farewell, now!” he called over his shoulder, voice dripping with sickly sweet false care. “Hope your boss doesn’t get too mad at you for this— you really don’t get paid enough for the trouble.”

By the time the girl had recovered enough to think about hitting the alarm button again, he was gone, shelves straightened up with no gaps in the products, boxes facing label forwards.

She mentally started writing her two weeks notice.

_____

Neo had taken up residence in Roman’s chair while he was gone, chin resting on one arm, the other still curled up around the dust crystal, holding it to her abdomen. One of the ships had taken off, leaving the warehouse significantly more empty than before, the remaining White Fang members still clearing it out.

Roman considered yelling something else at them for his own entertainment, but decided against it, striding across the floor towards Neo.

“Here you go,” Roman said, tossing the pilfered goods at his partner, “two kinds so you can stack them, and some chocolate as a bonus. Good to see you didn’t explode the place while I was out, that would’ve been terribly inconvenient. Months of work, up in smoke.”

Neo waved a hand around at the warehouse, expression reading something close to ‘did you want that to happen?’

“You deserve a pay raise. Truly.”

Neo rolled her eyes and got to work opening one of the packs, signing a quick ‘thanks’ to Roman.

“It was nothing,” he replied, “believe me, I know how terrible those cramps can be. Can’t say I’d try and brute force my way through them, though.”

Neo moved her hand to her mouth like she was drinking from a glass. Water.

Roman chuckled, pulling out a bottle and tossing it her way as well. “Didn’t forget about that,” he said.

Taking two tablets and chasing them up with water, Neo stuck her tongue out to show Roman she’d taken the medication. He laughed, knocking his cane into her leg.

“I don’t need to see that!” he complained, shooing Neo out of his chair. She resumed her occupation of the table, screwing the cap back onto the water and setting it beside her.

Roman dropped into his chair, tipping it back to rest his feet on the table beside Neo.

“Now, where were we?”

She cupped her hands around her mouth, as if yelling.

“You’re so right,” he agreed, before raising his voice to carry through the warehouse, “if any of you want to see even a hint of a lien for this work, you best hope you’re not slacking!”

Neo’s wheezy breath of a laugh was all he needed to know things would be fine from here on out.

[darklydeliciousdesires]

Paradise Circus - Chapter Two.

Since y’all loved the first chapter so much, have another! 

Previous chapters - One

Tag list - In the comments

Words - 2,938

Warnings - 18+ content throughout. NO MINORS, PLEASE!

“So, let me get this straight. You claim to love animals, yet you have no qualms about the abuse they suffer in the name of the meat and dairy trade?”

“Yeah, yeah I do. I think there can be a separation there, because certain animals have always been intended to be eaten. We’re carnivores, we’re supposed to eat meat. Imagine how the evolution of man would have been affected had we not been a carnivorous species.”

“I’m sorry, Tommy, but I have to correct you there. We’re omnivores, and back in the times of early man, they weren’t presented with an ample choice, an abundance, in fact, of dietary alternatives to animal products like we now have, so your point is moot, really, if you think about it.  

“Also, you say certain animals have always intended to be eaten, but that differs vastly from culture to culture. Do you agree with the dog meat trade in China, for example? Have you heard of the festival they have out there in Yulin?”

“Yes, I’m very aware of Yulin,” he was able to interject with when she paused for breath.

“Dogs are snatched, people’s pet dogs in some cases, and locked in cages before being horrifically tortured and then eaten. Surely, you’re not comfortable with that?”

“Of course, I’m not, but...”

“But you have no qualms about a cow being led into a slaughterhouse, terrified out of its mind, smelling death in the air all around, wondering where the safety of its pasture is, or their friends are, before it’s slaughtered?”

“Um...well.”  

“And there, see? There you have it.”

Oh yes. Tommy had it, alright. He had the measure that Darla was perhaps one of the most self-righteous people he’d ever met. In fact, during a lively debate, she bordered on sanctimonious. He remembered that she could be a little superior when she was younger, but now? It seemed extremely amplified to him. It wasn’t the only example of that side of her nature, either.  

“Now, you call yourself hard left in your views, but can you not see that the extremist tactics of said hard left are often just as bad as those upon the hard right of the political divide? Believe me, I have no love at all for the right wing, or their propaganda, it fucking disgusts me, to be honest, but I cannot in good conscience condone some of the approaches of the hard left to being heard. Except for punching Nazi’s, that I whole heartedly condone. But torching innocent people’s businesses, their livelihoods during riots, for example, I ain’t cool with that,” he reasoned, Darla draining her wine and being just as quick to jump in as he expected he would.  

“Extreme actions are often all people have left to resort to, out of frustration of not being heard, of being repressed and down trodden by right wing fanaticism. If talking worked - and believe me, we’ve tried it – then we’d keep on keeping on, but doesn’t give a lot of room for much else in the name of voices being heard. You being a centrist is perhaps worse than hard right. At least they’ve picked their side. You? You perpetually sit upon a fence.”  

“I didn’t claim I was a centrist,” he began, feeling frustrated. “I just said I don’t condone mindless extremism being resorted to. I lean to the left, but not the hard left. You forget I’ve seen the results of that, what I’ve fought for out in Iraq, against those who are the very embodiment of extremist in their views.”  

“Then you’d have to agree that at times, you have to fight such power with an equal, opposing force, would you not?” She put to him, niggled at the way he seemed almost blasé in his opinion.  

“No, I wouldn’t. I believe the left can and should do better than lowering themselves to the actions of the right. Anyway, do you want another drink, or are you gonna bust my balls even harder, because they’re pretty banged up already.”

She couldn’t help it, how expressive he looked when he said it, chewing a little aggressively on his toothpick too. She snorted with laughter before falling apart, watching as he slowly began to smile. It cut the tension nicely. “I’m sorry, I just get really into debating. Comes with the territory, being a lecturer. And yes, please.”  

He got up, leaving her to sit and cringe, closing her eyes as she had to concede that this was perhaps the worst date she’d been on in a while, and with the guy she least expected it to go badly with. They were so different on virtually every topic they discussed. In fact, not just differing. They were poles apart. The meat eating and left/right divide weren’t the only subjects they’d clashed on that evening.  

How could two people who had gotten along so well throughout their childhoods be so glaringly mismatched? Because they were no longer children, Darla surmised. They’d grown, been shaped by their very different lives as they’d become adults. It wasn’t like when they used to share a gigantic bag of Ruffles and watch WWF wrestling on a Saturday afternoon any longer, both cheering for Macho Man Randy Savage, Ultimate Warrior and Hulk Hogan. Their only disagreement back then had been who was scarier; The Undertaker or Papa Shango.  

Even musically, they were so different in their tastes. She loved indie rock, trip hop, grunge, RnB and drum n’ bass. He preferred rap, classic rock and metal. “I can’t bear Nirvana. Kurt Cobain was a great lyricist, this much is true, but his vocals were just so flat. And his wife! God, don’t start me on her. She sounds like a bag of feral cats being hit with bricks.”  

Darla had virtually needed a winch to pick her jaw up off the floor at those particular assertions.  

The only common ground they did seem to have was that regardless of their many and varied disagreements, they both couldn’t help but find the other extremely pleasing to their respective eyes. He was wearing one of those black vests that showed off his huge, ripped physique, all tattoos and brawn, exactly her type of man. To Darla, he was utterly mouth-watering. Her outfit choice of a high neck top and a pair of shorts of a respectable length, but short enough to show off her fantastic legs had Tommy equally transfixed. She truly was a stunning looking woman.  

In order to sweeten the mood, when he arrived back at the table, Darla decided to steer the conversation in the direction of the past, of a simpler time, when they had much less in the way of derisive division. After that, the night seemed to be redeemed somewhat, but she was a little deflated by the fact she knew that there would be no second date. They were just too different as people, not enough common ground to agree upon and way too many ideals that conflicted to make it anything other than the kind of clash that just wouldn’t work.

The way he looked, though. God, the way the man looked, and the way he looked at her. She could only describe it as quietly predatory. It wasn’t overt at all, but she damned sure couldn’t discount the want in his eyes as they continued to drink and talk, feeling her head spin a little for the five large glasses of wine that she’d had, Tommy in much the similar state after the same number of beers, plus a couple of shots he’d had at the bar, trying to bolster himself as he realised that what he’d once hoped would be a good night with her, had turned out to mostly be anything but.  

His longing for her, though, it still lingered. In fact, it was likely amped up by the Jameson’s. Perhaps the shots weren’t the best of ideas he could have had. Or were they?

Teetering on the line between not fully drunk, but not exactly sober, he eyed her from across the table, her eyes, hazel with a green flare illuminating her irises, locked upon him, lost within her own lustful thoughts. That body. She was consumed by the wondering of how it would feel to have such a weight on top of her, to feel him, let her hands tour every last rise, dip and curve of those enormous muscles. As for Tommy, all he could imagine was how those long, silky legs would feel gripped on around him as he drove into her without reserve, and it was beginning to distract him.  

“So, let’s be real. Tonight? Awful. I mean, you’re a nice guy, don’t get me wrong, but you see the thing is, we’ve grown apart. We’re just too different now, aren’t we?” Darla stated as they walked away from the bar together. It was crowded and she needed a little peace, so had called her Uber to meet her down at the next block. Her app told her he was three minutes away.

“I think that’s a fair assessment. It’s been good to at least catch up, though,” he replied, scratching the back of his head, feeling awkward.  

“Though I do think the night isn’t a complete bust. Or rather, we could do something to change it so that it isn’t.”  

He caught her drift, but couldn’t help being playful. “Oh? What did you have in mind?”

Lifting her chin, she fixed him with a look, one that made a shiver tear straight through him. “Come back to my place and you’ll find out.”

“I think that can be arranged.”

Their shared stare was weighted, heavy with intention, yet they didn’t act. Throughout the ten-minute Uber ride back to her place, they sat separately, silent, just fizzing with anticipation not yet touched upon, the brush of Darla’s leg as she uncrossed them against his hard thigh making the hairs at the back of his neck stand on end.  

They were moths, edging ever closer to the flame.  

The air thickened in density between them after exiting the cab, Darla opening the brownstone front door and walking the short distance to her ground floor apartment, her heart pounding as she felt him behind her, letting herself into her home and turning, her back against the door as he closed the gap.  

That was the moment they finally let their wings singe, mouths captured in a kiss, the desire flowing like a burst river bank, nothing left to contain it. Not that either of them wished to. Immediately, she sated herself upon the consuming need to feel him, delicate, gold ring adorned fingers exploring his muscles, the thick meat of his traps, his biceps, his abs as she reached to pull his vest over his head, kissing him once more as her hands smoothed down his broad, hair smattered chest.  

God, the man could kiss. Those lips. Full, sensuous, gorgeous. He kissed her with every ounce of urgency coursing through him, guided entirely by his loins, nerve endings beginning to throb with awakening as he lifted her. Entwined, he carried her to her bedroom, Darla kicking her heels off enroute, the mattress soft against her back, the press of him hard as he caged her against it. She spoke to her Google home, telling it to play her Massive Attack playlist, before her mouth returned to his.

Her head swam, inebriated with wine and rampant longing, only losing the heated tangency between them to undress one another impatiently, his hands gliding over her legs, so silky and long. She smelled of orange blossom, a scent that flooded his nose as he laid open mouthed kisses upon her elegant neck, her soft moan causing a jolt to run through him, his mouth finding her nipples and sucking them in turn. She arched against him, whispering his name, her eyes a hazel bonfire as he paused, staring at her.  

She was even more beautiful while under the heady duress of her arousal, Tommy admiring her, flushed lips agape, panting softly, pulling him back to her, claiming his mouth with more scorching kisses. The passion within him bordered on insanity, his lips leaving hers to tour her body, Darla feeling heat buzz beneath her skin as he kissed her chest, breasts, arms, torso, hips, oh, how he lingered over her hips, licking each dip, blowing cool air over the wet trails, watching goosepimples rise up in response.  

The rousing scent of her womanhood caught his nose, his mouth moving to kiss her inner thigh, parting her legs, watching her sex spread for him. It was a sight that went right to his cock, stiffening more to see her, fingers stroking the bare flesh, his tongue to follow. She gasped, that first wide, flat lick of his tongue catching the entirety of her slit, pushing between her petals, circling her clit and trailing back down to probe gently at her opening.  

The small strip of pubic hair remaining upon her neatly waxed mound tickled at his nose, the further he pushed his tongue inside her, Darla shuddering as she felt herself so thoroughly licked upon the inside, her hands fisting at the sheets beneath her. Pleasure streaked down her spine, pooling at his tongue, his groan at feeling her dampen his mouth so deep and gritty, it made her stomach turn pleasantly, intensifying when he returned his licks to her clit, thumbing the hood, making it stand out to each careful flick of his tongue.  

“Oh my god.” She whispered, eyes fluttering shut, her long nails trailing his scalp as she writhed against the heavenly ministrations of his mouth. He licked at her with all the precision and skill as she’d touch herself with her own hand, her body humming with ecstasy, hardly able to believe how good he was. At the bar, they’d clashed, but now? They merged together so effortlessly, their bodies so in tune with each other.  

Her arousal escalated sharply as he began to quicken his tongue, thirsty against her, sucking her bud gently, increasing the pressure little by little, until she was crying out. 

“Fuck, Tommy! Oh fuck, I need you, need you inside of me,” she gritted, her head thrown back, thighs shaking as his big hands smoothed over them, his mouth emerging from between them, tongue swirling over her stomach as he kissed his way back up her body.  

“Is that what you want, huh? Want to get dicked down, beautiful?”  

“Mmm, right now.” She demanded, and with one easy slip into her heat, there he was, exactly where she needed him to be. Her mouth dropped at his size, her soaking walls stretched wide by his thickness, almost every last inch of him invading her. His brow furrowed, a long breath leaving him as he kissed her neck, settling atop her as they began to move against one another. It was slow and rolling, the exquisiteness burning them both to their very marrow, Tommy arrowing into her with long, powerful thrusts, a slight rotation of his hips making stars shoot through her groin.  

Oh, that man. He knew how to fuck.

In life, they were mismatched, but in bed, it was perfect. Utterly perfect.  

The feel of him rutting against her, dragging wetness from her cunt with every thrust, her dew bathing his cock entirely had Darla softly mewling in utter delight, moving fluidly against him as she panted against his thick shoulder, his mouth finding her and stealing hot kisses from her beautiful lips.  

He was tight and heavy within her, imposing and unimaginable in size and prowess, the power and rhythm of his fuck making her dizzy and drunk on him, his big hands grasping her delicate face as their tongues entwined, his teeth grazing her lower lip in a soft bite, his moans gone to utter gravel. She was sexual bliss, absolute erotic heaven, his hands tangling in her beautiful ombre curls, fingers weaving through dark brown and blonde, losing himself to her.  

A grumbled groan welled in his throat, hips jerking and sending him deeper, her walls fluttering around him instinctively, a whimper spilling over her lips as he dragged sparks through her core, pleasure taking root and coiling around the base of her spine, like a vine about to ascend.  

He began to pound into her with unhinged vigour and boundless determination, syrupy bliss stirred in her loins, Darla’s hands running down his back and delighting in the feel of every rise and fall of his chiselled, bulky muscles, drinking him in, savouring him while she had him there, relentless between her thighs.  

The sounds of Paradise Circus, one of her favourite songs filtered through the air as he bore down into her strongly, his cock hitting her deep, bright glimmers ignited, her nerves snapping as she felt herself ascending.  

His moans were primal and unabashed as he spiralled towards the same climactic state, fucking her with powerful intent, sensing her release was just as imminent as his. He held his weight up on his forearm, reaching between them and pressing his thumb to her clit, rubbing tight circles until she clenched strongly and cried out, breathless in her beauty as she came hard, his cock erupting as his sun shone over her horizon, blinding him, reducing him to nothing but a trembling wreck on top of her.

“Have you got the energy to do that at least another three times to me?” she panted, Tommy arching an eyebrow at her.  

“Only three?”

Yes. He’d most certainly be staying over that night.

A/N - Now, here’s the really, really important part. Did you enjoy it? If so, please don’t just redundantly click that heart. Reblog it. Also, I love to engage with my readers, so a little comment would not go amiss either! Doesn’t have to be long, just reach out. I’m all about building community here and there is nothing more lovely than readers and writers supporting one another!

[spectral-musette]

Hey! I hope you’re feeling better :) Could you do some older Obi Wan and Satine in an AU where they both live, The Emperor doesn’t get away with his craziness and we just have a happy Obitine living out the rest of their lives? :’)

Hey Anon, we all love some happiness AU now and then.<3 I wasn't sure if you meant fic or art, so I did a little bit of both? (And by "older" i wasn't sure if you meant like "transforming into Alec Guinness" older, but the ficlet (~1500 words) ended up set just a few years after the end of the war.)

. . . . .

“So early?”

The sun hadn’t yet risen above the jagged Coruscant skyline, and the pink morning light softly illuminated the room as the city lights began to wink off. Satine pushed her hair out of her face to better observe the lovely man sitting up next to her in her bed, bare-chested and lightly freckled, his own hair charmingly disarrayed as well.

He bent, kissing her temple, his beard soft against her cheek.

“I promised Cin I’d lead a saber workshop this morning.”

Satine rolled onto her back, reaching up to smooth his hair as he straightened. “Then I shan’t try to entice you to stay. Since you gave your word.”

“Your very existence entices me to stay,” he countered, smiling a little. “Always.”

“Oh, very nice. Early morning flattery.”

“Genuine,” he protested, making a show of looking wounded.

“Always?” she challenged, raising an eyebrow at him. “That’s a bit difficult to swallow in light of your 15 year absence from my company.”

“Believe me, I was very enticed,” he promised, kissing her again.

“You might have to convince me. But later, I suppose.” She heaved a sigh.

“I can probably get away in time for a late brunch,” he offered.

She shook her head slightly, pushing herself up reluctantly from her comfortable nest of pillows. “Padme wants me in a meeting at midday.”

“And the Chancellor must be obeyed.”

“Well. This one, anyway,” Satine said, with a twist of a wry smile. She meant no offense to Padme’s direct predecessor in the office, the Prince of Alderaan, but, even all these years later, they all still lived in the shadow of what Palpatine had nearly done to the Republic.

“I’ll see you this evening, then.” He pulled his undertunic on over his head, and Satine smoothed his hair again.

“I suppose, compared to 15 years, that’s not so long to wait.”

“It will feel like an eternity, I assure you.” He gathered her into his arms.

“If you keep that up, you’re going to be late. And what will you tell all those impressionable padawans if they ask what kept you?”

“They wouldn’t dare. My dear Satine, our relationship is the absolute worst kept secret in the Jedi Temple.”

“Worse than Padme and Anakin’s?”

“At this point, I think so. The arrival of the twins rather disqualified them from ‘secret’ status.”

“How is the new training system working out?”

“What, letting the Skywalkers go home with their father at the end of the day? It certainly hasn’t seemed to impede their progress compared to their peers. A few other families are trying it as well. A couple from Lothal just brought their son to us on a similar schedule and will be living on Coruscant for a few years at least.”

“I’m looking forward to learning about the process in great and personal detail when we are also no longer able to maintain the pretense of secrecy.”

He hitched up her chemise, resting a hand against the large scar below her sternum, pale even in comparison to her fair skin. If it hadn’t been for her long recovery from the damage to her spine, the Skywalker twins might already have a playmate. As it was, it was only about a year since she’d been healthy enough to consider trying to conceive.

“As am I,” he promised, his touch tender as he settled his hands on her waist and kissed her forehead.

“It does seem strange to watch the Jedi Order bend,” she pointed out when he picked up his outer tunic from the floor. She wasn’t above goading him a little, now and then.

He shook his head, taking it serenely, as usual. “We do change. It usually takes a bit more time, but with our ranks so thinned by the casualties of the war, relaxing the requirements for initiates only makes sense.”

“And ignoring the amorous exploits of Jedi Knights so that they make more initiates?” She ran her fingertips lightly over his face, leaving a lingering touch on his mouth.

“We more or less always did that.” He kissed her hand.

“I recall being a bit more discreet in the past.”

“That was for your sake, not mine,” he pointed out. “I might’ve had some official censure for being indiscreet, but I expect most of my cohorts were more likely to congratulate me on having the good fortune of catching your eye.”

“Well, the Mandalorians couldn’t deny that you’re handsome and a fine warrior, but, indeed, the situation would’ve been rather disagreeable at home if we’d been exposed, at the time,” she agreed.

“Do you miss it?” he asked softly.

“What, the ugly, hateful rhetoric and death threats from Mandalorian extremists?”

He shook his head. “Home. Sundari. Mandalore.”

“Sometimes,” she admitted. “Bo is doing well, though. She’s wiser than she used to be. Sometimes I wonder if it shouldn’t have always been her on the throne.”

“She’s ruling what you rebuilt. Do you think there would’ve been anything left if it had always been her?”

“More flattery.”

“Also genuine.”

“I like that you think that, anyway,” she admitted. “Hadn’t you better go?” she asked, regretful.

“I could skip breakfast,” he offered, leaning in to kiss her neck.

“And go to teach while you’re hungry and cross? I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she countered, giggling a little.

“I would not be cross,” he denied.

“Well, not at first. Anyway, I like that you suggested it, but you’d better not.”

“Actually,” he said, drawing back and giving her a twist of a smile. “There’s plenty of time. Workshop’s not till midmorning.”

“Then why all this pretense of getting dressed?” she demanded, indignant.

“One doesn’t like to assume. You might’ve wanted to go back to sleep.”

“My dear Obi-Wan, when have I ever preferred to go to back to sleep rather than…”

She didn’t have time to finish her sentence before he kissed her deeply.

. . . . .

(Evening...)

. . . . .

Satine wrapped her arms around his chest, nuzzling against him until he suddenly winced, breath hissing between his teeth.

“Old injury or new?” she asked, stepping back and looking him over critically.

“New. Nothing serious, I just think I overdid it at the saber workshop today.”

She circled him, running her hands over his shoulders.

“You’re all in knots,” she scolded. “Get your tunics off. Do you think you pulled something?”

He moved to oblige, flinching again. "I hope it's just a muscle cramp."

“Oh, let me.” She nudged his shoulder so that he turned to face her again, then ran her hands along the familiar lines of his tabard down to his waist, working at the fastening of his belt. “I don’t see why you didn’t go see the Healers.”

“It only just started to really trouble me.”

“Is that entirely honest?”

“You mean, I didn’t want to give some young upstart the satisfaction of saying he’d sent Master Kenobi to see the Healers? You think I’m that vain?” he asked, as she proceeded with divesting him of his tunics. He could afford a little vanity, she reflected, admiring the graceful lines of musculature of his lean form and leaning to plant a light kiss between his collar bones.

“I think you are… mindful of your reputation.” She couldn’t help smiling a little.

He snorted softly. “Perhaps I am … a little vain.”

“So who can I blame for this injury?”

“Me. Showing off,” he confessed. “I could’ve just held my ground, but I gave it a little flourish to make it a good show. I ought to have known I was getting too old for that sort of thing.”

“And did you win?”

“This time.”

“I understand that you enjoy teaching these workshops, but I don’t see why it has end up in an all out duel against opponents half your age.” She pulled him down to the bed with her, running her hands over his back carefully to gauge the sore spots.

“Is that meant to suggest that they have the unfair advantage or I do?” He rolled his shoulders under her touch as she started the massage.

“I’m sure both are true, in different ways.”

“Very diplomatic,” he assured her. “I suppose they want to test their mettle. I know I did, at their age.”

“And did you challenge the reigning swordmasters?”

“Certainly. And got soundly trounced for my trouble.”

“And now it is your duty to do the trouncing?"

“It is.”

“Can’t you leave it to Anakin?”

“Anakin does his share.”

“So who was it that almost beat you?”

“Young Dume. Depa’s apprentice.”

“Yes, I met him when he escorted Senator Syndulla’s daughter to the Chancellor’s office. He seemed like a sweet boy, I suppose I can forgive him.”

“Don’t be so quick to pardon. One of these days, he’ll win. Or Suduri will, or half a dozen others.”

“And then will you go see the Healers?”

“Why would I need to, when I can get such fine care here?”

She shook her head even as she smiled, leaning down to kiss the back of his neck.

[amiedala]

SOMETHING MORE (the mandalorian x reader)

CHAPTER 28: You Wanted Proof

RATING: Explicit (18+ ONLY!!!)

WARNINGS: sexual content & descriptions of violence

SUMMARY: “Where the hell did you go, you scared the life out of me—”

And then you’re done talking, because Din pulls out a ring. You gasp, choke back a sob, and stare at it. It’s a simple silver band, but the structure and strength of it looks exactly like the beskar his armor is made out of. You inhale again, staring at it, and when you get close enough, you see that there’s something carved on the inside. It’s a star, the same one you embossed into your necklace, and around it, the words “ni kar’tayl su”, light but intentional. You try to breathe, but all you’re doing is sobbing, looking frantically from the ring in Din’s palm to his open face, and when you cross the divide between the two of you, seizing his glorious cheeks between your hands, he meets you in the middle.

“You wanted proof,” he says, again, and everything feels dizzying and starry and huge. You feel your heart rush with the feeling of belonging, that something more that started right here, in this same spot, on this barren planet, months and months again. “Last time, I didn’t have a ring. But I do now, and I’m never leaving your side again.”

AUTHOR'S NOTE: HELLO MY LOVES AND HAPPY SOMETHING MORE SATURDAY!!!! i had such an emotional time writing this chapter, and i hope y'all love it!!! this chapter is dedicated to Brittany Broski (yes THE kombucha girl) because she recommended SM to all of her followers?!?!?! i am still in shock!!! Brittany if you're somehow seeing this, i love you <3

more notes at the end angels!!! enjoy!!

*

When your consciousness fades back in, everything is starry and dreamy. Kicker’s design has a lot more open windows than the Crest did, so you open your eyes to the blurred galaxy slowly traipsing by, an ache deep in your skull, the feeling of prolonged sleep heavy on your bones. You rub at your eyes with your fingers, shifting to find Din, because even though there’s light in here, he’s still good at avoiding it. When you turn your head to where he’s sitting, faced away from you in the pilot’s seat, you see the Darksaber hanging out of his hands, his head low, his vision intense.

You skip by it at first, cataloguing the way he looks—haunted, exhausted, hungry—and then your eyes find the wicked beacon again and something clicks into place. You shoot upwards with a gasp, rocketing your aching body up by the heels of your hands, wild and shocked.

“You’re awake,” Din remarks, quietly, and you point at the saber held in the palms of his gloved hands.

“I just had the craziest dream,” you say in response, heart still hammering. “We—we were in a city, getting shot at, and after you patched me up, you told me you were the ruler of a whole entire planet and then just…let me go to sleep.”

That gets a smile. Just a little one, his pink mouth quirked up at the edges, his eyebrows still hesitant. You’re not used to seeing Din’s full face, watching his bare skin shift and change in real time, even though you’ve catalogued every inch of it, it still feels off. “I hate to break it to you,” he starts, lowly, “but none of that was a dream. And the bacta knocked you out, so you needed the rest.”

You laugh. It’s not full, it comes out disjointed and too loud, but it’s enough to coax you to sit up straighter and stare at it. “What…does being the ruler of Mandalore entail, exactly?”

Din stares at you, down at the Darksaber, and back at you. “Bo-Katan didn’t tell me,” he sighs, finally, and you can tell he’s reluctant, but you also know he’s been keeping this in for two weeks, maybe more, and so you scoot closer to where he’s sitting on the floor, trying to show him you’re attentive, that you’re listening. “I—she told me about the saber, when I went on that mission with her and her…Mandalorians.” He grimaces at the word, like it tastes rancid in his mouth. “You were there on Nevarro when I told her I didn’t want it. I have no interest in it. What do I need a weapon like that for, anyway? I just wanted to get it out of Gideon’s hands.”

You nod. “I remember.”

“Well,” Din sighs, looking back at the weapon in his hands, “she didn’t tell me why she wanted it. She gave that whole speech about wanting to—to have it returned to the rightful leader of Mandalore. I didn’t care, honestly, at that point. All I wanted to do was protect you and the kid and kill Gideon. But when we…we asked for her help, when Cara and I were going to attack Gideon and save Grogu, Bo-Katan told me again that the Darksaber was hers. I agreed. But she didn’t tell me that the weapon has to be won in battle for it to…belong to someone. Gideon had the Darksaber. I fought Gideon. I defeated him, so I took it out of his hands. I tried to give it back to her,” Din exhales, low and long, dragging a hand over his face and stubble, “but she wouldn’t take it. I told her she could fight me for it, even, that I’d roll over for her and let her have whatever ceremony she wanted, but she just stared at me like she wanted to kill me. Eventually, I just let her take Gideon back to Mandalore, because I didn’t…know what else to do.”

You nod again, slowly. “So…so you can’t challenge her to a duel or something?”

Din looks at you, incredulous. “I tried—”

“What about a thumb war?” you ask, and you’re not trying to make light of the situation, but a laugh starts bubbling up in your throat and you press your lips together. “Like, a real one, with a ring, Cara as the referee. You just…let Bo-Katan win, and that’s it. No harm. No foul. Just sore thumbs.”

The look on Din’s face is totally unreadable. Just as quickly as it started, your laugh evaporates back down your throat, and you lean in closer to him, immediately wanting to apologize. You’re not sure why, you just know that there’s something deeper to all of this, something more. “Apparently, I’m a zealot,” Din says, finally. “My…my clan, who raised me—they’re descendants of purist, extremist group from back on Mandalore. Before it was sieged, before—” he cuts off, abruptly, and you know he’s frustrated. “I wasn’t born there. I don’t even know the history of the planet,” Din continues, tiredly. “And it seems that I don’t know what it means to be a true Mandalorian. How am I supposed to be anyone’s ruler?”

You bite your lip. You lean in closer, and when you lift your hand to touch his face, you feel him relax under your fingertips. It’s not a lot, but it’s enough. “For what it’s worth,” you whisper, cocking your head to the side, stroking your thumb across his cheekbone, “I think you’d make an excellent one.”

“I don’t know the first thing about being in charge—”

“You’re a father,” you interrupt him, quietly. “To the strangest, strongest, alien baby in the galaxy. You’ve protected us—and countless others—from certain death. I’d say that’s more than enough credentials to be deemed a fit leader.”

Din stares at you. “Except,” he says, hollowly, “I don’t have my kid anymore, I’ve shown my face, and with the way Bo-Katan and her group hate me, I can’t imagine Mandalore would ever accept me as their ruler.”

You swallow. Your breath hitches in your throat, caught on words that aren’t there yet. “Din—”

“I just—” he starts, then cuts himself off, eyes drifting from yours down to the Darksaber in his grasp. “I don’t want to,” he admits, his voice low. “I—I miss being a bounty hunter. I miss not having the fate of the galaxy in my hands. People relying on me—you, the baby—having to do this all—I want to go back. I want it to stop.”

It’s your turn to stare. “Wow,” you say, quietly, dropping both of your hands away. “So taking care of your family is a burden to you.” And you don’t mean it, because you know that’s not what he meant, but your fiancé begging and hoping to go back to a time before you were in his life, before his child was either, cuts deep. And it stings, the more you look at him.

“Nova,” he starts, “cyar’ika—” and then Din cuts himself off, hands dropping the saber to the floor, leaning earnestly towards you. “I don’t want to go back to that. I never—I never want to be without you again. I’d be the ruler of ten planets if it meant I go to keep you by my side. I just—”

“It’s a lot,” you finish, quietly, hands fumbling at your collarbone for the necklace that isn’t there. Immediately, you feel horrible. “I know.”

Din looks back at you, hooks his finger under your shin, gently forcing your gaze to return to his. “For what it’s worth, I’m going to help you save the world,” he whispers, and you know he’s exaggerating, but his promise, free and so gentle, makes everything in your body quiet. “I’ll follow you anywhere.”

“For what it’s worth,” you repeat, the words so quiet that they’re barely air, “Mandalore would follow you anywhere, too.”

Din’s gaze is complicated, complex. You don’t know what he’s going to say, and when he does, you have to strain your ears to listen. “I didn’t mean it, when I said I miss being a bounty hunter. I don’t miss anything from before I met you. I—I just want my life back. The one with you, and our kid, and the ship we called home.”

You lick your lips, looking slowly out the window at the crush of space. Even without looking, you feel Din’s eyes follow yours, tracking the luminescence, and just for a second, you hold the two of you there. “I’m here,” you remind him, finally, “and this is a new ship, but I think we can make it into a home. And…” you trail off, grabbing both sides of Din’s face gently, gravitating his eyes back to yours, “Grogu might not be here, right now, but he’s always ours. And I think we both know that between the three of us, there’s nothing in this entire damned galaxy that can keep us apart. What was it that you called us back on Dagobah? A clan of three?”

That small smile works its way back onto Din’s face. He nods, just once, resolute.

“Clan Djarin,” you whisper, leaning in to kiss the man you love, “is pretty resilient, you know.”

“Oh,” Din mouths back, and you let him come the rest of the way to you, meeting you in the middle, “are we now?”

“You’re a Mandalorian bounty hunter, I’m the Force sensitive punching bag of the new Empire, and Grogu, our child, is older than the both of us and off with the greatest Jedi Master we know of,” you murmur, feeling the weight of your foreheads bumping together, “I kind of think we have to be.”

When you kiss Din, you let everything run out of you backward, trying to clear your mind. And when he pulls you onto his lap, guiding you as close to him as physically possible, you feel your knee crash up against the saber before it skitters away, back under the dashboard, into the darkness. You kiss him, letting the thing roll away from the both of you, too preoccupied with the security you feel to care about where it lands.

*

Hours pass. The two of you doze, on and off, and when you wake up for good, you check the nav system built into the dashboard to just see where you are. You’re not in much of a hurry to dock anywhere, truthfully, because you’re enjoying the uninterrupted coast through space, and the last time you were on a planet, the both of you nearly died, but there’s something pulsing under your skin. It’s alive in the same way your worry has been, the anxiety of knowing something big and scary is coming. It’s restlessness, you realize, everything about your fight or flight activated in both directions at once. When you get up for good, you slip away to the fresher, letting the hot water roll over your face, your aching shoulders, your tired muscles in your legs from always running. When you’re clean, you step out of the shower, studying your reflection in the tiny little mirror. You press your fingertips lightly to your face, puffy from sleep, trying to decide if you still look like you used to, or if the past year of love and fighting and loss and everything in between has settled permanently in the ridges of your face.

When you dry off, slipping back into fresh clothes, you take extra time to catalogue all the pockmarks of scars drawn into your skin. As always, you spend extra attention on the jagged, lightning bolt shaped thing running across your stomach. No matter how many years pass, none of it fades away. The skin is still raised slightly, a memory of the ache, and every time you press on it, you can feel it, residual. The other battle scars you’ve accumulated since are smaller, each one trackable, quantifiable. This one—and the way it catalyzed the rest of your life—stands triumphant, eternal. You let your shirt drop back down over it before you spend too much time staring at it.

The second that you climb back up the ladder, you realize something is off. Din is half-clothed, and you’re ready to lay back down on the floor with him and let him undo all the cleaning you just did, but he stands and turns around at your reappearance.

“What’s wrong,” you say, immediately, voice catching on its way out of your mouth.

“Someone called,” Din says, and his voice sounds off. “Tried to reach you through the comm system. I couldn’t tell who it was, or what they wanted.”

You stare at him. “Did you pick it up?”

Din looks from you to your commlink, his gaze skipping back over to you, his full eyebrows furrowed in concern. “I…tried to,” he answers, finally, “but it seemed corrupted. Listen for yourself,” he continues, pressing the microphone into your hand. You fold yourself down into the pilot’s chair, squinting out at the space slowly streaking past the window, knowing neither of you are currently under attack, but no one’s told the anxiety bubbling back up into your chest.

Slowly, you press the playback button. Din’s right—the voice is scrambled, tinny, off-putting. It sounds like random, grotesque grunting. The rhythm of it doesn’t sound much like a language. Even though you can’t understand it, you’ve heard the natural cadence of dozens of different languages, and the sounds playing back to you are warbled and disjointed, and you can’t get anything viable out of it.

“Weird,” you mutter, under your breath, sliding your fingernail between your teeth. You press the button again and again, let the voice spin down to nothing until you’re sure you’ve listened to it enough to gain any kind of insight, and you give up, letting the noises warble and stomp their way to their incongruous end, seconds of loud screeching building up until it cuts off. The feedback makes both of you cover your ears.

“Did you get anything?” Din asks, lowly, and you shake your head. “I—I thought you had the contact system disabled.”

“I do,” you whisper back, bringing up a knee to your chest, resting your cheek against it, gaze flipping from Din to the comm to back to Din. “I can only make outgoing calls right now. My tracking’s off, too, and there doesn’t seem to be a lot of traffic out here in this part of the galaxy.” You hesitate, scanning the space around you frantically, making sure that your guess is accurate. It is. There’s no one out here except the two of you and the small asteroid fields that flux and flow, and the silence that was once comforting is now unsettling. You stare again at the commlink before you attach it back to the dashboard, pulling up your exact coordinates, trying to locate the two of you. You’re coasting through the bridge between the Mid Rim and the Outer Rim, a vast no-man’s-land. The planets are scattered haphazardly, and you check the fuel gauge, trying to see how much longer you and Din can stay out here, floating, unnoticed.

“Nova.”

You barely recognize your name’s been spoken until Din asks it again. You spin back towards him, biting down on your lower lip. “Yeah?”

He hesitates before moving a step closer to you. Maker, he’s so tall. The two of you have been in this exact position countless times, you sitting, him standing over you. It doesn’t intimidate you anymore, how large he is, how present his body is, but it’s still exhilarating to have him eclipse you. “How are we doing on fuel?” he asks, and something deep buried inside of you tells you that wasn’t the question he was initially going to ask.

“We need more soon,” you answer, softly, trying to figure out what his original point was going to be. But Kicker starts beeping, and you turn your attention back to the dashboard, trying to figure out what she needs. And, right on time, the little lever built into the fuel gauge has shifted to empty, and you sigh, setting the course to the next planet in the nav system. “Have you ever been to—” you squint, trying to sound out the name in your head before speaking it aloud, but you’re not in much luck, “—Khubeaie?”

Din stares at you blankly.

“Yeah, me neither,” you say softly, letting Kicker navigate her way down into the planet’s atmosphere. It’s night, so everything is cast over in deep blue shadow, but the city seems to glitter even in the silence. You park in a nearly empty landing bay, and when you stand up, Din’s already almost completely dressed. He stares at his helmet, and you pick it up off the ground and press it into his hesitant hands, nodding at him. “I know,” you whisper, “but remember the last time we were on the ground without you armored up?”

He looks at you to the visor on the helmet, his deep brown eyes intent and wary. “It still feels wrong,” Din manages, and his voice is still so unsure that you feel your heart ache in your chest.

“I know,” you repeat, reaching your hand up to graze against his face, thumb tracing the pattern over his groomed mustache, letting him settle into your touch. “It’s safer this way.”

Din nods as if he’s steeling himself, and then he inhales, pulling the helmet over his head. You offer him a small smile, the corners of your mouth upturned and reflected against his armor. You pull on your jacket over your nondescript clothes, adjusting the shawl you got back on Cantonica over your shoulders to pull up over your hair if you’ll need it. The atmosphere here is sultry and shifting, the darkness cast over the tall buildings amorphous. You’ve never heard of this place, but with its proximity to Tatooine, you’re not surprised that the people here a mix of the same locale—mostly humans, some Twi’leks, a Rodian or two. It’s easy enough to blend in, and when Din falls into step with you, you slide your palm into his, squeezing, to reassure him that everything’s okay, but when you go to drop it, he just laces his fingers through yours even tighter, the two of you silent, walking hand in hand.

“Here,” Din says, quietly, and you look up at a glowing sign that indicates a fuel source in the back. You follow him into the market, looking around for the exits. The second you step into the light of the store, you pull your shawl up over your head, trying to disappear between the aisles as you restock some of the nonperishable food and the bacta the two of you have burned through since the last refuel, and you pull out your small bag of credits to pay.

Din doesn’t come back. It takes a minute, and then another one, and you’re starting to get nervous. The clerk and the other customers don’t seem to be paying you much mind, but after the events on Cantonica, and Takodana, and Ryloth, and Tatooine, you don’t take passivity as innocence anymore. After a few more minutes, you exist the store, shoving what you can into your pockets, peering down the alley that Din disappeared in.

Something about it is off. It give you that same uneasy feeling that kept running cold through your veins back on Kicker, the same anxiety rush that the Darksaber comes with—powerful and intense and not entirely yours.

“Mando?” you call out, quietly. You step gingerly down the cobblestones, trying to keep your footsteps as light and intentional as you can. It’s dark down here, darker than the shifting streets, and it’s a longer path than you would have imagined, but when you turn around to check that you’re not being followed, the street is open and clear in the dim moonlight. “Hey,” you call again, not daring to use Din’s real name, “where’s the fuel?”

Still nothing. The toe of your shoe catches on a cobblestone, and you go down to the ground, hard and fast. You groan, cursing under your breath, pressing your scraped hand to the street, trying to regain your balance before you haul yourself up, but the alley disappears. You gasp out in the darkness, and at first, you think it’s just because the moon is hidden, but the way that the blackness pulses and swallows you doesn’t feel like it’s from natural causes. You’re plunged into another vision, so quickly you get motion sickness. You’re on the ground. When you look up, there’s that violent clash of red and blue again, and that version of yourself that’s running to get in the middle, to blast apart the energy sources—or the lightsabers, you can’t make them out from this distant—is heavy and laden with desperation. You can feel it, wet and hot, muscle memory from something that hasn’t happened yet, and then you hear a noise behind you, so you turn. Suddenly, everything is raining, the ground soaked, your clothes pooling in rivulets all over the ground. You can’t even see two feet in front of you, and when you get plunged underwater, you struggle against the sinking tide, trying to find the right way up. Your name is called, once, then twice, and you scream against the current—and then you’re on solid ground again. It’s like this vision, this type of premonition, doesn’t have anything specific. Everything feels huge and thematic rather than predicting glimpses of what it’s about to happen, like you’re in a dream state and everything is vivid and garish and loud and will slip away immediately when you get pulled out of it.

And then you see him. The baby. He’s sitting on a rock, maybe, or a cliff, you can’t tell, and his little fuzzy head is tousled in the wind, his big bug eyes closed shut, his tiny green palm raised into the open air. You yell out Grogu’s name, and you start running. He doesn’t look like he’s in any danger, it looks peaceful, but that same exact dark feeling bubbling up in your chest says otherwise. You’re running and running as the ground falls away, and you scream out, trying to get to the baby, trying to get there before you fall through the cracks again, and the second you make it there, within an arm’s reach of his glorious little body, something dark and dangerous spits through the air, slicing into you. You yell, thrown backwards, as the shadow completely engulfs you, and, horribly, you get thrown back into the present. You can feel the cobblestones under your hands, the ground hard and weighted underneath your touch, and when you feel yourself come into reality again, Din’s there, standing over you.

“Nova,” he says, his voice low and concerned, “what just happened?”

“Vision,” you manage, gasping, eyes fluttering as your face gets dragged upwards so Din can inspect you. You shake your head back and forth, trying to clear your mind. “I—it was a weird one. Where the hell did you go?”

Din shakes his left hand, the one not on your face, and you register the sloshing of the fuel can before your eyes adjust to the point of recognition. “I was getting us fuel,” he says, gloved hand grabbing at your chin.

“You were gone for a long time,” you manage, finally sitting up fully, your breath catching in your chest. “How far does this alley go on for?”

Din cocks his head at you, visor looking out at where you are. Right in front of you, not even a full foot from your touch, is the end of the alley. Frantically, your head flails from side to side, and then you realize the fuel is a few feet away, a market stand in the dark. You swallow, embarrassed, when you see the owner and his patrons stare over at you.

“Weird,” you mutter, rubbing at your eye, the one still starry and disjointed from your premonition. You get the same unsettled feeling that you did when the feedback from Kicker blared out. “I could have sworn this went on for miles—it doesn’t matter. Did you see me come out here? Did you see me fall?”

Slowly, Din shakes his head back and forth. “No,” he answers, finally, and the gentle, bracing way he’s talking makes your heart accelerate again. You nod, slowly, trying to keep yourself under control, but you’re panicking. Between the odd, screeching message back on Kicker and completely misinterpreting the alleyway, you’re shaken up. Not much, because you don’t scare easy, but enough to feel like you might slightly be going crazy. Eventually, Din pulls you to your feet, and you follow, keeping a close eye on the shifting city around you, intentional about where you plant your strides.

The refueling process is easy. It’s the one procedure on Kicker that she doesn’t fight, and she takes far less gas than the Crest ever did, so it’s much easier to spend your credits on more fuel. Din offers to do it while you start programming in where you’re going next, and you climb the gangplank and scale the ladder, biting your nail as you ponder where to go next. You miss Hoth. You miss Nevarro. Honestly, you miss Kashyyyk most of all, and that’s where you want to go, but you don’t think that the isolation of being there would give you any favors. You have to call Wedge and tell him about what happened on Cantonica, and some part of you really wants to call Cara. She’s not as cut and dry as the Alliance is, but she’s big and strong and every time you’re in her presence, you’re not on high alert. You know Din’s probably not in any hurry to get back to Nevarro now that he’s the one being hunted, but, selfishly, you want to go there.

“Hey, cyar’ika,” Din says, startling you out of your reverie. “Are you okay?”

You nod. Hesitantly, at first, and then stronger. “I’m just trying to decide where we go next.”

Din sighs, long and heavy, and then his fingers are hooking under the rim of his helmet and pulling it off. “Do you have any idea what to do from here?”

You shake your head slowly. “No,” you admit. “I don’t like being aimless, but I also don’t think running wildly around the planets in our closest proximity is the safest thing to do, especially after Cantonica. I know that was our initial plan, but with how much we’ve been attacked, I think it’s safer to let the rest of the New Rogue Squadron poke around for evidence because they’re less likely to be detected. I hate it. I…” you trail off, looking out the window, and your eyes catch on something. You think it’s just the strange, shifting darkness around the both of you, but something feels off. Din calls your name, and you snap out of it, back into your conversation. “I think we need to find out what the Order is,” you continue, even though it makes your heart hammer in fear. “I…I don’t know how. I wish I did. I’m sorry. I feel a little out of my depth.” Admitting it feels like climbing a mountain, but the second the words are out of your mouth, you feel like you can exhale a little better.

Din looks at you, and then he pulls you, gently, to your feet. “I’m not scared of them,” he says, cradling your face between his two big hands. “I don’t know what they want with us, and I don’t know how to stop them. But I also know,” he says, sighing, “that between the two of us and the people standing in the sidelines, we can take them on.”

You give him a small smile. Your heart aches in the same way it did way back on Yavin, back when Din took you home, when he proposed. It feels like a lifetime ago, but it’s so vivid and so clear. That same tug is pulling on your heartstrings, and you can’t place it until your hand goes to close around your necklace that isn’t there. You swallow.

This is how it felt. When you were a teenager, when the Alliance was on the brink of collapsing the Empire. Your parents held each other like this, a warm and steady constant through such turmoil. You close your eyes, just for a second, and imagine them here with the two of you, ready to fight back.

But when your eyes flutter open again, Din’s gaze isn’t on you anymore. It’s locked on the window, behind you, and as you spin around to see what he’s staring at, you see it. You weren’t imagining a figure earlier, and it wasn’t the smoke and mirrors of the darkness. Someone’s out there. You gasp as Din’s eyes narrow, and before you can stabilize yourself, his helmet is up and over his head and he’s descending the ladder, lowering the gangplank.

“Hey!” you call, racing after him. “Din! What are you—”

A blaster shot rings out over your head, and you scream. It isn’t your finest moment, you have to admit, but you’re shell-shocked and you have no idea why Din is racing towards the figure, into the dark of the night, on an unfamiliar planet, running away from you again even though he promised you the rest of your battles would be fought together. You stare as he runs, and then you’re getting shot at again, and you duck and cover, rolling back up into the ship and accelerating the lift of the gangplank. You swear, catapulting yourself up to the cockpit, maneuvering Kicker around, because you have no idea who’s shooting at you. It’s not stormtroopers. It’s not the smaller force of Gideon’s troops, either. Whoever’s sending you the blasts, you’ve never seen them before. You punch in the sequence needed for liftoff, praying to the Maker and the ship gods above that Kicker listens to you. She does, and you breathe sighs of relief as you navigate into the air.

Again, you’re being blasted at, and anger sets in. You’ve lost sight of Din and the figure, and you don’t want to abandon him here, but you’re getting shot at from somewhere in the darkness, and you don’t know what the hell else to do.

And then your comm buzzes again. You’re expecting the weird bleeping, so you roar a very uncharacteristic “what?” into the mouthpiece, forcing Kicker straight upward.

“Whoa,” Wedge’s voice comes through the line, and immediately, you buckle.

“Don’t get me wrong, Wedge, because I am so thankful to hear your voice, but how the hell,” you pant, dropping out of the artillery range of whatever—or whoever—is shooting at you, “did you get through to me?”

“Your callsign was reinstated,” Wedge says, confused, and as you get shot at again, you scream out of sheer frustration. “Nova, what’s going on?”

“If I knew,” you pant, scanning the shadowy grounds for where Din disappeared, “I’d tell you. Have you gotten any—weird calls, or anything? Scrambled radio waves? Anything like that? Strange things keep happening to me,” you admit, voice slightly lowered.

“No,” Wedge answers, but there’s an edge to his voice. If you weren’t so preoccupied with trying not to die, you would interrogate him, but whatever’s volleying blasts at you is so persistent that you can’t even ponder why he sounds so strange. “Listen, Nova—”

“Do you know anything about the Order?” you yell, punching in the code for the thermal tracking sensor. The ground is covered with life forms in the shadows, so it’s hard to identify where Din ran off to, but you squint and scan it, looking for a heat signature that matches his.

“The…the Jedi Order?” Wedge asks, his voice crackling.

“No,” you interrupt, immediately, “definitely not. We ran into some…unsavory people on Cantonica that mentioned it to me. Apparently,” you say, swinging around to inspect your creaky artillery, “they want me for something. The man, the one who—it doesn’t matter. He told me ‘What died didn’t stay dead’.”

On the other end of the line, Wedge is quiet. “What did he mean?”

You sigh, frustrated, exhausted. “I don’t know,” you manage, and you hate the way the words taste in your mouth, heavy and stonewalled. “And now I’m getting shot at. Again. Every time I think we know what we’re up against,” you say, firing a round of blasts off into the general direction of the other ship, “something new unfolds.”

“Nova—”

“What were you going to say earlier?” you say, and when you realize you’ve cut Wedge off again, you wince. “I’m so sorry,” you apologize, genuine, “I’m—I’m not on my game.”

“I heard from Luke,” Wedge says, and then you catch glimpse out of the corner of your eye. It looks like a green lightsaber flash, even though it’s not, even though it can’t be. You squint, and then the full weight of what Wedge just said hits you, and your attention is immediately snapped back to the comm.

“What?” you ask, voice wobbling with something you don’t entirely understand.

“I heard from Luke—” Wedge repeats, and then whatever’s screeching in your commlink cuts him off entirely, and you scream out into the noise before you realize the connection’s lost. The ship in the darkness is shooting at you again, and this time you’ve had it. You yank up on the controls, hard, and Kicker groans as you accelerate her into the sky.

“I know,” you whisper, voice too jittery to be placating, “but you need to work with me, Kicker.” Reluctantly, she does, and when you roll over into your signature move to shoot back with all the artillery you can muster, something shiny flies up in front of you, obstructing your vision. You yell out, slapping your own hands away from the controls before you can shoot Din and his jet pack out of the sky. “What the fuck!” you call, and you know he can’t hear you over the ships’ engines, but with how loud it is, you think he might be listening anyway. Din flaps his hand at you, and you move backward, away from the city, landing just on the outskirts on a pile of gravel. You pull your blaster back into the holster, hand outstretched to the Darksaber, which flies back into your hand as if it’s being called. You stare at it for a second, still so conflicted about the sheer power it radiates, and then your grip tightens around it, storming down the ladder and lowering the gangplank. You don’t have your shawl draped over your head, you’re not being nearly as safe as you should be, especially since you don’t know who was trying to ground you, but you’re rattled and on edge and scared, and you hold both weapons in your hands, preparing.

The other ship blasts out of the darkness and shrouding of the city, and you stare. It’s such a strange shape—a flat back on the rear end, the cockpit round but menacing—and you glare at it, eyes following it all the way to the ground. You start to storm forward, and then Din lands in front of you, stopping you in your tracks.

“Din Djarin,” you say, so low that anyone outside of a one-foot radius can’t hear you, “you better have a good excuse as to why you’re stopping me from fighting back against the ship trying to shoot me out of the sky—”

“I do,” he says, and his voice is low and urgent. “I know them.”

You stare at him as two figures emerge from the ship, and Din steps in front of you as they break into a run, shielding your body with his own.

“Stop,” he says, and both of them do. It’s dark, and you can’t see very well, but you see the long, multifaceted black braid hanging off one of the silhouette’s shoulder and you realize with a jolt that it’s Fennec Shand. Your eyes refocus on the stockier, set figure next to her, and as he steps into the light, you see his face and your heart jumps. He’s older, and he’s marred and scarred from the time he spent in the Sarlacc pit back on Tatooine years ago, but it’s Boba Fett. Your heart jumps in your chest. “It’s us.”

“Why,” Boba Fett starts, his voice low and dangerous, “are you in that ship?”

You stare at him. “Because the Razor Crest was blown up and we needed another vehicle? Also, if you know him,” you continue, voice shaking slightly, pointing to Din, “why are you shooting at us?”

“Where is the Jedi?” he asks, staring at you.

“No Jedi here,” you say, voice still unstable, “unless you mean the untrained one with the weapon of ruling Mandalore in her hands, and then here I am.”

“He must be here,” Fett continues, and you look back and forth between everyone, trying to understand what the hell he’s talking about. “I saw his lightsaber. I saw the ship.”

You look back at Kicker. “Who?” you ask. Your heart is beating so fast, feeding on your adrenaline. You inhale, the breath rattling in your chest. “What are you talking about?”

“Luke Skywalker,” Boba Fett seethes, and your heart drops. You step forward.

“You saw him too?” you ask, voice small.

“No,” Fennec Shand starts, and then Din steps forward at the same time.

“I did too,” he admits, and you look up at him.

You swallow, looking between the three of them, brain working furiously to try and keep up. “I just talked to Wedge,” you say, voice small, “and he said he heard from Luke again.”

Din whips around to face you. “Where’s Grogu?”

Your eyes widen as you shrug. “That’s all I got from him. Then my commlink went haywire again, and the connection dropped. What the hell,” you say, inhaling sharply, “is going on?”

Fett stares back at you. “You know Skywalker?”

“I—I know him in passing,” you say, and you drop down to the ground, exhausted. “I’m in the Rebel Alliance, and he’s training our kid! What do you want with Luke Skywalker?”

“To pay him back for sending me to certain death,” Boba Fett says, his voice measured and angry. Your eyes try to track the differences between him and Din, because in the dark, the similarities are startling. They stand at about the same height, Boba Fett’s armor is older and greener, but right now, it’s nearly impossible to tell. You shiver. This planet is weird.

“Looks like you escaped certain death,” you say, and a small smile curves across Fennec Shand’s face. You look at her, and for the ruthlessness her reputation carries, she has a warmth to her you didn’t expect. “Why were you shooting at me?”

Fett’s face changes. “I thought I saw Skywalker,” he admits, and his voice is less confrontational. I could have sworn it was his X-wing.”

You want to retaliate, and then the shifting shadows of the city in front of you catch your eye, and you understand. Something about the atmosphere seems to be playing tricks on the both of you, so you just exhale and nod. “And you,” you say, turning to Din, “what happened back there? Why did you just leave like that?”

Something in him shrinks.

“You’re in trouble, Mando,” Fennec smirks.

“I thought I saw Luke Skywalker,” Din says, and his voice is just as honest and tired as yours is, and you let him pull you back to your feet. “Something about this place…it isn’t right. We need to get out of here.”

You nod, fervently. Boba Fett and Fennec Shand follow suit.

“That weapon,” Fett says, guarded, eyes locked on the Darksaber hanging from your closed hand, “doesn’t look like it belongs to you.”

“It doesn’t,” you say. Fennec looks at Din, and back at you.

“Belongs to him,” she smiles, and Din sighs, low and heavy, through the modulator.

“It,” Din says tiredly, “does not. You know how hard I tried to get rid of this thing back there. I’m still working on it,” he says, and you feel his gaze on you underneath the visor, “but right now, I think we need to regroup on Nevarro.”

Your heart flips over, half in excitement, half in dread. “Isn’t that dangerous?”

Fennec grins again, equal parts venom and warmth. “Not as dangerous as us,” she posits, and both Din and Boba nod in agreement. You shake your head, but the smile on your own face is furious and determined. You split up, Boba and Fennec heading back to his strange, deadly ship, and you and Din return to Kicker, punching in the coordinates for Nevarro. You’re exhausted, and when your eye catches sight of the Darksaber again, it’s in Din’s palm. That colossal, colliding feeling of belonging to each other and belonging to something more sparks up in your chest like a supernova. As you jump into hyperspace, you watch him turn it over and over again, and a small, tiny, sparking part of you imagines him ruling Mandalore with it in one hand and your own in the other.

*

You missed Nevarro. It’s a wasteland, a strange volcanic desert that spits up lava whenever it desires, and there’s always a weird edge to it, but landing in the same spot as Fett and Shand, knowing Karga and Cara are close by, it gives you a small, strange fortification. Safety, you realize, as the four of you are walking into town, that’s what you’re feeling. You feel safe here, in the presence of people who you know are on your side, even if half of them were just trying to shoot you out of the sky.

Din makes friends so strangely. As the four of you walk into town, over the ashen dried magma, you learn a little bit about how they joined together at the last moment to try and defeat Gideon. Fennec, you realize, is another enemy-turned-ally. She met Din on Tatooine weeks before you did, and she crossed paths with Toro Calican. She says it so freely that you don’t understand at first, and when you remember who they were dealing with, your stomach flips over. They reunited back on Tython, right as Grogu got whisked away by Gideon’s dark troopers, and formed a wary alliance. But the way the three of them are talking now, it seems like every moment of dissonance has been smoothed over, now that everyone’s on the same side. Cara and Din became friends like that, too—guns to each other’s skulls before realizing they were on the same team. It makes you smile as Boba and Fennec talk about Din on your way into Nevarro City. He doesn’t say much, but you can tell he’s at ease, which is a very hard thing for either of you to come by these days. And this is how you know he’s going to be a good ruler. Every single person you’ve met through Din recognized his goodness under all of that bounty hunting and beskar. He’s strategic, and he’s levelheaded, and he can speak more languages than you can. He’s great at both descalation and escalation, at rushing into battles and playing mediator. It doesn’t matter if Mandalore doesn’t accept him straight out, because they’ll see the man he is and the ruler he can be, and every single one of them will fall in love with him, too.

“What’s your plan after this?” Din asks, and you fade back into the conversation, still wearing a small smile in the shape of a badge of pride across your face.

Fennec and Boba exchange looks. “We have business on Tatooine,” Boba says, lowly. “But if there’s still something to be defeated out there, if our job wasn’t finished, then we’ll help you again.”

Din nods. “And after?”

“You know I’d rather have you on the throne than the Kryze girl,” Boba continues, his voice quiet but intense. A small smile snakes its way across Fennec’s face. You think maybe you’ve read her wrong. She doesn’t seem outright malicious. She’s dangerous, and she could easily cut you down if you tried her, but she doesn’t seem to relish double-crossing or killing like you’d heard in the rumors. She just seems to crave chaos, and if that’s what she wants, you’re glad she’s here.

Din sighs. “I don’t want it,” he says, but there’s a reluctance in his voice that you haven’t heard before.

When you look up again, you’re at Nevarro City. You breathe a small sigh of relief, the outcroppings of the familiar buildings stand tall over the horizon. As you cross over into the gateway, you see more stormtrooper helmets on the pike than you thought you saw last time, and your tummy flips over at the knowledge that you might be bringing danger here. You swallow as the four of you make your way to the cantina, and the second the door closes, something shifts. You lift your chin higher, scanning the room for familiar faces. And while you’re preoccupied, Cara comes out of nowhere and punches Din on the arm, in an unarmored spot beneath his pauldrons.

“You know,” he says, “a simple hello could suffice—”

“I’m mad at you,” Cara retaliates, her eyes glinting when she looks over at you. “I put it to rest while we were trying to get the kid, but don’t think I’ve forgotten.”

You quirk your head, trying to get her to explain, and she folds you into a gentle hug for a second before appraising you at arm’s length.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” she says, genuinely, and then her hand snaps back out to jab Din on the same spot on his arm. “When he told me he just left you somewhere, I could have killed him with my own two hands.”

You smile at her. “I’m honored.”

“I had a plan,” Din mutters.

“Not a good one,” Cara responds, but then she smiles at him. You watch how it lights up her rough face, how pretty she is, especially when her eyes sparkle. “If Nova’s forgiven you, so have I.”

“Well,” you say, looking up at the man you love with a little fire of your own, “about that—”

“Mando!” Greef Karga’s booming voice cuts through the static, and you drop it for now. He walks over to you, cutting around customers and Guild members, weaving a clear path to the five of you. “Welcome back to Nevarro City. I’m sorry about the kid,” he continues, genuinely, slapping a large palm down on Din’s pauldron. “But if I know anything, I know you can get him back.”

You feel Din shrink, just a little, and then he stands up straighter. “We’re here because we have a problem,” he says, lowly, “and we need your help.”

*

Everybody starts drinking except you and Din. You refuse the spotchka, because it’s daytime on Nevarro, and mostly because you’re too on edge to drink anything, especially if the usual pattern follows suit and you get into some sort of altercation today, but while the rest of them are drinking, you hatch a plan. You and Din will tell Wedge everything you know about the Order, the Alliance will search for information across the galaxy. Karga will stay here on Nevarro City and hold down the fort in case anyone unsavory comes by. Cara will split her time between being the Marshal, traveling with you and Din, and joining forces with Boba and Fennec to keep the six of you connected and up to date. Boba and Fennec, while not with Cara, will use their skills and abilities to act like they’re still in league with the Empire’s leftovers, try and scour of any information they can. As the conversation comes to a close, you realize that you and Din don’t have anything to do immediately other than notifying Wedge.

“What’s our plan?” you ask, lowly, looking over at Din in the low light. “What do we do in the meantime?”

Din looks over at you, then to the other members of your recently forged alliance as they talk and drink. “Did you really think you saw Luke Skywalker back on Khubeaie?”

You stare at him. You blink once, twice, and then nod. “I thought it was just my vision playing tricks on me,” you murmur, fingers flapping around where your necklace used to live. Din, under the visor, tracks the movement, but you don’t pay it that much attention. “And I don’t think—well, the planet was weird. It was playing tricks on all of us. But if you saw him, I saw him, and Boba Fett saw him, then…”

“He was there,” Din finished, lowly, the second half of the sentence raised up as if he meant to ask a question but didn’t go all the way.

“I don’t think he was physically there,” you manage, brushing a way a loose piece of hair, “but I think we all saw him for a reason. Either Khubeaie’s haunted,” you breathe, “or something there is connected with the Force.”

Din stares at you. You can just tell, especially here and now in the cantina. “For you, maybe. But if I saw him, and Fett saw him—”

“Then maybe the planet’s haunted,” you interrupt, and you don’t entirely mean it, but the memory of the comm system warbling and screeching twice makes your blood seep cold through your veins. “Or, at the very least, something weird is going on. But when I talked to Wedge—” you breathe, sharply, “he said he heard from Luke again. And I don’t know about you, but I—”

“Don’t believe in coincidences,” Din finishes, his knee knocking up against yours under the table, “I know. These days, neither do I.”

When you part ways for the night, it’s temporary. Tomorrow, you and Din will hail Wedge and fill him and the New Rogue Squadron in on everything, and Boba and Fennec will head to the places in the galaxy where there’s still affiliates of the Empire to dig for more information. Cara will go interrogate some of the prisoners she’s brought in, offer them reduced sentences if they can fill the rest of the team in on anything related to the mysterious, dark Order. Karga will stay on Nevarro, speaking to the Guild members to try and fish for information about what the Empire leftovers are planning, and how they’re communicating with one another.

You and Din walk back to Kicker, hand in hand, in silence. You can feel sleep calling at you, edging in from the corners of your eyes. It feels like forever since you’ve gotten a full night’s sleep without being knocked out from the bacta, and as much as you love its anasthetic properties when you’ve lost a lot of blood, you want to fall into sleep on your own tonight. Neither of you shower, just undress and strip down into whatever you’re wearing to bed, and crawl into the nest of blankets you’ve made on Kicker’s floor. For hours, it seems, you lay there, together, in the dark, before Din speaks.

“Nova?”

You sigh, halfway into a dream. “Mmm. Yeah?”

He’s quiet, again, and you think you’ve imagined it, so you just burrow down into his warmth, feeling your skin brush up against his. His hands tighten around your waist, just for a second, and you feel so secure that fighting sleep doesn’t really seem like a favorable option. “I love you,” you hear, and then as you drift off into sleep, you hear him whisper, “I meant it. I’m never leaving—” and then you’re gone.

*

You wake up, and Din isn’t there. Panic floods into your chest, wet and heavy, and you flail around in the blankets, even though you know he’s not cuddled up in there with you. You get up, redress frantically into your only pair of clean clothes, swinging your jacket around your shoulders. The fresher’s empty, and he’s not in the cockpit, and when you slide down to inspect the gangplank, you see it’s been lowered in the last hour.

“Fuck!” you yell, slapping at the thing, which doesn’t do anything except lowering it again. You grab your blaster and shove it into the holster, holding your arm out for the snap of the Force to let the Darksaber fly into your grip. Your heart still hammering, you race down the gangplank, comm on your wrist, yelling the whole way into the city. “Where are you?” you ask, and you realize you sound angry, and you are, because Din keeps promising he’ll never leave your side and then whisks himself away to fight a battle that would be so much easier to win with the two of you in it together, but you’re also terrified. Nevarro isn’t the safest place, especially since Gideon and all of his troopers found Din, Grogu, Cara, and Karga here before, and even though Din’s wearing his armor, you’re scared.

And most of all, you’re upset. You want him here. You promised, a year ago, that you wouldn’t run from him again, and even when you’ve wanted to bolt for your life, you stayed. You don’t go back on your promises. And for Din assuring you he’s a man of his word, he hasn’t kept the most important thing he’s ever sworn to you, and it hurts. Grief and anxiety are two burning pyres in your chest, and as you haul yourself over Nevarro’s rocky, barren surface, heading towards town, you can feel the tears threatening at the corners of your eyes.

You’re tired. You’re so tired. You just want to be back on the ship you call home with the man you love and your child, and you’re so sick of fighting against the people who are trying to either steal you for themselves or make sure you die and stay dead. You know that this wasn’t Ahsoka’s fault, that she didn’t intend to send you on such a draining mission, but some small part of you is angry at her for letting you leave, for spearheading the chain of events that amounted to one huge loss after another. You flutter your hands around your neck, tears streaking down your face once you realize that it too is gone.

You step forward, trying to not let the big, raggedy sobs out into the open air. You duck behind one of the buildings so you can cry in peace, exhausted and strung out, worried for Din and heart still aching with him leaving. You know you should pull it together, go all the way into town and tell Cara, but right now, you can’t move. You cry, quietly and completely, letting the tears build and fall until you’ve run dry.

“Hey,” a voice from behind you says, “I’m looking for a pilot.”

You whip around, hand on your blaster in its holster, ready to fire if needed, but when you spin all the way, it’s not a stranger. It’s Din. He’s down on one knee, helmet off, in the exact place that you met here a year ago.

Your heart flies into your chest. “What are you doing­—” you hiss, but no one’s here. And you seem to be frozen to the spot in the same way you were back on Yavin when he proposed the first time, everything rushing through you, exhilarating and confused.

“Preferably a Force sensitive one. Used to be in the Rebel Alliance, and recently reinstated to her previous rank. Can fly anything. You wanted proof,” Din shrugs, and your eyes roam hungrily over his bare face. He doesn’t look hesitant. There’s no trace of him rushing to put it back on, so you step forward, heart in your throat, thrumming and beating like an erratic butterfly. “That I’ll follow you anywhere. I have proof.”

“Proof of what?” you breathe, still walking towards him. Even on his knees, his head comes up to your chest. “Where the hell did you go, you scared the life out of me—”

And then you’re done talking, because Din pulls out a ring. You gasp, choke back a sob, and stare at it. It’s a simple silver band, but the structure and strength of it looks exactly like the beskar his armor is made out of. You inhale again, staring at it, and when you get close enough, you see that there’s something carved on the inside. It’s a star, the same one you embossed into your necklace, and around it, the words “ni kar’tayl su”, light but intentional. You try to breathe, but all you’re doing is sobbing, looking frantically from the ring in Din’s palm to his open face, and when you cross the divide between the two of you, seizing his glorious cheeks between your hands, he meets you in the middle.

“You wanted proof,” he says, again, and everything feels dizzying and starry and huge. You feel your heart rush with the feeling of belonging, that something more that tarted right here, in this same spot, on this barren planet, months and months again. “Last time, I didn’t have a ring. But I do now, and I’m never leaving your side again.”

“Din—”

“I tired to make it back before you woke up,” he whispers, earnestly. “I left a note on the dashboard. I just had to make it down to my—to where I used to live, to forge this.”

You swallow. “That’s where you went?”

“I’ve been kicking myself ever since I didn’t give you a ring in the first place,” Din continues, “and I know promising to never leave you again and then waking up must have been—I’m sorry. It was going to be in and out. But I ran into someone down there.”

Your heart flips over. “Did they hurt you—”

“No,” Din shakes his head, the ghost of a smile dancing across his face. “No, it was the Armorer. I thought she was gone, but she’s still alive—it’s a story for another time. But I told her about you,” Din says, lifting his hand to stroke a line down your face, “and she made you something, too.”

Your eyebrows furrow down the middle, and then he pulls out something else made out of the same metal as the ring was—a simple, secured chain, with two charms hanging from it. The symbol of the Alliance, and Din’s signet of the mudhorn. You cry as he loops it around your neck, tears intense and filled with disbelief and magic. “You did this for me?”

Din stares at you. “I’d do anything for you,” he says, finally, voice so soft. “You wanted proof I’d follow you anywhere, right? This is me trying to prove it.” He takes in a shuddering breath, and you smile at him. “You don’t have to forgive me, yet. I know I need to earn it. But, cyar’ika, I’d really love it if you’d agree to marry me.”

“You,” you start, taking a huge, shuddering breath, “always surprise me. I love you.”

Din smiles. “Is that—”

“Yes,” you scream, nodding frantically, “yes, of course, I’ll marry you, I love you, I love—”

And then you’re cut off, the ring slid on your finger, and Din’s on his feet, picking you up and dragging you backwards, down the alley towards a wall, and when he lifts you against the concrete, you sigh out into his mouth. “Ni kar’tayl su,” he starts, and then you pull him in closer, his mouth latched onto yours.

“Darasuum,” you agree, between kisses, “forever.”

He’s pulling at your clothes, and the part of you who knows this is a bad idea is silenced by the way his teeth sink into your shoulder, leaving marks all up and down your upper chest. You kick down your pants, not even bothering to take them off, and when Din rests your feet back down on the ground, immediately, he dives in between your legs, tongue wet and warm and full for you. You moan out, loud, too loud, but you don’t care who hears, not now. His tongue slides up and down, finally locking on your clit, licking swift little circles. You moan, hands seizing into his dark, messy hair, running your thumb over the metal of the ring. He licks into you like he’s been hungry for years and you’re the only thing standing between him and starvation. When he pushes a single finger inside, still eating you like his life depends on it, it’s enough for you to see stars. It feels like forever since you’ve been touched like this without interruption, and you lean into it, breath running ragged, moaning out his name.

“I want to touch you—” you manage, voice high and breathy, “please, Din, let me—”

“Not here,” he says, roughly, pushing another finger inside you. It buckles you over, right on the edge, and you moan into his shoulder, “I’m taking care of you. Don’t argue with me.”

You close your mouth, nodding. His tongue finds you again, his hands on your hips, digging slightly into the flesh there, voracious and insatiable. When he makes you cum, it’s three orgasms in a row, and your legs shake. “Din—Din, I can’t stand up—”

He’s on his feet quicker than you can imagine, like a lightning lash. “Then I’ll hold you here,” he says, and both of your legs are being hiked up. Your bare back scrapes against the concrete, but you barely even hear it sting as you’re being hoisted into the air. “I’m going to fuck you now,” he breathes, something low and lustful in his eyes, “and you need to try to keep quiet, or everyone in Nevarro City will know my name. You can do that for me, can’t you, cyar’ika?”

Your eyes widen, wet heat seeping between your legs. You feel like you’re buzzing. “Yes,” you manage, syllable broken down the middle, and when you feel the head of his cock start to push its way inside of you, wet and ready, you have to clap your own hand over your mouth to keep the very unsavory noises from leaking out into the open air of the town.

“Good girl,” Din manages, and then his mouth is on yours, his hips fucking into you hard and fast, a staccato rhythm punctuated by both of your muffled moans, burying himself into you. You let yourself be held there, hands tangled up ferociously in his hair, using as much gravity as you can to get him to pound you like you’ve never been pounded before, writhing with your hips, everything starry and alive, wanting him to get to whatever universe you’re in. His breath hitches, and you know he’s close, already, he’s close, and it feels like you’ve barely started, but you grab at his bare face with your hands and nod, giving him permission. Your comm warbles, but Din’s muttering sweet nothings in your ear, telling you you’re so fucking wet, sweet, pretty girland I can’t wait to have your pussy forever, and right before he climaxes, he moans out your name, and then a breathy I love you, and whatever your comm is yelling out, you don’t hear it, because you’re too preoccupied with letting the man you love mark you as his, over and over and over.

When you finish, you feel how puffy and wet you still are, and if it wasn’t for the incessant bleeping and blinking on your wrist, you’d beg him to fuck you again. And then your head registers it’s Cara, hailing the both of you, and you and Din make eye contact in a panic, both frantically redressing.

“It’s me,” you manage, voice still fucked from going to heaven and back, “are you okay?”

“You both need to get here, to the cantina,” Cara says, and her voice is clipped and short. You exchange looks with Din before he slips the helmet back on, and you run your hand over your messy hair, hoping the braid isn’t beyond repair, and both of you bolt towards the cantina. You toss Din the blaster, he tosses back the Darksaber, steps matched up, hurrying toward the center of town.

“I want you to know,” Din says, lowly, right before the door opens, “ regardless of what’s waiting for us in there, I’m not done fucking you.”

Despite everything, you grin back at him, brazen, chest still heaving. “Better not be.”

When you break through the vestibule, it takes your eyes a minute to adjust. When they do, you realize who’s standing there, Cara’s eyebrow lifted, staring over at you and Din intently. The other woman turns around, and your feel the smallest bit of panic flood into you as you take in her chiseled jaw, her short red hair, the way her eyes lock onto you holding the Darksaber.

“Bo-Katan,” you start, and she steps forward, not aggressive, but intentionally.

She looks both you and Din up at down, gaze landing on the Darksaber, and then back on your face. “I’m not here for that.” You watch her face, looking for a bluff. It isn’t there. “We need to talk.”

*

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I HOPE YOU LOVED IT!!!!! it's so bittersweet, because so much of this chapter feels like the prelude to the end none of us wants to come, but i want you all to know that even though SM is coming to a close, there is so much more going to be in the sequel. if it doesn't feel like everything is resolved, please remember MORE IS COMING!!! i needed to leave some loose ends to make sure i had enough content for the second one ;)

with that being said, i anticipate SM will be ending with one or two more chapters. likely two more, because there's so much content planned, but as soon as i start writing, i will update you all on tumblr (amiedala) and tiktok (padmeamydala) to give you a definitive answer. if it is just one more chapter, it will be LONG!!! i don't want any of this to end, but this part of the story is coming to a close, and i cannot wait to share the sequel with you all <3 i love you all so much!!!!! thank you for taking this journey with me!!!!!

CHAPTER 29 WILL BE UP AT 7:30 PM EST SATURDAY, JULY 10TH!!!

xoxo, amelie

[mild-lunacy]

History has been made today. A dark yet also banal chapter of American history. A painful day-- and my birthday, when I personally had a good time, still. I'm sitting by a college campus (a demonstration is going on, and I'm sure I can guess what it's about). The students sound angry and energized. I hope that will continue. I'm actually sitting here listening to them yelling 'we will fight' and 'power to the people' and beating drums, and.... it's making me feel better. It's a guy yelling it. That makes me feel better too. This isn't some uber-liberal school, either. This isn't a Christian school in the South, but neither is it a tiny liberal arts school. These are just... American young people. Mostly white, but otherwise relatively representative.

The future is theirs, and ultimately doesn't belong to the regressive social forces whose victory is now ascendant.

I don't mean to suggest that progress is inevitable, by any means. At the same time, I was thinking about the Reconstruction period after the Civil War. I was thinking of how it must have felt to face Jim Crow and the KKK after the 14th Amendment passed, and slavery was finally gone. I was also thinking about the Ukraine war, the equivalent 'regression' after the seeming victory over communism and the threat of the Soviet Union when it fell. I mean, we thought that was over, too, and we thought we didn't really have to worry at least about *Russian* nukes. And yet... here we are again. Or are we?

I think that there's never really a single stopping point, a resolution to a deep social conflict that ends with a tidy law, or even a messy revolution. You know how France has had more than one, more than two or even three. It's more like that. It iterates, I think (just normally less directly consecutive than in the French history of revolutions).

The problem is that the problems people have, the beliefs they have, those don't go away. Groups may change their attitudes slowly, as demographics change and people's life circumstances truly alter, but that is a route of slow and incremental change. So what does that mean in this case?

Ultimately, what it means is that the social conservatives can pass laws that make women and minorities suffer, but can they change the social circumstances that led women into the workplace, that lead to easy access to casual sex and to higher divorce rates or even the fact that birth rates are declining in all highly developed first world nations? Can we really go back to the broader context and circumstances that enabled the 1950 *norms* as well as the laws, no matter what the law now says?

I keep thinking about something like contraception and even gay rights, both of which are much less controversial than abortion, much more deeply integrated into the social fabric. There's reason to be worried people will definitely *try* to roll back these things, too. I guess my point is that even if this was indeed desirable to change, the world has moved on. You may well fear a Christian theocracy can magically rise in America, because it's not like our 'resilient' or 'liberal' social norms would prevent it or our 'saner' politicians would balk, but... The thing is, law cannot actually function completely divorced from social circumstances on the ground. No matter how loud the extremists are, unlike Iran or Afghanistan or even Turkey and Ireland, the US is simply not that religious or homogenous. It just... wouldn't work. A Civil War may actually be more likely, but that's not likely to result in an easy divorce, by any means.

So all sorts of laws may technically exist, sure, but not *function*. That's why the laws against sodomy meant something and were feared as well as *enforced* in 1860 but not really 1960 (let alone if they reinstated them now). This is probably why the Supreme Court decision was carefully trying to carve out abortion from other issues. Abortion exists in the historical context of women's health and women's rights, but it's not a question of commonplace, shared lived experience across the country in the same way as the existence of gay people (and married gay people), or casual sex in general and condom use and IUDs specifically. They could, of course, still pass a law or make a ruling and say, make condoms illegal. But that would be a lot like America's experience with the Prohibition. It wouldn't last more than a few years.

There are simply things society won't tolerate, and those things are generally the ones which will impact the pleasure and profit seeking of single, male white wealthy people.

[myriadimagines]

Babysitting Duty

Star Wars (Rogue One) One Shot

Pairing: Reader x Cassian Andor

Other Characters: K-2SO, Jyn Erso

Warnings: violence, death 

Summary: You’ve always felt like Cassian is constantly leaving you behind on missions. So when Cassian orders for you and K2 to stay with the ship during your mission in Jedha, you and K2 decide to disobey his orders, leading to some near death experiences and a surprising confession.

Original: Not Your Babysitter — Part 1 & Part 2 

Word Count: 2,469

A/N: the amount of time it took me to finish this was offensive. i literally started the draft back in september. i almost didn’t rewrite this one bc this didn’t have an actual request to go with it, but part 2 had a request so i just decided to combine both together into one. anyway!! happy new years!!! heres a one shot. as a treat.

reblog/feedback/comments are very much appreciated!!!

You button up your knapsack, shoving your blaster into your holster before you straighten, hopping off the ship. You see Cassian a short distance away with Jyn, the two of them crouched by the edge of the cliff staring off at the Holy City. It’s situated in the distance, Imperial ships looming in the sky, with a giant Star Destroyer about it all. 

Find Saw Gerrera, in a city swarming with stormtroopers. Sucking in a sharp breath, you think, shouldn’t be too hard, right?

You walk up to Cassian, who hands his binoculars to Jyn as he goes through his backpack for his supplies. He looks up as you approach, and you sit down beside him as you can hear him explaining to Jyn, “Kyber crystals. It’s the fuel for the weapon.”

“The weapon your father’s building?” K2 chimes in, and Jyn looks over her shoulder, glaring at the droid with a steely gaze.  

“Maybe we should leave target practice behind.” Jyn slowly says, and you raise an amused eyebrow as you look up at K2.

“Are you talking about me?” K2 asks you and Cassian in disbelief, and you can’t help but chuckle as Cassian nods.

“She’s right. We need to blend in. Stay with the ship.” Cassian orders, and K2 shakes his head. 

“I can blend in!” K2 protests. “I’m an Imperial droid. The city is under Imperial occupation.” 

“Half the people want to reprogram you, the other half want to put a hole in your head.” Jyn explains, and you can see Cassian bite back a smile. As Jyn and K2 continue to bicker, you give Cassian a nudge.

“So what’s the plan?” you ask, and Cassian presses his lips together. His gaze lingers on you, before he looks away, and you resist the urge to sigh as you already know what’s coming next.  

“Stay with K2. We need someone with the ship in case we need to make an escape.” Cassian says, and your shoulders slump. 

“So you’re putting me on ship duty.” you don’t even bother hiding the disappointment in your tone. “Again.” 

Cassian looks almost apologetic as he looks up to meet your gaze, and there’s something else in his expression you can’t quite decipher. You should know by now not to expect so much with Cassian, with him constantly sidelining you during your missions together with no good reason for doing so. He reaches out, his hand landing on your shoulder as he gives it a little squeeze, and he tells you, “We’ll be back soon.” 

He gets up, and you watch as he walks off, not even bothering to try and argue with him. You can’t help but anxiously chew on your lip, feeling a sense of helplessness wash over you as he walks further away from you. He follows Jyn as she dumps a bag in K2’s arms, and K2 flinches as he remarks, “I’m surprised you’re so concerned with my safety.”

“I’m not.” Jyn curtly responds. “I’m just worried they might miss you, and hit me.” 

Cassian pats K2’s arm as he passes, and K2 lets the bag fall out of his arms, quietly remarking, “Doesn’t sound so bad to me.”

The bag crashes against the floor, and an awkward, heavy silence fills the air as Cassian and Jyn’s footsteps fade away. You can see their tiny figures making their way across the desert landscape, and you let out a heavy sigh as you look over your shoulder to see K2 marching back towards the ship. You pick up your own bag, reluctantly dragging your feet back to the ship, and you perch yourself on the edge of the ramp as K2 fiddles with the controls in the front. He sits in  the pilot’s seat, staring out through the window, and after a few moments, K2 remarks, “I can practically feel your disappointment from here, y/n.” 

“Well, because I am disappointed.” you scoff, and K2 looks over his shoulder at you. “I shouldn’t be stuck here with you when I’m more than capable of being out there with Cassian and Jyn.” 

“You’re not the one who should be complaining here,” K-2 grumbles, and you turn to look at the droid with a raised eyebrow. “I’m clearly the more unfortunate in this situation.”

Your hands ball into fists, and had it not been for the fact that K-2 is made of steel, you would’ve punched him. 

“You know what?” you straighten, pushing yourself off the ramp and getting to your feet. You look at K2, placing your hands defiantly on your hips as you declare, “Screw Cassian’s orders. Let’s just go!”

“I would rather defect back to the Empire than do that.” K2 deadpans. Rolling your eyes, you let out an annoyed huff as K2 continues, “Do you know what your odds are of getting killed? In summary, they’re high. And if Imperial troops don’t get you first, Cassian probably will because you’re disobeying him. He already thinks you’re a troublemaker.”

“Excuse me?” you gape at the droid. Shaking your head, you snatch up your bag, fuelled with anger and spite that you can feel brewing in the pit of your stomach. You start marching in the direction of the Holy City, and you snap, “I refuse to sit around here anymore. I’m going to show Cassian tha—”

You jump back at the distant sound of an explosion, and your eyes widen as you can see a stream of dark smoke menacingly curling from the city into the sky. You instinctively reach for your blaster, and you turn to look over your shoulder at K2, who had rushed to trail after you in an attempt to stop you. You can see his eyes flicker from the city before back at you, and you don’t even need to try and convince K2 further as he remarks, “Let’s just go. Cassian and Jyn clearly don’t know how to stay out of trouble.”

—

The entire city is in chaos, the sound of blaster fire and sporadic explosions filling your ears. You and K2 duck into an empty street, avoiding as much of the violence as possible. K2 had made it very clear that your mission was to find Jyn and Cassian, not to join in on the fight, and for the first time today, you agreed with him. You keep your finger gripped around your blaster, and the two of you sprint past an abandoned tank, engulfed in flames and surrounded by the bodies of fallen stormtroopers. You hate how your mind jumps to the worst conclusions, but with so much death surrounding you and no sign of Cassian and Jyn, you can’t help but wonder how they’ve managed to escape all this.

A grenade explodes close by, and you find yourself blown backwards. You scramble to take cover by a collapsed building, and you raise your blaster just in time to fire at two stormtroopers approaching you. K2 calls out name, quickling pointing out an extremist rebel that’s about to  throw another grenade in your direction and you quickly shoot him. Shaking his head, K2 remarks, “I have to say, we’re not making a lot of progress.”

You survey the scene, before pointing at an alley to your right. “Come on, let’s go!”

You scramble to your feet, sprinting away from the main street. You can hear stormtroopers on your tail, and you and K2 navigate the narrow alleys, darting in between the buildings. You’re scrambling to find a way to lose the stormtroopers behind you, and you fire a few shots over your shoulder before your blaster is shot out of your hands. You swear under your breath, and you reach over to topple over a stack of crates at your side, trying to improvise as they tumble onto the path. It buys you some time as the stormtroopers stumble over them, and K2 picks up a blaster from the body of a stormtrooper nearby, and you duck as K2 shoots the rest of them dead.

“You’re welcome.” K2 says, lowering the blaster, and you simply roll your eyes. You dust yourself off, picking up another fallen blaster off the floor, and the two of you turn a corner, just in time to watch a KX droid fall front of you. You defensively raise your blaster, before realising it was Jyn who fired the blast, you can see her eyes widen in horror before she registers you and K2 standing behind it. After a pause, K2 demands, “Did you know that wasn’t me?”

You bite a smile, and Jyn relaxes. The both of you lower your blasters as she shrugs, “Of course.” 

You gaze wanders over to Cassian, who fiddles with his blaster as his eyes momentarily meet yours. Relief washes over you, but before you can say anything, Cassian turns away before he chastises, “I thought I told the two of you to stay on the ship.”

“You did. But having to sit with y/n is boring, and you were in trouble.” K2 responds, and you turn around to glare at the droid, mouth opening in protest. K2 marches past you as he sees one of the fallen stormtroopers struggle to get up, attempting to toss a grenade at the four of you. K2 catches it with ease as you shoot the stormtrooper, and Jyn backs away as K2 tosses the grenade over his shoulder, just in time to hit an incoming squad. You flinch as the grenade explodes, and K2 deadpans, “There are a lot of explosions for two people blending in. You’re right, we should just wait on the ship.”

Cassian resists the urge to roll his eyes, and he turns his attention to you. He shakes his head, before saying, “I expected better from you.”

“What?” you stare at Cassian in disbelief, and you can feel anger and frustration bubbling up inside of you. Pointing to K2, and you splutter, “You left me with babysitting duty, Cassian! You know, maybe if I was with you in the first place, we wouldn’t be in this mess!”

You gesture wildly to the fallen stormtroopers around you just as K2’s head whips around in your direction. “You were babysitting? I’m the one who was on babysitting duty!”

“Enough.” Cassian waves his hand, quickly putting an end to you and K2’s arguing before it can further escalate, and you know K2 is biting back his remarks as much as you. You fold your arms across your chest, staring at Cassian, and he shakes his head. “Why can’t the two of you just follow orders?”

You grit your teeth, and you can feel months of accumulated frustration bubbling to the surface. You struggle to keep your voice steady as you retort, “Because your orders always consist of leaving me behind. I didn’t join the Rebellion to just sit on the ship with your droid, Cassian. K2 told me that you think I can’t keep myself out of trouble, but I’m a good fighter, and it’s about time you realised that.” 

Cassian’s jaw clenches, and he pinches the bridge of his nose as he tiredly mumbles, “K, that’s not what I told you.” 

“Well, that’s just how I interpreted the situation.” K2 defensively remarks, and you frown, confused at the exchange between the two. “And I was right. y/n almost got themselves killed. They almost got me killed!” 

“Wait, what did you tell K2 then?” you ask, and you can see Cassian gulp as he nervously avoids eye contact. You stare at Cassian, willing him to look at you insist, “Cassian, what’s going on?”

Cassian stays quiet, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d say he almost looks embarrassed. Jyn, from where she’s standing, looks between the two of you, before she remarks, “Oh, I think I’m beginning to see what’s happening here.” 

Cassian shoots her a look, before he suddenly grabs your arm, pulling you away from K2 and Jyn for more privacy. You reluctantly stumble after him, still feeling your residual anger, and Cassian lets out a quiet sigh as he fiddles with the zipper of his parka. After a pause, he finally admits, “I wanted you to stay behind because I didn’t want you to get hurt.” 

“How is that better from what K told me?” you huff, folding your arms across your chest. “So you really think I can’t keep myself out of troubl—”

“No, it’s more than that.” Cassian interrupts, borderline annoyed. Feelings are so frustrating, he bitterly thinks, and had it not been for the fact that he’s in love with you, he most certainly would’ve lost it by now. Shaking his head, Cassian finally reveals, “It’s because I care about you very deeply, y/n. And that might make me a selfish captain, but I don’t want to risk losing you.” 

You don’t respond, the gravity of Cassian’s words slowly sinking in. You open your mouth to respond, but find yourself at loss for words. Cassian himself can’t quite meet your gaze, almost too nervous to see the expression on your face, and you breathe out, “Oh.” 

“You should’ve stayed on the ship.” Cassian insists again, letting out a heavy sigh. You gulp, and you can feel your heart hammering inside your chest as he shakes his head. “I—”

“I don’t want to lose you either.” you blurt, and Cassian finally looks up at you, eyes wide. Letting out a shaky breath, you continue, “Do you know how nervous I get each time you go off alone?” 

Cassian blinks at you, before he softens slightly. “I’m sorry. I guess we’re both trying to figure this out.” 

You slowly nod, knowing that this, these feelings, are uncharted territory for the both of you. You let out a nervous laugh, rubbing the back of your neck as you ask, “Are you going to make me go back to the ship?”

“No. You should’ve been on this mission with me from the start.” Cassian shakes his head. He offers you one of his extra blasters before continuing, “You are a good fighter, y/n, I’ve always thought so.” 

Your fingers brush as you take the blaster from him, and you can feel your cheeks getting hot as he nods at you. His fingers linger on the blaster for a second longer than necessary, and the both of you exchange a shy smile as you fumble to tuck the blaster into your holster. 

“Are you two done having your little moment?” K2 asks, and you and Cassian look up to see Jyn and K2 awkwardly standing beside each other, Jyn impatiently tapping her foot as she raises an eyebrow at the two of you.

Leaning into Cassian, you quietly say, “Please don’t ever make me babysit K2 again.”

Cassian laughs. “I don’t plan on it.” 

tag list: @proudchocolateaddict​​ / @myfriendmagislit​​ / @dragon4123​​ / @fire--pheonix​​ / @natalia-helena-alianova-romanov / @fairytalesforever​​ / @emmacata​​ / @hauntedpocdreamer / @fangirlsarah16​​ / @adaleya​​ / @floup-doodles​​ / @batfam16​​ / @into-the-ironverse​​ / @lotsoffandomrecs​​ / @ruvaakke​​ / @911buttercup​​ / @azeret-mirror​​ / @randomfandomimagine​​ / @lotrfics​​ / @locke-writes​​ / @lovinghufflepuffgirl / @lxncelot​​​ / @captainshazamerica​​ / @ta-ka-shi-ma​​ / @interwebseriesfan24​​ / @sebstanismylife​​

[fedtothenight]

this competition asked to write a short story in the dystopian genre and my entry's below - don't rb!

the sweetest fruit

The boy gasped, straining against the padded frame of the jeep just as the vehicle slowly came to a halt. ‘Look!’ he shouted, pointing at a spot about a hundred feet from the group. ‘Look, Mum! That’s so cool!’

Half-instinctively, his mother had already grabbed a fistful of his tank-top, ready to yank him back. She had spent the entirety of the trip sitting as still as possible, facing forward, eyes stubbornly fixed on the self-cooling top of the car in a pointless effort to fight her motion sickness: her patience was already wearing very thin without her eight-year-old personal safety hazard trying to get himself killed.

‘Ethan, for the love of God,’ she snapped. ‘I already told you to stop leaning over the frame! Do you realise how dangerous that is?’

‘No, Mum, you’ve got to look!’

‘Emma, darling,’ her husband whispered, a gentle hand on her shoulder. ‘You should really look at this. It’s magnificent.’

Whatever it was, even her fifteen-year-old daughter - who had spent the last thirty minutes texting her friends back home without so much as a glance at the scenery - was jaw-slacked, so she slowly got up on her wobbly knees and peered over her shoulders.

In the shadow of a tree, protected from the sweltering heat, two lions were feasting on a zebra. Perhaps belatedly, as it’d taken her a second to drink the sight in, she realised that the poor thing was still alive: writhing as blood, red and hot and pulsing, gushed out from where the bigger lion - the male - had bitten into its back.

The smaller one, the female, soundlessly sank its teeth into the dying animal’s neck, and the latter gave one last weak kick, finally falling limp. When the lioness stood again, it was almost impossible, from this distance, to see her eyes amidst the bloodied mess on her face.

‘Oh, my God, Matt,’ Emma said. ‘This is beautiful. Nature truly is beautiful.’

‘You don’t really get to see this kind of show anywhere else today,’ their guide said from the driver’s seat. He sounded proud, as if he’d hunted and fed the zebra to the lions himself.

Alberto wasn’t wrong, Emma reasoned. Given that they were parked in the middle of the privately-owned biggest North American savanna, he - or rather, his employer - was the one effectively feeding the lions. Like feeding mice to cats. She glanced at her children, glad they could have a window on a reality that was long gone. To think it would have taken a trip around the world to watch this spectacle - imagine the motion sickness then! If only, she considered wistfully, there could be a way of replicating glaciers just as accurately.

‘Honestly, it seems a bit unfair that they get to eat real meat,’ Ethan said at the dinner table a few hours later. He was picking at his plate, moving the fried grasshoppers they’d been served for dinner around, but not really eating any. ‘While we are stuck with insects and microprotein or whatever.’

Emma pinched the bridge of her nose. She was tired and sunburnt, her sensitive pale skin suffering under the blistering sun of the region, so different from the temperate weather back home North. She had a splitting headache, too. She was, yet again, at the so-called end of her tether. ‘Ethan…’

‘You should be glad you get to eat at all,’ her daughter said at the same time. ‘There’s a reason it’s illegal to eat meat. These animals are here for show, anyway. They were originally from Africa.’

‘Shut up, Becca,’ Ethan mumbled. ‘Everybody knows there are no animals in Africa. There’s nothing there.’

Becca’s cheeks were tinted pink, eyebrows furrowed. ‘Of course there were animals. There were animals everywhere before the Climate Crunch.’

‘Both of you, stop it,’ Matt interjected. ‘Ethan, your sister is right. You should be grateful that we are here in the first place. That said…’ He leant forward, voice down to a whisper: ‘I have a surprise for you. Or, well, Richard has a surprise for us. When he arrives tomorrow, he’ll bring us real meat. Bovine meat.’

‘But it’s illegal,’ said Becca.

‘It’s technically illegal,’ Matt acknowledged. ‘It’s not if you know how to get some and no one from Animal Conservation finds out. Do you think our president only eats insects? Please, Becca. Use that big brain of yours.’

‘Yes,’ Ethan snickered. ‘Use your brain, Becca.’

‘That is too generous,’ Emma said. ‘Inviting us here in the first place was, when even he hasn’t gotten here yet. Now this. I wouldn’t know how to repay him.’

Truly, all she felt was jealousy. Her guts twisted with the sheer force of it. Yes, she had known that Richard was comfortable. The gated, heavily guarded estate spanned for thousands of acres, comprised the 5000sqt villa they were staying at (five bedrooms, seven bathrooms, a cinema, marble floors and solar panels on the rooftop), an indoor swimming pool inspired by vintage photos of Amalfi, two indoor tennis courts, and the savanna they’d explored earlier in the day. ‘The biggest conservation area in North America since they repurposed the Midwest,’ he’d bragged in a video call, two weeks before. ‘You will love it. The holiday you deserve. Make yourselves at home.’

But meat? He could get meat?

Matt’s family had designed DeNuketify, which was basically the only effective way of purifying ocean water from whatever nuclear waste Japan kept spewing so that it could be used and, most importantly, drunk. They had managed to flee the continent with the last handful of greencards about the time her family did, too, taking their precious Queen’s accent with them to found Nova London. She was the governor of Nova London now, for God’s sake. The bloody queen herself was long dead but she was alive, and yet, yet - they had never had meat.

‘We don’t have to, Emma,’ Matt said. ‘We just need to remember how lucky we are to enjoy this meal, this house, this holiday. Look at that,’ and he nodded towards the TV screen again. ‘Actually, Alexa!, volume up!, I think the Italians have finally surrendered.’

The war correspondent’s voice grew louder. She - they, Emma reminded herself: Becca always told her not to assume anyone’s gender - was wearing a dust mask and reading from a bundle of documents. ‘The last military hospital in the island of Palermo was destroyed four days ago by a Canadian airstrike,’ they were saying. ‘The rebels surrendered soon after, followed by the group of extremists in the Nebrodi island. Etna had already surrendered last year.’

‘It’s important to remember that these actions were necessary to finally put a rest on the instability of the region,’ they added. ‘Canada will fund a complete restoration of the Southern archipelago. The remaining civilians will be provided with a shelter and then, when the time comes, a suitable job. Nova Italia will be the sixteenth Canadian state, the fourth offshore. There are also hopes to extract petroleum from the seabed of the sunken city of Gela.’

‘Watch them make it into a holiday hotspot,’ Matt commented. ‘The weather is still nice there.’

‘Ooh, I heard about this.’ Becca picked her phone back up and started furiously typing away. ‘There’s this journal entry soldiers found over there, under the rubble, that’s gone viral. It was translated into English. Wait, I’ll pull it up. Alexa, volume down.’

‘I’m not sure I want to hear it,’ Emma said, uneasy. ‘We’re on holiday. Should we not watch a movie? Something funny?’

Becca waved her away, as if she was an annoying fly. ‘It’ll be good practice for my drama class.’

Matt didn’t help—he simply shrugged, half-apologetic, as if to say: Let her do her thing.

Becca made a show of clearing her throat, too, before she started reading from her phone—her high voice now grave, studied, as if she were speaking to a larger audience: ‘I wonder what peas taste like.’

Right then, the scene on screen changed to footage of what looked like a destroyed village, something out of an apocalyptic movie. Emma found herself unable to look away.

‘Nonna used to say that her own great-grandmother grew them in her garden. Figs, too,’ Becca read. ‘They say they were the sweetest fruit.’

Emma wondered if this journal was actually written by a child or a teenager. It didn’t sound like an adult at all. She couldn’t help but picture a girl, a brunette, not much older than Becca, perhaps a rebel, or a trainee nurse on the sweet cusp of adulthood, holding this journal of hers, or perhaps a gun. It violently reminded her that her own daughter, too, would have to serve her time in the Forces in three years.

On screen, the Canadian soldiers walked among the ruins, zigzagging between torn up clothes and discarded weapons, surely looking for surviving rebels under the rubbles.

‘Isn’t it silly that we can hear the fighters overhead and that all I can do is think about food?’ said Becca. ‘I wish we could also eat figs and be happy.’

On screen, the camera zoomed in on a long-forgotten man's shoe, some crumpled photographs, on a pile of bodies in black bin bags.

‘Grandma - I miss her - left me a poetry book, too, from T.S. Eliot. I hope the book is with me when I die, so I can give it back to her when we meet again, afterwards. So I can tell her that T.S. Eliot was wrong.’

On screen, one of the soldiers approached and showed a little trinket to the camera: a bloody, heart-shaped locket that must’ve once been golden, hiding the miniature pictures of two brunette children that would never have a name.

‘That’s enough,’ Emma said. She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. ‘Stop reading.’

‘The world may have not ended with a bang, but it didn’t end with a whimper, either: the world didn’t end at all. Sometimes,’ Becca finished reading, ‘I wish it had.’

‘What a load of rubbish,’ Matt scoffed. ‘Everyone should feel lucky to be alive. I bet this journal is a fake. Alexa, turn the TV off.’

As the screen faded to black, Ethan finally popped a grasshopper in his mouth. ‘I can’t wait to have meat tomorrow.’

[atlantis-easte]

Entrance Interview || Self-Para

“I’m just pulling up your file, can you remind me where you were before joining us at Colony 22?”

You don’t really have to ask that do you? [She sits up in her seat, hands carefully placed on the table in front of her. The metal was cold beneath her palms, the space around her fingers frost over with her heat. She throws a pointed look towards the interviewer, her glossy blonde hair looked electric against the lime-green cast of color that warped the space around her. Looking at it made her skin crawl. It reminded her of those buckets of slime  her sister used to play with when she was stressed out from school.] I uh, I fatally injured a reformist guard during one of the rebel riots at MIT. [The woman across from her goes stiff in her seat, Atlantis can’t help the shame that colors her cheeks.] I know what you’re thinking, but it was ruled an accident.  The NWRF cleared me or they wouldn’t have transferred me halfway across the world, right?. [She wasn’t sure who she was trying to convince, herself, or the Blonde in front of her.]

I never meant to hurt anyone, I just–[She just needed to get that guard off of her. Atlantis hadn’t done anything wrong, she had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time when all hell broke loose. The next thing she knew there were reformist guards filing in from every corner, rounding up all the civilians on campus. Unfortunately the guard who spotted Atlantis, who had been hiding in the bushes during the riot, had been entirely too rough with her. His color was all wrong, once yellow now stained black like raw oil. She hadn’t realized she had reached for the army knife in her pocket until his blood was in her mouth. Sometimes she could still taste it if she thought about it hard enough.] I’m sure whatever you need to know about the incident is in my file.

“Do you or did you have much involvement with Infected persons?”

Of course, I have. It’s not exactly a loaded question is it? After D.D. [She pauses at the Blonde’s furrowed brow.] D-Day [She self corrects.] a group of us [A small collection of NYU students, E.R. nurses, and a handful of NYC civilians.] were forced to leave New York. I’m not sure how much you know about what’s left in America but the majority of it is flooded now. [She shrugs a shoulder as if she could be less bothered by this fact. Atlantis was devastated to see New York City go under. She never felt at home in Virginia and often she felt like a ghost in the halls of NYU but New York City? That was the one place she didn’t feel like a complete waste of space. The roar of the streets outside her window always helped drown out the voice in her head that wanted her six feet under.] Anyways, a few people in our group started showing signs of pow–infections. I wasn’t particularly close to any of them. [That’s not entirely accurate. She was incredibly close to one of the NYU students in her clan. Miles Braker, once her best friend and drug dealer. She decided to not mention it because one, Miles was dead, and two, the last thing she needed was this Blonde flagging her for having been close with an infected person.] Nothing against them or anything, I just tend to keep to myself. 

“As I’m sure you can appreciate, we strive to offer a welcoming environment to all of our residents. It’s our hope that we can rebuild a co-operative society, which means we discourage our residents from getting involved in any… upsetting political discourse. Do we understand each other? Do you have any concerns?” 

[Atlantis is well aware she wasn’t transferred for the betterment of her mental health. They purposely separated every rebel they were able to locate the day of the riot. The reformist blood on her hands didn't exactly paint the image of a well adjusted citizen. Did she agree with the New Wave Reformist? No, absolutely not. They thought Atlantis was out of her damn mind. Did she agree with the Rebel extremists? Fuck, no. As far as she was concerned, despite the minimized population, life was still a shit show. She didn’t care about the future, much less believe she had one to salvage. If she could eat the whole world raw just to end everyone’s suffering, she would have done it by now.] Look, I appreciate you trying to be thorough, I really do, but there’s nothing to worry about. I’m not some sleeper agent or whatever the fuck you think I am. I made a mistake. That mistake won’t be made twice. [Her fingers curl into her palms, nails digging into the softest part of her hand.] I have zero intention of rocking the boat while here. 

“How do you feel you’ve been adjusting to life these last few years? Is there anything we can provide for you in the way of additional support?”

You mean besides being labeled as a lunatic? [She meant it to be funny but the Blonde wasn’t giving her a fucking inch. She supposed if someone just confessed to murdering an agent of her organization she wouldn’t be up for a laugh either, but still. She was just a kid, was she really going to be blamed for a split-second decision she made in the middle of a war zone? She knows for a fact many people have done a lot worse in the wastes. Atlas leans back into her seat, her right leg jiggles under the table in pace with her heart.] It hasn’t exactly been a walk in the park.

[She shrugs a slim shoulder, evasive as always. The truth was, Atlantis was in hell. After being placed in correctional she was forced into withdrawal. They wouldn’t ship her off to another colony until they were certain all drugs were flushed from her system. She didn’t exactly have much access to Pixie Dust after D.D. but she made do with other substances. She would take anything and everything she’d been offered, if only to stave off the hallucinations. She missed the quiet, the numbness that coated her tongue like MSG. She’s been strung out for so long she didn’t recognize the sober eyes that blinked back at her in the mirror. The inky blue aura that painted the space around her didn’t help, small dots of shimmering opal stained the blue like stars, if she hadn’t been so worried about being sane she would have admitted she liked walking around with a galaxy on her shoulders.]

I’m sure my file says all kinds of things about me, things that I might not entirely agree with but here’s something I know my file doesn’t say. I want this to work, not just for everyone here but for me too. [She wishes she meant it.]

“The people here seem to really value the health and stability of the community. The NWRF wants to protect that. In what way do you see yourself fitting in and contributing?”

[She lets out a laugh, albeit shaky but it’s a laugh all the same.] That question sounds remarkably similar to the one you just asked me. This is beginning to feel like an SAT test. [Again the woman doesn’t react, this was beginning to get tedious. Atlas pushes her curls back with thin fingers.] I don't know what you want me to say. [Her voice was small as she spoke, if the room hadn’t been so bare of furniture and warmth the Blonde might not have heard her.] I was transferred here because they didn’t know what to do with me in America. They don’t have the resources to take care of someone like me. I don’t know what I have to offer you, not yet anyway. [Nothing besides the blood in her veins or whatever the fuck they need from her during testing.] But maybe with some therapy and a mandated chore chart we can figure something out. 

“Do you have any existing connections of significance here at Colony 22? Would you mind telling me a little about these relationships?”

Everyone I know is either dead or at a different colony. [But they already knew that. They made sure of it before her transfer. She found it a bit funny they even bothered to ask her when they were all fully aware of her past. No one believed the words of a junkie, why start now? She watches as the blonde jots down a few notes in her file, if she cared more she would have tried to sneak a peek but Atlas knew better. She didn’t want to know what anyone thought of her, not when she was constantly at war with herself.]

“Okay Miss Easte, you’re free to go. Remember to check in with your house advisor before settling into your new dorm.”

[Atlas nods her head, she collects her limbs and makes to leave before she’s stopped by the Blonde.]

“I don’t have to remind you that we will be watching you closely, do we Miss Easte?”

[Atlantis smiles at the woman, warm and innocent, just like her father taught her.] I wouldn’t dream of it. [Her smile dissolves before she’s out the door.]

[bang-to-the-tan]

Moth to Flame

Chapter 15

Reader x OT7

► Vampire!AU

Smut/Porn With Some Plot That is Rapidly Getting Out of Hand Dear God Why Please Help Me

Warnings: Fucking Politics and Complicated Morality, Stockholm Syndrome, Addiction, Possessiveness, Vampires (Biting, Blood-Sucking, Reference to Death), Language

↳ Summary: Robbed of your memories and intended as a birthday present for a deadly creature of the night, you unwittingly become the center of a territorial dispute between two covens of vampires. Tensions are rising and the brothers are getting hungry…

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“Jesus fucking Christ,” Namjoon mutters. You throw him an anxious look. He’s perched on the other side of the sofa, his phone in one hand, his chin in the other, brows knitted together, face illuminated by the glare of his screen. 

“Fuck,” he adds under his breath. 

“Are you gonna share with those of us without phones or what?” you snap. His eyes flit to yours and you amend, hasty. “Look, I’m just as surprised as you guys. I told you I don’t remember.” 

“I don’t expect you to remember.”

“Really?” 

He goes silent, completely still but for his eyes that track over you just as long as the quiet lasts before darting back to the device in his hand. 

“It’s just surprising. You really don’t remember any of this?...”

“Tell me what ‘this’ is, Namjoon.” You urge, shifting uncomfortably. “You’re making me nervous.” 

“It isn’t good.” 

“I gathered that.” 

“Namjoon,” Hoseok speaks up suddenly, from his position leaning across the bar. He has that expression again—serious, down to earth. A glimpse of that person he was talking about, maybe. Someone who can afford to be morally upstanding. “You’re being unfair.” 

The blond cocks his head, and you can follow the path of his tongue across the inside of his cheek, his eyes narrowing at his phone in thought. You’re just about to start trying to form a better argument when he speaks back up. 

“‘Bystanders were horrified today,” he begins, intoning as he reads, “When the peaceful protest of law enforcement procedures with regards to the recent discovery and subsequent attempted integration of so-called ‘vampires’ was interrupted by an as-of-yet unidentified woman driving through the crowd, hitting and killing key figure Bang Si-Hyuk.’” 

Namjoon heaves an exasperated sigh, lowering his head and carding his fingers through his hair like he has half a mind to rip it out by the roots. “A fucking hit and run. Of a public figure. In broad daylight.”

“I didn’t understand most of that, what does that mean?” You sit up, trying not to show on your face how your lower body complains when you jolt too quickly. 

“She started the riots??” Hoseok asks, meeting your glance across the room.

“There were already riots. But her little incident kicked off the ones closest to us, yeah.” 

“Riots for what?” 

“Us. Riots about us. People started noticing us, and they didn’t like what they saw,” Namjoon finally turns his gaze to meet yours directly. There’s no fondness in his eyes. No softness. He looks at you like you’re an animal. Like he isn’t sure whether he even wants to spare the money to have you put down. It claws a hole in your chest, and you have to look away, fighting the rising disappointment and panic inside of you. “But I bet you know that better than any of us.” 

“Bang Si-Hyuk,” Hoseok echoes. “That’s the guy that was trying to push for integration.”

“That’s the one. He was speaking out about the police force when she hit him.”

“What a time for an accident like that.”

“Yeah. Accident.” 

You shuffle closer to yourself, working on remembering to breathe, fixating on the remote sitting on the coffee table. The way the numbers have half rubbed off, the rubbery texture of the buttons reflecting the light. A hit and run? You...you killed someone?... “I don’t remember any of that. I don’t—I wouldn’t do that.”

“No? Not to try and get rid of bloodsuckers like us?” His tone is poison.

“Namjoon, I’m not—” you start, petrified, but you’re interrupted by the front door. From here, you can see Yoongi slinking through the doorway, closing the door slowly behind him. Your heart sinks when you realize you can see his hands shaking as he pulls the lock into place and hesitates for a moment, bracing himself against the door as if gathering what little strength he has.   

“Yoongi?” Hoseok immediately perks up, lips curling downwards with worry. “That you?”

“...Yeah. It me,” Yoongi finally replies, staggering faintly, trailing from the front door to the archway of the hall to the right, within full view of all three of you. He doesn’t seem any better than when he left this morning. In fact, he’s refusing to look directly at you, but now that you can see his face, you can see how dark the circles under his eyes are growing. How sharp his cheekbones have become, casting dark shadows across a drawn face. He rubs at his eye with the heel of his palm absently, taking short breaths, trying not to breathe you in too much. 

“No luck, huh?” 

“No. None.” He sounds choked, frustrated. “Nothing.” His tongue flits out to wet his lips and retreats with a swallow that you can hear for how dry it is. Your own throat twitches in sympathy, briefly imagining how badly it must be hurting him. Not for the first time, you think of how you could help him. You could help him. You think of his teeth. His tongue. You cut that entire train of thought loose when you spot him shifting his weight to the other foot, swaying. Who knows how sensitive he must be to changes in your scent. You can’t just let your mind wander like that. There’s more important things happening right now than your alarmingly weird, persistent fantasies.

“I’m not surprised. You see the news?”

“No.” 

“Remember when that spokesperson for vampire rights was killed a couple weeks ago?”

Yoongi’s brows crease as he fights past his fog to recall. “Bang Si-Hyuk. Yeah.”

“Guess who was driving the car.”

“News said it was extremists. Some crazy bitch looking to start a war. Why?”

Namjoon snorts, deadpan. “It isn’t nice to talk about people like that when they’re around.” 

It takes a full minute for the complete concept to circle around Yoongi’s head and arise victorious in his mind. He cocks his neck, looking at you briefly with his brows furrowed, but turning away just as fast. The feral hunger hiding within his eyes burns a swathe across your skin and you can feel it raising goosebumps in its wake. “What? No way.” 

“Yeah. Some kids snapped a picture of Namjoon to gush over how bangable he is, caught her in the corner, and a well-meaning adult somewhere took it to the news. Not at large, not anymore.”

“Namjoon? That’ll lead them here.” Yoongi frowns. “That’ll take them straight to us. What about Jin? Jin—”

“Jin’s doing his job,” Namjoon interrupts, quiet. “Protecting his coven. It’s not his fault. He gets paid to read the letters on the fucking page. It’s not like he has a choice.”

“Jin’s in trouble if this gets out of hand,” Hoseok adds. “Jungkook’s connections aren’t going to do anything if they start looking inside the force again.” 

“Jungkook’s a whole other kettle of fish. Jin can manage his own coven. We need to worry about our next move.”

Yoongi blinks, slow, moving to lean against the doorframe like he can barely hold his own weight up, hands moving to his arms absently, fingers digging into the fabric of his jacket. “We can’t stay.” 

“I can lay low for a while—”

“Hope’s class has seen you. They know he rooms with you. I’d bet he’s talked about you.” 

Hoseok licks his lips, casting his eyes to the bar beneath him with a nod of his head. “...He’s right. I have.”

“People have seen us out together. All of us. We’ve been here too long already.”

“We can’t—”

“Namjoon.” Yoongi’s voice cracks, turning hoarse, like he isn’t used to talking so much for so long. “We can’t stay.” 

“There’s nowhere to go. There isn’t anywhere else we can go.”

“...There’s always been somewhere.” Hoseok reaches long fingers out to brush the lumpy bowl set beside him, running his forefinger across one of the more prominent cracks, his expression distant. After a second, he leaves it alone, propping his elbows back up on the counter and looking out at his roommates with an absent sniff.

Joon ducks his head with a scoff, dropping his phone into the cushions dramatically and putting his face in his hands, clutching at the blonde strands of hair craning over his forehead. “Out of the question.”

“It’s been long enough.” Hoseok’s tone goes soft. “It’s been long enough. You made your point.”

“My point?” Namjoon sits up, tearing his hands away from himself to throw himself backwards, sending a look of disbelief in his direction. “My point?? This wasn’t a pissing contest, Hoseok. This wasn’t some...some schoolyard bitchfest. We had to leave.”

“And now we have to go back.” 

“...What about her? What do we do with her?” 

The pause that follows is pregnant. Heavy, and so thick it’s difficult to breathe through it. You turn away, but you can feel them looking at you. It feels awful, like you’re made of glue, catching their stares like overused fly paper hanging from the ceiling. You feel thin. See-through.

“What about you?” Namjoon asks, low. “What do we do with you?”

“...I don’t know,” you mumble.  

“We could turn her loose,” Hoseok suggests. “Let the cops have her.”

“No.” Yoongi’s too quick with his reply and hastily explains, “We’ve been having problems catching anything to eat anyways. It’s only gonna get worse in this climate. We have to keep her.” 

“You want to keep her around? She’s a threat. She puts all of us in danger.” Namjoon frowns.

You shift, frowning. “Like you’re any better.”

“I don’t pretend to be.” 

“Bullshit. That’s bullshit.”

“I’m not the one trying to start wars.”

“I never tried to start any fucking wars.”

“I thought you said you didn’t remember.”

“I don’t remember.” 

You’ve had enough. You move to stand, sucking in a sharp breath when your body aches in protest, but by god, you aren’t going to sit here on this couch while a household full of vampires judges you for something you honestly can’t recall. You sway a little as you dismount, reaching to grab a handful of the cushion up the back as you skirt around the side. 

“I’m going to take a nap.” You say, venom snaking past your teeth, keeping your sight trained on the floor in front of you. “Let me know if you’re planning on giving me to the police or if you’re going to continue holding me hostage, since apparently I have no choice in the matter.”

Neither Namjoon nor Hoseok move as you walk towards the hall, but neither does Yoongi, and as you approach him, you’re made too aware of how still he’s gone. You look up from the ground, but he’s not looking at you, choosing instead to study the wood of the doorframe to his right. 

“What do you want?” Hoseok says after a beat, low, quiet. You crane to meet his eyes. “What do you want to do?” 

“Does it matter?”

“It will.” 

“I want to take a nap.” 

“You could run. It’s a small town. Head south, move somewhere they wouldn’t find you.”

You hesitate. It’s been so long that you haven’t considered the idea of escape that the feel of it now is like the shadow of someone you used to know. Running. Getting out of here. Not fought for, but offered this time. It feels wrong, but it's impossible to place why. You shake your head faintly, speaking up again with a bitter scoff. “That’ll go well.” 

“You know what haze feels like.” You can hear Yoongi swallow in front of you as Hoseok speaks, the sound harsh and unkind. “You can look out for yourself.” 

“Can I?” 

“The option is there. If you wanted it. You have a choice.” 

“...A choice. Yeah. Sure.” 

“Don’t promise things you can’t guarantee, Hope.” Namjoon bites quietly.

“I will guarantee it.”

“What’s with the sudden change of heart, huh? What, you’re suddenly the CEO of free will?”

“I said from the start that we shouldn’t have kept her. Now everybody’s getting attached, just like I said they would, and the longer we keep her, the worse it’s going to get. Especially if we move back to Jin’s. Bringing her with puts everyone in danger, if all she’s gonna do is run off and bring attention to us. We can’t risk it with all of us in the same place.”

“Who said we’re moving back.”

Hoseok continues, ignoring his sour quip. “If she wants to leave, we’ll find something else. We’ve survived before, we’ll do it again. If she wants to leave. You’ll let her go, won’t you, Joon? Since you’re not too attached to a ‘threat’?”

Silence.

You turn back around, but freeze in place when you realize Yoongi’s looking at you now, dark eyes empty and half-lidded. He looks like a statue as he stares you down, following your every movement. A figure carved from marble to depict the downfall of man. No, not a man. An angel, cast from heaven in disgrace, wreathed in ash. He’s stopped breathing. You only just barely realize that you have, too.

“I’ll think about it.” You murmur, trying to pick up your previous train of thought, reminding yourself to inhale. “Running. Figuratively. Right now, I want a nap.” 

“Think about it.” Hoseok echoes quietly from behind you. “We’ll let you know when we’re moving.”

“If we’re moving,” Namjoon clarifies, low, but there’s no force in his words. No authority. 

You have to sidle past Yoongi to get to the other room. He doesn’t take the hint. Doesn’t move. You aren’t sure what spurs you forward more insistently; defiance, in the face of whatever stoic act he’s playing at, or anticipation. Anticipation of what he might do if you get too close. 

You misjudge how in-control he is and as you step forward, your shoulder nearly brushing his in the narrow entrance, he shifts. You can feel, more than see, his head inclining, his hair tickling your neck as he leans, the subtle noise of his lips parting, mouth opening, quietly inhaling with a hiss of air, and in that moment you freeze. Your heart pounds, blood racing through your veins, your own head drifting to the side as he approaches, time slowing to a crawl. 

You can feel it. The answer to your desires, the satiation that you need, that you crave, sharp teeth, perfect bliss, pain and pleasure, carving your limbs hollow and filling them back up with stardust. Your eyes threaten to close, lashes fluttering against your cheek. His hot breath, labored, casts against the column of your neck.

“Yoongi.” Namjoon speaks up, and Yoongi jerks forward as if released from a spell, suddenly dashing forward with long strides. You blink, turning to watch him slip down through the front hall, the click of the spare room door and the slam of it as he pulls it shut behind himself. 

You’re left spinning alone, on top of a world that whirls beneath your feet so fast you can’t think properly. 

“I don’t know what we’re going to do about him, though,” Namjoon says, murmuring low. “He doesn’t have much longer.”

“Yeah.” Hoseok agrees. “Either way, we need to make a decision fast.” 

You blink, spinning on your heel and walking at your own swift pace towards the bedroom. You make sure the door is closed behind you, promising a fight if anyone waltzes in uninvited. The bed creaks a little when you throw yourself onto it, ignoring by force the way it smells like Namjoon, like comfort. You don’t like him right now. You pretend that you don’t inhale deeply, fighting back hot, upset tears. 

He has no fucking right to judge you.

You’re a threat? You don’t feel like it, no matter what Jin recites to a camera crew somewhere the next town over.

For a while, you try to use the quiet to your advantage. Thinking-wise. Mulling over your choices. Going on the lamb? The run from the law, of all things? For a crime you don’t remember doing and can’t even...you can’t stomach doing that. Running over someone protesting people’s rights? Does that mean you hated vampires, before? You’re again left wondering what kind of person you used to be. 

And besides which...something in you twinges when you think of leaving. Some itch left unscratched. Some high you’re craving.

You rub absently at your neck as you think, frowning. 

 If you left, there wouldn’t be any more hazing. No more biting. Well, there’s other vampires, at least. If you really needed it....wanted it…

Ah, but who says they’d be as nice to you? 

‘Some of them really like pain’. You recall what Jimin had said when he caught you trying to sneak out of Jin’s window. Before Jungkook found you. Before they touched you. Took your clothes off and slid inside of you, pressed their lips to your chest and—

You’re losing the plot. You are going certifiably insane. Your legs twitch closed of their own volition, as if you could hide the way your cunt pulses around nothing from yourself.  

If you ran, would you end up seeking more out? Or, a better question, could you manage a life without biting? Without haze? The immediate panic, despair, that sinks briefly into your chest even at the thought, is too convincing. Like an addict. 

...Are you addicted? No. No, that’s silly. You’ve been without haze since... well, yesterday was…

You frown at the ceiling. 

Your migraine. Sharp, painful; like driving shards of glass into your eye sockets. Irritable. Looking for your next fix. Wishing you were ‘high’. Thinking about it, constantly. 

Your fingers are tightening around your throat and it isn’t until your vision starts going a little fuzzy that you realize you’re pressing too hard. Are you...choking yourself out? No, that’s not right. 

But instead of snatching your hand away completely, you linger, hooking your nails into the scabs at your neck. They’re mostly healed, but you can still feel a flicker of the pleasure they used to bring. The memory of Yoongi, just now, leaning closer, flashes across your mind, ghostly impressions of his breath against your skin, his hair tickling your jaw. He could have taken it further. He could have taken you further. If Namjoon hadn’t said anything. If Namjoon hadn’t been there. If he’d pressed you against that doorway, pinned you with those wide hands of his, kissed you. Kissed your neck. And…

You recall the feeling of fangs piercing your flesh, but it’s faded now. Disappointment courses through you. Longing. 

Fuck. 

So, now, you aren’t just a murderer with a political agenda. 

You’re definitely an addict. 

This sucks. 

...You wish you were hazed. 

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[nightcoremoon]

weird opinion but christians aren't religious.

ok so like, jews generally follow god's rules, muslims follow allah's rules, hindus probably follow their gods rules, so on and so forth. and overall they do it out of faith; they do it because they want to honor the deity who loves them rather than because society forces them to.

granted the zionists and the radical extremists and the zealots do exist but as loud minorities and thus are statistical outliers & don't matter.

christians are... a different breed.

"if you aren't x branch and dont obey y rules you'll go to hell so we'll fucking murder you" is pretty much the main driving force behind a significant portion of christianity in history. the catholics, the protestants, the orthodoxy, all are built on a foundation of fear, anger, and hatred. it's shaped the way society developed; in the 4 nations that did the most genocidal imperialist colonialism- England, France, Spain, and Italy- a combination of convenient coastal locations, naval prowess, military tendency, christianity, and ultranationalism lead them down a path of missionaries, holding bibles in one hand and bloodstained knives in the other. the religion is inseparable from the culture and inseparable from the horrible things done in the name of their god, and the resulting cancers of society we feel today from the campaigns of slaughter. xenophobia. capitalism. savage barbarism via sensationalized capitol punishment. misogyny. queerphobia. gender fascism. classism. racism. all of these issues in the "civilized world" stem predominantly from those four nations and the disease ridden pestilent filth some call pilgrims.

here's something interesting:

there are less than 1 million rastafari in the world.

there are less than 5 million shinto in the world.

there are less than 25 million jews in the world.

there are less than 30 million sikhs in the world.

there are roughly 100 million african cultural religious adherents in the world.

there are less than 400 million chinese cultural religious adherents in the world.

there are about 500 million buddhists in the world.

there are about 1.1 billion hindus in the world.

there are about 1.2 billion nonreligious people in the world.

there are 1.6 billion muslims in the world.

and one final statistic

there are over 2.1 billion christians in the world.

the jewish count is a highball, rounded up, and includes several different definitions of jewish including people who are only one quarter. so for every single person who is even remotely jewish, there are more than 8 christians. for every hindu, there are 4 christians. for every atheist, agnostic, or "other", 2 christians. this frightening statistic should set off warning bells for everyone who is involved in a discussion about religion. and anyone who knows BASIC world history and can correlate data at all can probably piece together what I'm putting down.

now, I may be slightly biased here considering my eclectic religious beliefs. now, I personally believe that there is some primary force of energy that may or may not manifest itself as a humanoid being, that engineered the most basic laws of physics in the universe: atomic magnetism. as can be inferred by planck's constant and its implications, our universe is digital, written in binary. an electron either moves or doesn't move. there are no other options. so I genuinely believe in some form of intelligent design; whether it's a bearded guy on a cloud, some dude with six arms and an elephant for a face, just a big swirling pool of ectoplasm, or a big ol' plate of spaghetti and meatballs, something is out there that we are physically incapable of contacting from our plane of existence, just as a drawing on a piece of paper cannot reach out to interact with the world: a gif will move on its own but it will never acknowledge our existence, even if it could think by itself. and all the different mythologies of the world- egyptian, greek, norse, shinto, whatever- very well could be the agents of that unknown "god". perhaps anubis, ra, and bastet are just angels with animal heads that all of the peoples of ancient egypt saw and were like oh I guess this must be a god. maybe zeus and loki were the same person with a magic dick who fucked a bunch of animals in both greece and the scandinavian countries and spawned all of the horrible half-animal monstrosities that, idk, made vishnu think "well I have to kill that" and caused the biblical flood or something. maybe the jewish god gifted wisdom to siddhartha for sitting under a fig tree for 6 years through the angel pomona [roman goddess of fruit, had to google that one], so buddha gets his wisdom from demeter and is in nirvana right now right a step up from hades on yggdrasil the world tree keeping an eye on his charge persephone. any theory could theoretically be true but we ants of humans will never fucking know because we can't just point a telescope at the magellanic clouds and say "look, there's amaterasu with russell's teapot, and she's having tea with... *rubs eyes* lemmy kilmister??? wow I guess gods are real after all!" it's impossible to know the secrets of our universe because of the very restrictive nature of the universe itself. is it a circle? is it a donut? WE DONT FUCKIN KNOW.

we cannot know what religion is truthful.

""anyone who says that any one religion is more or less true than any other is a fucking moron, and if they're suggesting that White Western European Colonial Imperialist Protestantism is the one true faith, they're probably a fucking racist colonizer who beats his wife/sister and burns gays at the stake. and considering how that exact demographic is typically the one that murdered people for not converting to their religion, I don't think they have the intellectual non-deranged ability to make those logical connections.

again, I'm not saying that there AREN'T a lot of people of every religion who are evil assholes who contributed to mass genocide. israelites killed palestinians. shiites killed sunnis. hutus killed tutsis. danes killed geats. turks killed armenians. the ottoman empire has as much blood on its hands as the holy roman empire. germans who called themselves aryans but weren't actually aryan killed jews. but all of these tragedies were isolated incidents rather than repeated patterns over the course of two thousand years. not like christianity was and is.

just look at the United States, Canada, Mexico, Hong Kong, South Africa, Australia, & India's British Raj. Britain, France, Spain, and Italy, by extension Protestantism and Catholicism, are the shared factor between the long and bloody history fraught with massacring indigenous populations who wouldn't convert religions. native americans, indigenous canadians, latin americans but predominantly mexicans, the eastern chinese, coastal africans, aborigine aussies, indians- coastal coastal coastal. true the western chinese and the mongols/hunnu and xinjiang muslims haven't exactly been on civil terms and the silk road has always been a battleground and the middle east was already tenuous before murrica bombed them for oil but those happened in such a spread out area among asia which is FUCKING HUGE, MIND YOU! but also that's three high traffic places with massive diversity, it's human nature to have conflict, but not nearly to the same level as all of the shit christianity has done to the world. it's impossible to separate the religion from the cultures; victorian england without protestantism is just dirty people who die at 15 from having their 3rd child. italy without the catholicism is just grass and cheese. france and spain without religion are just kingdoms that fought wars with england for forever and now just make food that's one part delicious and three parts horrifying. religion is directly responsible for a significant portion of the evils those countries committed. one religion in particular.

they don't practice religion the same way as the rest do. they aren't faithful to their god. they don't follow his rules out of love but out of fear. they execute dissenters without a second thought, heresy they cry. they execute women and little girls for being free thinking or having sickness associated with mercury poisoning in the water, witch they cry. they slaughter men women and kids alike in the name of cramming their beliefs down the natives throats, we're chasing out the snakes they cry, we're bringing god to your godless people they cry, we're just civilizing you they cry. they shit in the streets and proudly display rotting corpses and leave the impoverished disabled and starving to die alone and whip their slaves and rape teenage girls and scrap in the streets while sopping wet with spilled ale over insignificant insults and stab people to death in the night and never even fucking BATHE, and they have the nerve to say the natives were uncivilized. the nerve. because hey. they read a magic book they stole from a culture who stole from another culture who stole from another culture, mistranslating each time from hebrew to greek to italian to english, and they think they're better because their skin is white.

christians never evolved. their mentalities have stayed the same. all thatms advanced has been technology. that's it. they're still the same evil disgusting degenerate bastards they always were. they just have the money they stole to buy stained glass windows, rosary beads, giant tacky metal statues, bigass robes, leather, and printing presses. and as time passed they used the money they continued to steal to buy cars and websites and radio stations and commit felony tax evasion and secretly molest children and line the pockets of the politicians.

all of their holidays are stolen from pagans anyway.

so fuck christmas. fuck easter. fuck lent. fuck the golden calf christian holidays that the tiny minded fragile snowflake conservatives lose their collective shit over because the pandemic response common sense stipulations won't let them buy the shit they can't afford with money they shouldn't have for people they don't even LIKE, all in the name of tradition, tradition! the rituals that worship something so much worse than satan or baphomet or pan or whatever: the dollar. they buy all the new shiny shit they can, at the expense of the chinese kids that the corporate pigs outsource to, buy the pine trees and the coca cola vunderbar and the fake mint corn syrup Js and watch the same shitty cookie cutter white supremacist hallmark fash movies and stuff their kids full of enough sugar to go into a goddamn coma when the african slaves who pick the cocoa beans will never get to know what actually being a kid will ever feel like because they're gonna die from falling into a combine harvester and be eternally forgotten to history and no christian will ever give a shit because they don't fucking care about what they don't see on their safe space news or hear on their safe space radio or read on their safe space social media. they think their worst sin is eating cheeseburgers so instead they'll go eat a mcchicken or chick fil a or an arby's chicken sandwich instead but not at popeyes because "that place is sketchy" and by that they mean they don't wanna eat where black people eat, that's why cracker barrel was so popular for so many white christians for so long because it had racially segregated seating until barely 20 years ago.

they don't love jesus. they love a paper doll they shove into their back pockets until every other sunday where they go to a fucking mall with a baptism waterslide and raise their hands like a bunch of dumbass weirdos and away to adult contemporary indie schlock with the word jesus pasted into a boring-ass hetero romance song, pat themselves on the back, then go to starbucks to scream slurs and misgenderings at 14 year old starbucks baristas who give them a cappamochalattechino instead of a fucking carmamochalattechino because you mumbled under the mask you didn't even fucking cover your nose with because you don't give a shit about the virus beyond how it inconveniences you.

they are horrible people who pretend to be good. until you suggest the slightest infinitely small inconvenience to them that would alter their holiday plans even the littlest smidge. then they would kill you if not for the police. don't get me started on them because you know by now what I'd say about those fuckers. but they'll gladly wear shirts about how they'll kill you. how they'll go back 200 years. how they'll murder you and watch you slowly suffer because their primate brains shoot a million endorphins when they watch things die by their hands because they never evolved a sense of empathy, compassion, or morality beyond how wearing a cross necklace will remove any of the consequences they will face in their afterlife.

they are horrible people who pretend to be good. unless you're gay or black or trans or Not Christian™ or mexican or disagree with them about politics economics sociology science technology music or movies. assimilate or die. assimilate or die. assimilate or die.

they don't deserve special treatment for their false idols.

they aren't better than jews or muslims.

they're worse.

so much worse.

and they should be stopped.""

-Nightingale Quietioca

save as draft arch draft bookmark draft where did I put my keys contra code kontra kode I need to remember this and copy it buzzwords keywords find it later please god tumblr don't bork on me this is good stream of consciousness repackage repackage change the words this is a great character study if I do say so myself thanks 3am me you're welcome 3am me

[lilrexsoka]

Here you all are! (Three hundred followers has been achieved, as well. Cool.) :)

Tumblr Fic #1- Rexsoka Pregnancy- Part 11- Secrets Lost

“I don’t think you are supposed to be here, Commander.” The Togruta smiled slyly as her mate slipped into her room, quiet despite the layers of his armour.

Rex smirked and quietly closed the door behind him. “Maybe. But it was finally my turn on guard duty.”

Ahsoka’s troops had been spending their past few days in the city of Tophen on Christophsis in the crystalline palace, assisting Senator Gemsai as a stabilizer while major changes came to the planet’s politics. The troops followed to both provide protection to their General, as well as to the Senator and her followers. All this meant was Ahsoka was missing her mate terribly as she was kept from seeing him. “I stayed up to wait for you.”

The clone chuckled and guided her into the provided bed, laying her down and smirking into her beautiful face. “Bad girl. The baby needs sleep too.”

She gasped in mock hurt and tapped him teasingly. “I will. I just sleep better with you.” Ahsoka grinned until her mate smothered it with his lips, melting her as always in his comforting presence and touch.

The Togruta eventually convinced him to give up his guarding duty and strip to his blacks, lending to a much easier sleer for both of them. Ahsoka laid above the covers for a while with her mate pressed against her, his head resting beside her swollen stomach which had stuck out between the gifted silk pyjamas, ear against the stretched skin. She lightly ran her nails over his scalp and through the sun-dyed fuzz, listening contently as he murmured to the growing life inside of her.

“You’re going to be so lucky to have Ahsoka as a mommy.” Rex rubbed her abdomen softly, pressing light kisses in between his whispers. “She’s the smartest, prettiest, bravest and most talented Jedi in the Galaxy. She’s funny, and kind, and possibly the best friend a man could ever have.”

Ahsoka felt tears well up behind her eyes. This man was so amazing. She didn’t know what she would have done without him.

The clone continued, practically the entire right side of his face plastered against her body, as if he was trying to hear the heartbeat again. “You’re going to love her, just like I do.” Suddenly, Rex jerked his head back, his expression flashing with confusion, then wonder.

“What?” His mate sat up further, the markings above her eyes lifting.

Rex chuckled lowly and smoothed his palm over the area of her stomach his head had been resting on. “Didn’t you feel that?”

She giggled nervously. “No?”

The clone pressed his ear back up against her rounded stomach and seemed to wait. Eventually, he gasped, “There! It did it again! The baby is moving!”

His giddiness amused her and she grinned. “Are you sure? It could just be-“

“I’m sure,” Rex insisted. “I felt and heard it bump against your side.” He pressed his lips to her skin, as if attempting to kiss his unborn child. “Are you trying to say hi to mommy and daddy?”

Ahsoka sighed lovingly and stroked her mate’s back with one hand, her belly with the other. She couldn’t express how much she loved him. “I’m sure he’s trying to tell you that he wants to go to sleep.” The Togruta snickered as the clone crawled back up to her and smirked into her face.

“You could have just said so.” He playfully hooked his arms under her back and pulled the sheets around her. Once she was safely tucked under the silk blankets, he slipped under with her.

Ahsoka immediately tucked into his side, squirming around until she found the perfect spot for her distended stomach. Rex curled his arms around her and lay there, hand placed protectively on the spot where their child grew.

This was their routine when they had the chance. By now, it was familiar, but yet still the favourite part of their night.

“Goodnight, Rex. I love you.”

“Goodnight, ‘Soka. I love you so much.” She felt him tap her stomach under the covers. “Goodnight, son- or daughter- of ours.”

The Togruta smiled into his shoulder. He was a good man, and would make an amazing father.

——

“Feels good to be back in the stars, General?” Admiral Tashen asked once Ahsoka and her men walked onto the bridge. The political assistance had helped Christophsis for the better, but now it was finally time to leave Senator Gemsai so they could continue with another mission.

The General nodded deftly. “Of course, Admiral. I’m always glad to return to you.” She winked teasingly and thoroughly enjoyed the laugh she pulled from him.

“So, what’s next on the agenda, Tashen?” Rex asked, stopping beside the General.

The Admiral leaned forward to turn on the holotable. “We will be heading to Joshal next, to assist the refugees that are being driven from their homes by extremists.” He brought up an image of the planet, which was quickly followed by a recording of a human woman, pleading for help in a language that was translated below her face.

“Joshal?” Jesse spoked up, his eyes flaring. “I’ve never heard of it.”

“It’s wild,” both Kix and the Admiral told him at the same time.

Tashen shot him a look but continued. “It’s an under-developed planet, but it’s people are still part of the Republic, and they need our help.” He switched off the projection smoothly. “We’ll be stopping at Arcadis station to resupply before beginning the journey to the Holden System.”

“You can’t go, General Tano,” Kix blurted again, leading every pair of eyes on the bridge to train on him. The clone medic rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.

Ahsoka sighed and gestured to him as she slowly strode past, making sure to include her Commander by tapping his pauldron. “Follow me, Kix, and explain why.” She didn’t particularly want to begin an argument in public, and she was ready to sit down. Pregnancy had done terrible things to her back.

“Let me explain,” the medic began once they found the first private room they could find, which just so happened to be one of the medical bays. “I’ve done some research on exotic planets, and Joshal is certainly exotic.” He continued as Ahsoka heaved herself into a chair and listened carefully, Rex watching from a shorter distance away. “There are these insects on this planet that carry a dangerous disease. It doesn’t do anything to most people, but it can affect women who-“ He cut himself off with a ragged cough. “-Who are bitten.”

Ahsoka lifted the markings above her eyes, suspicious. “Uh huh. Well, I’ll try not to get bitten. Thank you, Kix.”

Kix didn’t give up. Instead, he began to grow frantic. “Please, just listen to me, General. I think it will be best if you stay behind this mission, just for your safety.”

“Kix,” the Togruta sighed. “Just tell me the real reason.” She was already guessing his point when she heard footsteps and then, a door sliding open.

“Sorry to eavesdrop,” the man, a young Coruscanti medic, began, “But I have to disagree. I had a grandparent who was from Joshal, and the Tinxes don’t harm healthy women. But they could cause a risk to unborn children.” He shrugged and sipped his cup of caf.

Rex growled. “Trooper. This is a private conversation.”

The young medic’s eyes flared and he took a step back. “Oh, sorry. I hadn’t-“ He cursed under his breath and rapidly backed out.

Ahsoka rolled her eyes, though incompetent shinies wasn’t her biggest concern at the moment. “Enough of this. How did you know, Kix? Was it obvious?”

The Medic groaned and buried his face in his hands, sinking down into his own chair. “Er… a little. Some of the older clones, including I and Jesse, noticed. And… uh… we started betting.”

“Of course you did.” Rex paced closer and stood face to face with his medic, fists curling protectively. “Now, I’d like you to come up with an excuse. Anything that can keep Ahsoka’s secret for a little longer. I want you to stop all betting.” The clones exchanged a long glare, seeming to study each other until Rex eventually broke the silence. “You’re certain, aren’t you? Coric told you.”

Kix shook his head rapidly, but his stuttering gave him away and the gig was up. He sighed heavily. “Yes, but it was necessary! Coric wanted someone who could keep an eye on the General, someone who knew enough about pregnancies!” He winced, as if he was afraid his brother would hit him.

“It’s okay, Rex,” Ahsoka told her mate, gently guiding him away from the medic. I guess this is just the excuse I needed. “Coric was probably right.” She gathered her courage and a deep breath before murmuring, “I think we should tell everyone now anyway.”

Rex sighed, apparently very relieved. “I agree. Since the boys are already speculating. It wouldn’t be long before they figured out the truth.”

“Thank you,” Kix breathed. He laughed nervously. “Takes a lot of stress off of me.”

The Togruta ran her hands down her mate’s arms and inhaled shakily. This was going to be the beginning of what she feared. Before long, more than just her men and her master would know about her pregnancy. “Okay… should we tell them now?” She’d waited long enough.

Rex shrugged, but Kix interrupted him. “It’s up to you. But I wasn’t joking, you probably should not step onto the surface of Joshal. Just to be safe.” He arched his eyebrows and jabbed his thumb at the door behind him. “That shiny was right.”

“I believe you.” Ahsoka touched her stomach through the fabric of her robes as she spoke. “And this time, I’ll listen. For the baby’s safety.” She saw the relieved expressions on both the clone’s faces and decided that she had made the right choice.

Now, all that was left was to reveal their relationship- and their pregnancy- to the clones and natural-borns on the cruiser. This will be fun.

[iaintyourbro]

Hi! So I read the "Why I think Clerith doesn't work" post. It's a behemoth of an exchange but I'm glad I went through it! So much sense, insight and lovely politeness everywhere! It's a bit off on tangent but my takeaway is that FF7 would stay the same whether Clerith was romantic or platonic, but if Cloti wasn't romantic, the plot suffers big time. Like to the point that it would lose sense. Cloud not loving Tifa the way he does doesn't flow with the tapestry. 1/

That's not to say that Clerith relationship is unimportant but I guess to me it just drives the point further that it could only be Tifa for Cloud. OG Soldier!Cloud may or may not have had romantic feelings for Aerith and if he did, it indeed won't diminish his love for Tifa in any way. But those feelings are fake; Remake Aerith herself says this, OG Cloud himself comes to realize this. Those possible romantic feelings don't hold much substance (if any at all) post-Lifestream sequence. 2/7

It would be almost impossible for Cloud to think of Aerith romantically once he regains his true self because of Tifa and Zack. This development directly negates every moment he may have previously thought of as romantic. This development overwrites Soldier!Cloud's possible romantic interpretations as nothing more than being a decent person and a good friend. All of this tells me that to take Clerith romantically as a plot point would require some extra elbow grease 3/7

that you won't naturally find in the tapestry. To do so soundly, we would need something else that the devs didn't give us. That's not to say that Clerith being romantic is twisting canon to be what it's not, but rather it doesn't matter in the big picture. The story stands on solid ground as it does if they're platonic, and because Cloud's true love already exists in Tifa and they are ultimately endgame, then there's no need for Clerith to be romantic. 4/7

This is what I mean when I say Clerith romance would need something else, some extra elbow grease; it COULD be there but it's ultimately needless. Which in turn leads me to believe that the romantic possibility between them in OG was indeed put there purely for drama's sake and shock value. Some fans ran with that possibility mindlessly but that’s a different discussion. Bottom line is I think Clerith could either be romantic or platonic and it won't affect the plot all that much, 5/7

because the feeling that Cloud is left with as regards to Aerith is crushing guilt (which he thankfully works through in ACC and we can only assume he remembers her fondly as time goes on) while the feeling Cloud has for Tifa is abiding love, which drives his actions in the plot throughout the whole Compilation. /end LOL sorry this take is way too long but I so loved the whole exchange and it really tickled my last 2 brain cells. Thank you for that!! Stay safe and well ❤ 6/7

Uh, “why clerith doesn’t work” with the long ass ask here lol I’m so sorry to do this to you. But correcting/clarifyingone of stuff I said: Cloud and Tifa being “ultimately endgame”, I meant that they are endgame by the devs’ design. Them ending up together was intentional and not just because Aerith happened to die (just as her death was also intentional and by design). 😬 7/7 (?) lol

Hello Anon! You sent me in quite a thing, so let’s get to it! First, I’m glad you got to read through all of that. I think those types of discussions are really amazing especially when people do stay polite and do actually take other opinions into consideration. 

I agree with you - Clerith being romantic or not doesn’t really matter overall to the plot. I think the problem that comes up is how extremist CAs deal with the whole thing. Some are okay with Cloud dying to be with Aerith. Some are okay with trashing Tifa - who is like the most important person in the world to Cloud, you find out - to diminish her character. They twist, erase, and lie about canon and story. That’s where shit gets nasty. But no, it wouldn’t matter plot wise either way. 

Also I’m putting pictures in this post because they’re pretty. (The one below cracks me up.)

The relationship of those two is important. I think Aerith’s resolution is poorly interpreted because all of her lines aren’t taken in to consideration. The line “Don’t fall in love with me.” It’s bold. It insinuates something. It makes an assumption. It’s the follow up that’s more important to me... “Even if you think you have... it’s not real.” Boom. That is where it is - if you stop listening at the “L” word, this will be lost on you. This is used to foreshadow Cloud’s persona problem AND to say - the point of Aerith being seen as a romantic interest in OG was to show even more of the illusion that Cloud was under. Do I think they needed to make it romantic - no. I really don’t see it as very romantic in OG, but a lot of people disagree with me and that’s okay. Replaying it as an adult, I saw nothing substantial between those two. Early in OG, though, there’s nothing early on between him and Tifa either. Remake, uh... clearly changed that with Tifa. 

Regarding Zack and Real!Cloud’s feelings for Tifa: I cannot think that Cloud would be like “well he’s dead so...” No. True!Cloud also has been pining over Tifa for years. His entire subconscious is filled with Tifa, Tifa, Tifa. They’ve translated this underlying feeling in Remake for SOLDIER!Cloud and how he acts around and reacts to Tifa. It’s like Real!Cloud isn’t gonna let him screw up too bad... 

Most of the posts you see saying that Clerith is canon or Clerith was heavy in Remake ignore a lot of other scenes. I’ve seen all three resolution scenes. Multiple times. They’re all important. A lot of extreme shippers will not watch the scene with “the other chick” in them because it’s easier to sit in denial of it. Tifa’s resolution is the most intimate. She hugs him and he hugs her back. This is a huge development thing for Cloud. It also was confirmed that real Cloud was like “my turn” when she did that... 

Barret’s resolution scene even has a Cloti moment in it regarding Al and his flowers, which is one of the most unexpected and hilarious reactions I saw out of Cloud. Barret’s resolution also covers some history on Avalanche and he gets to talk about the crew. You hear names that you can go back and see on the darts leaderboard on your next playthrough. 

Aerith references the Highwind scene (above). The Highwind scene is the one everybody talks about when it comes to Cloud and Tifa. That and the Lifestream (I prefer the Lifestream, but Remake may... uh... make me change my mind... cuz horny jail and all that).

The one thing they did that was, to me, a huge difference from OG was push the romance envelope. So you get scenes like the train tunnel roll, that’s dripping with sexual tension. You get the scene in Tifa’s apartment if you do all of the quests (everybody should be doing ALL of the quests for ALL Chapters), you get another Cloti scene that’s tense. They have a lot of tense, slam in your face moments that I don’t know how people ignore. 

If you look at some of these moments and have no clue what this scene is or what this game is about, you’re gonna have thoughts on what’s going on here. I have thoughts and I know what happens. This is one of those “pheewwww” scenes.

None of this was in OG - they kept the romance between Cloud and Tifa pretty much so subtle you’d have to squint to see the few times it happens before the end of Disc 2. The first time Cloud really comes out and says anything, it’s this:

If you ignore Tifa and think Aerith is all there is to see, this line will come out of left field. It still somewhat feels like its out of left field considering how light Cloti is before this point, but it’s like “I don’t care what anybody else thinks of me except you.” I do remember this slamming me in the face like “where’d this come from” and that’s when the illusion starts to spiral out of control. This works perfectly on your first playthrough and then enhances your second playthrough so you can see how many weird things you can point out to foreshadow what’s going on.

Also... Cloud’s illusionary world in the first half of the game is a major plot point that can’t be ignored. Ignoring it means you stopped playing the game before you get to this point. The player starts to feel anxious like something is wrong. You start to question everything, and then you do get resolution to this later on, and I love the way they did it. 

But if you want to say Tifa isn’t a love interest, you need to throw the above scene out. Why would he care so much? 

Or this. You would need to ignore the Lifestream. All of it. 90% of it is about Tifa. The other parts are about Zack and Sephiroth. But Tifa’s in that section of his mind too, because she almost dies. 

FFVII is not a romance game. Especially not the OG. However love or romance is what drove Cloud to try to join SOLDIER, what drove Cloud to completely go ballistic when his mom is killed, his town burned down, and then he comes across an almost lifeless Tifa. 

And then... Sephiroth somehow survives this. A Buster Sword going through his skinny ass... walks out and Cloud goes after him again. 

Personally, my favorite rendition of the Cloud stabbing Sephiroth scene is Crisis Core because of the music, the way he walks in the room, and then boom. 

If they do a mashup of the two: Have him walk in the room, just showing his legs, (and it feels so fucking arrogant the way he does it ughhh) have dramatic music playing, BUT have Sephiroth turn just at the last second like he does in OG so he sees it’s a grunt right away, and then have Cloud say the above line, which they removed from CC for some reason. 

You should watch this scene and feel feelings like I do about the way he walks in there

Okay, anyway...

If Sephiroth had walked out of the reactor, he most likely would have run in to Zangan and killed him. My guess is, he would have found a way to recover from his massive would. Zangan wouldn’t have been able to get to Tifa and them, but you could say Cloud could have taken Tifa... but would he have left Zack? So many what ifs... but the point is, he legit goes nuts when he thinks Tifa is dead. 

And so Sephiroth tries this again in Remake:

And Cloud also starts to go ballistic until he sees Barret and freezes. So Sephiroth is like “alright I just need him to break not start trying to murder me yet.” 

Cloud is upset when Aerith dies. He blames himself. Hell, he almost killed her himself twice in OG. Of course he feels like shit. Of course he feels guilty. He feels she went to confront Sephiroth on her own because of what he did. But he doesn’t really do much after this. They resolve to go after Sephiroth, but he’s able to get through the Jenova fight, “bury” Aerith and go back to get some sleep at one of the abandoned homes. 

When he thinks Tifa dies in Nibelheim, he gets stabbed through the fucking chest and somehow, this grunt kid, picks a 6′1″ dude up by just using sheer rage and willpower and throws him into the depths of the reactor. Like holy shit, what kind of feeling do you need to do that? And Cloud ultimately probably saved a lot of people early on doing that. 

Cloti was endgame from the moment OG starts. You really don’t know it, though, for a long time. You also don’t fully grasp it the first time you play the game. If you replay it, you’ll see some subtle references to this, such as Cloud getting jealous in Costa del Sol if Tifa is talking to Johnny, Tifa holding Cloud when he sees Jenova in the Shinra building, the flashback he has of her during the second bombing mission, but that’s not enough to say “it’s obvious from the beginning.” 

The story’s intent was to have them be endgame. The point of Aerith was to show more of the illusion (for Cloud). Aerith overall is the most important character plot wise. However, it doesn’t matter either way if people did or didn’t see romance between the Cloud and Aerith. The story plays out the same. What you can’t deny is Tifa’s importance to Cloud overall and how the story plays out... 

In closing, though, there is NOTHING saying a person can’t like Clerith. Absolutely nothing. They just can’t claim it’s endgame or canon. It never was. The illusion was supposed to be broken. You were supposed to move on from her death. That was that - whether he romantically had feelings for her or not. 

But Canon doesn’t mean best. If you don’t like a canon couple, nothing wrong with a fanon couple. People write some good shit for fanon. You just can’t attack, butcher, twist, lie, and bully to push your rhetoric as canon.

Thanks for sending the ask/comments in. I think it’s a great addition to the discussion!

[katribou]

hey! saw your post and was just wondering (no hate from me its totally your opinion) how come you didn't like future connected? I didnt think it was perfect but I definitely liked it and was just curious what you thought?😄

first off this is no attack on anyone who enjoyed the epilogue! it just peeves me personally. anyway i’ve gone and rambled a bit... my main gripe with it is melia’s characterization with regards to her mixed heritage… it’s prob something i’m more sensitive to considering i myself am biracial. personally i find the way she deals with the half-blooded extremist mess that is gael’gar goes against her original character arc.

so! lets start with the main game just to see with where i’m coming from. in the story, we learn that melia is half high entian and half homs, and how that affects almost every facet of her life. she is a crown princess, but she feels very isolated because of her heritage. just before her father dies she reveals how she always felt he never loved her, and she thought that was because she was not pure blooded. this is a telling moment; despite how good melia is at keeping face, being a royal and all, living with such a burden on the psyche like that is no small thing. it is something that defines a person and most certainly not something one would quickly forget. (remember that point...)

of course as the story goes on it’s revealed melia and her homs half are basically a failsafe for their civilization because pure blooded high entians are ultimately fated to revert back into their ancestral telethia forms and basically become monsters. so mainly just the mixed-bloods are left in the aftermath.

that brings us to future connected. among the survivors, the gang meets another half-blooded high entian called gael’gar. in their first meeting, he goes ‘a new age dawns, and we half-breeds are chosen for its caretakers! with you, lady melia, as our shining paragon.’ to which melia responds ‘hmph. i have no patience for wheedling. especially… from knaves who spit on their ancestors.’

a couple things here. melia’s response feels so… haughtily out of character to me. i can understand her maybe trying to be modest regarding the ‘wheedling’ comment, as gael’gar does come off as a bit pretentious but her overall response lacks so much diplomacy as she is known for. yes this dude is a bit of a freak from the get-go but….. her immediate takeaway from this is Knave Who Spits On Our Ancestors? her immediate reflex is to defend the original pure-bloods??? not only that but melia is a sympathetic and compassionate character. why is she so quick to be defensive and lightly hostile to this person? surely she is sympathetic to some of his feelings about being half-blooded? and being an empress in a new era surely she wouldn’t be so dismissive and hear people out more? it would have made more sense if she at least tried to see eye to eye with him and then realize maybe he's beyond help

bunch of stuff later, gael’gar becomes an antagonist, he tries to thwart research into recovering entian culture because of his oddly extremist ideology and says ‘we are what the race ought to become! we are the true face of the high entia!’ to which melia responds with ‘if not for our ancestors, we would never even have drawn breath! you will not so easily refute our history!’ i get her second line; i understand her responsibility in having to preserve the legacy of the entians as empress. but but that first line is so oddly defensive. maybe it’s because she’s a royal i guess lol but doesn’t feel very melia... who says stuff like that..?

gael’gar is a whole other story. what a joke of a character. he annoys me so much because, and i know this is a fantasy game, but biracial people are straight up Not like that. they literally copy-pasted a purist attitude onto him and it makes no sense. i mean this dude is obviously written as a nutcase so maybe that’s the end of the conversation there, but i find him so comical and unbelievable...

and in all of this? melia somehow never even brings up her own mixed heritage! i mean it’s not flat out ignored of course, gael’gar was obsessed with her for being this progenitor of half-breeds. but like? considering how much she dealt with in her own life for being half-blooded, how does she never bring up her own experiences and empathize? it literally feels like she forgot she faced that kind of discrimination! recall above how i said thats not something one simply forgets??? that stuff shaped her! multiple times there were literal attempted assassinations on her life because she was named successor to the throne but she was half-blooded. how does something like that not… come up? melia proves herself understanding and compassionate throughout the main game, how is she so quick to brush off someone as being inconsiderate of their ~ancestors~ instead of looking within to her own experiences at being discriminated as a half-blood?

it just does not feel right to me. which i find saddening. i really love melia and i feel like it got her wrong. part of the reason i love her is that her narrative involves mixed heritage, and there isn’t a whole lot of media that actually meaningfully delves into that, which is why i appreciated her in the original game. but the way they made this weird nutcase character who they put a negative spin on for being so loud about his half-blooded-ness, while oddly not bringing up that melia too is this way... just doesn’t sit all that well with me

[rainandhotchocolate]

Rejection

A/N Hey! Sorry I know I’ve been AWOL for a week, cause I was finishing up a freelance project but here’s a stupidly long fic for you all! It’s 7k, it was meant to be a oneshot but I just kept writing and well here we are lel

TO the requester, sorry this is more fluffy than angsty... I just really wanted some idiotic Sirius trash OOPs - feel free to send me another message if you want me to write something more angsty!!

Request:  If you take requests, can I request an angsty imagine/fic with sirius where the reader confesses her love for him, but he rejects her and is basically really mean to her? It can have a happy ending or an angsty ending😂

Length: 7k

TW: Mentions of injuries, Sirius being mean/an idiot

Rejection

It was like a large, human shaped slap in the face, that had annoyingly soft black curls that trailed over his face. Sirius Black seemed to tower over the bar, eyes looking expectantly at her as he asked again for a whiskey and coke, in a short glass.

“Uh… hello?”

“Yeah, sorry, phased out for a second there,” Y/N pulled out her best hospitality smile and poured out his drink carefully, doing her best to avoid his curious stare.

“Do I know you from somewhere?” He cocked his head to the side, continuing to stare as she busied herself with putting through his cash and finding him change.

“Oh shit, we went to school together!” He said finally, as she attempted to find another customer, groaning internally when she realised it was a Tuesday afternoon and the bar was empty. She finally looked up at him, smiling again, hoping he didn’t see the clenched fists under the bar.

Y/N couldn’t tell if she was happier or insulted that he didn’t remember her. Unfortunately, she hadn’t forgotten him, the feeling of complete and utter embarrassment rushing through every inch of her.

Y/N had had a crush on Sirius for a lifetime, ever since she saw him cheering on James at the Gryffindor vs Ravenclaw match, streamers stuck to almost every part of him, and mostly naked. Not that Sirius would have ever noticed a small mousy Ravenclaw girl who was usually in the library or reading next to the black lake.

She’d tried to get over him, but it was like every time he did something stupid it seemed to make her want him more. When he jumped on the back of James’ broom after the end of a spectacular win against Slytherin she had this lurch of wanting to jump on the back with him.

Then it was seventh year, when the paper every morning brought either another disappearance or suspicious death, and Hogwarts suddenly began to feel like it wasn’t the safest place in England like it had once been. There was something about a life or death situation that started making everyone act a little crazy, from people banging around in broom closets to certain extremists, on both sides, ending up in curious places. The weirdest being floating above the middle of the Black Lake.

Y/N had every single girl in her year banging her over the head with her stupid ongoing crush with Sirius, and she was getting sick of it. Finally, she’d brought up the courage to tell him, better to tell him and know than live without knowledge, one of her friends had said sincerely, puffing out a big breath of smoke whilst she giggled loudly. Being a little high may have been another factor to her sudden decision to find Sirius and proclaim her undying love for him.

So, standing in the staircase outside the Great Hall she found him and told him, in more stuttered, uncomfortable words, exactly that. She’d not exactly expected him to return the feelings, hell she didn’t think he would necessarily recognise her. She didn’t expect him to turn around, grin at James, and then begin to cackle with laughter at her.

“Uh, yes we did,” Y/N nodded slowly, pretending to smile in recognition. Sirius grinned back at her, taking a sip from his drink.

“I’m so sorry, what was your name again?”

“Y/N.”

“Ahh of course! Sirius,” He gave out a hand as if to shake it. Y/N stared at him, trying to hold in the increasing frustration she was getting from him being so nice to her.

“Yes, enjoy your drink,” Y/N plastered on the smile again and turned away, pretending to find some glasses to shine and waiting until she’d heard him walk away, thankful for him to have left her alone.

Sirius walked away slowly, heading back towards the table where James and Remus were sitting and chatting in hushed voices.

“Hey, we went to school with the bartender,” He sat down, pointing at the brown-haired girl avidly cleaning wine glasses at the corner of the bar.

The two boys looked at each other and then back to Sirius, James’ eyebrows raised and Remus smirking slightly.

“What?” Sirius hated when they did this, act like they had some secret language between them.

“You really don’t remember her?”

“No! Should I?”

“I mean, probably,” Remus gave a short laugh, continuing to be vague. Sirius almost growled at him but instead tried rack his brains as to when he would have met her before.

“That’s Y/N man, remember seventh year? That Ravenclaw girl who cornered you before dinner with all her friends giggling behind her?” James gave him a grimace, waiting for Sirius to figure out who he was talking about. And then it hit him, the girl he’d laughed at as she said she liked him.

“Oh, Merlin’s Beard,” Sirius held his hands in his head and knocked it against the table. He wondered a little why she hadn’t thrown a drink on him, “I can’t believe I just asked what her name was.”

“You are a complete idiot,” Remus laughed loudly at him, as he lifted his head from his arms and looked incredibly uncomfortable.

“I’d thought she was joking, I thought James had put her on me because of Lily and I made him think that we’d hooked up in fifth year.”

“What! As if that’s how I would have retaliated,” James looked affronted, shaking his head, “I’m still waiting for the perfect revenge for that heart attack.”

“I actually want to die in my seat right here,” Sirius felt like his stomach was turning over and over, making himself feel nauseous.

“You could go apologise…” James continued, smirking at his very uncomfortable expression. Sirius felt like he had absolutely no idea what to do, he’d literally just made small talk with the girl he’d told was a terrible actor and should shove off.

“I really don’t think an apology would do much, I was horrible,” Sirius groaned, fingering the glass of whiskey and coke.

“Maybe we should just leave her alone, I doubt doing anything would help something that happened 3 years ago,” Remus finished off his beer, nodding at the exit. Sirius said nothing, continuing to play with the glass and overthink. There had to be something he could do, anything that would make what he did better. She couldn’t just go around thinking he was an asshole for the rest of her life.

“You can’t get everyone to like you,” James kicked him from under the table, breaking him from his stupor.

“I don’t need everyone to like me,” He grumbled in response, narrowing his eyes at the two boys who were now grinning at him.

“Look, you were an idiot, you need to accept it and move on,” Remus stood up, swinging his brown leather bag over his shoulder.

“Mmmmk” Sirius didn’t look at him, but followed his lead and stood up, finishing his drink quickly and picking up his jacket. They moved quickly out of the bar, James and Remus obviously wanting to avoid Y/N’s eyes. Sirius trailed behind them, tracking her out of the corner of his eyes whilst she continued to busy herself behind the bar. He couldn’t help but think that she was deliberately avoiding him. Stop being so self-important, he cursed himself, slowing down as they reached the door.

“Fuck,” He swore under his breath, knowing this was probably a very stupid idea, and turned on his heel to move back towards the bar and where Y/N was standing, awkwardly rubbing the counter over and over again.

“Hey look, Y/N, when do you finish?” Sirius leaned over the bar slightly to get her attention. Y/N took the longest possible time to meet his eyes, not bothering to give him the fake smile this time around. She was sure that James and Remus had reminded him of their encounter, especially since she did know Remus from her days spent in the library.

She paused momentarily debating whether she should actually tell him, part of her was wondering why on earth he wanted to know when she finished work.

“She finishes at 5,” her manager had snuck up behind her and elbowed her in the ribs, giving her a wink as he passed. Y/N pursed her lips, glaring at his back as he walked away, clearly proud of himself.

“Look, I know you probably don’t want to see me like ever again, but let me just buy you a drink and apologise,” He looked at her earnestly, his grey eyes piercing hers, “Please, just 10 minutes and then you can just take the free drinks and go.”

Y/N grumbled a little, feeling herself panic a little at the idea of having to be alone with him, 10 minutes or less.

“I promise, it will mostly be me grovelling.”

“I, uh… fine ok, but if you’re not here by 5 on the dot I’m heading home,” Y/N crossed her arms, hoping she looked remotely tough and not like her heart was beating extremely hard in her chest.

“That’s completely fair, I will see you then,” He gave her a smile and ran back over to James and Remus who were glaring darkly at him, James giving him a light slap on the back of his head and pushing him out the door.

5pm

Her manager had let her off at 5pm on the dot, making sure she didn’t make more work for herself so she wouldn’t be waiting outside for Sirius. She chewed on her nails, even though they were mostly already cut down to the skin, counting down the seconds until it reached 5:01 so that she could have the excuse to scurry off home for the evening.

Unfortunately, she saw the figure of a tall man rushing across the street waving at her, whilst trying to avoid oncoming traffic.

“Y/N!” He called out, shaking out his coat from the rain as he ran underneath the cover of the bars’  entrance, “Hey sorry, I tried to wait out the rain but I didn’t have much luck clearly.”

He gave a laugh, obviously trying to make casual conversation with her, but Y/N didn’t quite feel like making the biggest effort to make him feel better about talking to her.

“No worries.”

“Right, um I presumed you don’t want to drink where you work, there’s a pub down the road from here that’s nice,” Sirius looked incredibly awkward and Y/N couldn’t help but enjoy feeling like he might feel a smidgeon of the embarrassment she endured for the last 5 months of seventh year with people jeering at her in corridors, miming her ridiculous spouting of love.

“Yeah that’s fine,” She nodded at him to lead the way. They walked in silence, collars up to avoid the cold wind that had begun to whip through the streets of London. Sirius pushed the door open to the pub and ushered her in to get out of the cold, following her in.

There was a rush of warm air that immediately made her feel perfectly dry, and made her realise they were in a wizards pub. It was incredibly busy, with a mixture of older and younger wizards and witches chatting loudly, little goblets of warm butterbeer floating above the crowds and being sent to different tables as they ordered. Y/N had heard about this place, a lot of her friends met up here after work at the Ministry or St Mungo’s, but Y/N had so far avoided it, the busyness of it all making her wholly overwhelmed.

And anyway, she’d recently charmed the cash register at her own bar to convert galleons to pounds and vice versa so she could meet her friends there after work instead. She was regretting that at this exact moment, however, wondering if it was the sign she’d placed above the entrance that could only be seen by wizards that had lured the marauders into the bar in the first place.

As if he could sense her discomfort Sirius ushered Y/N up the stairs and towards the smaller room on top of the pub’s main floor where it was quieter.

“Sorry, I forgot that it was peak time for 9-5ers,” He gestured to a booth in the corner of the room, and pulled out a chair for her to sit down in. Whilst all these actions seemed gentlemanly, she couldn’t help but feel suspicious of him being so kind, what was his angle?

“So I’m guessing you don’t work an office job?” Y/N attempted to make conversation, as he sat down opposite her, gesturing to a waiter who was waiting at the edge of the room.

“No, I work in hospitality too actually, a muggle pub in Soho,”

“Oh,” Y/N couldn’t seem to hide her surprise quickly enough, but luckily was interrupted by the waiter asking what they’d like to drink.

“Pint of Guinness thanks, what were you after?”

“A white wine is fine.”

Sirius raised an eyebrow at her.

“Are you sure? You can get something a bit more fun; I promise it’s on me regardless.”

“Do you have Hibiki Whiskey?”

“We do, Miss.”

“I’ll have that on the rocks.” The waiter nodded and walked off quickly.

“Good choice,” Sirius smiled at her again and Y/N couldn’t help but wonder if this was his hospitality smile coming through, “So, surprised I work in hospo?”

“Oh I, uh, I mean a little,” Y/N stumbled, hating herself a little for not wanting to offend him, “I guess it’s just cause you and James were top of the year, I think we all expected you to become Aurors.”

“Fair enough, I thought I was going to do that as well,” Y/N thought she saw his grey eyes darken slightly but he was back to his light and happy demeanour in less than a second, “I guess I just figured there are other ways to be helping out wizardkind.”

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh at that, his heroic expression and oddly cryptic words.

“Right.”

The silence between them was very awkward and Sirius shifted uncomfortably in his seat, clearly racking his brain for something else to say.

“So I guess I should really be apologising to you right about now,” He gave a little chuckle, trying to lighten the mood, but continued when Y/N refused to change her blasé expression, “I am really very sorry for how I treated you in school Y/N, I promise I didn’t intend to make fun of you or anything.”

“So, you just accidentally made me a laughingstock for the rest of my final year?” Y/N was surprised to hear the spite in her words but made an effort to keep her expression still and calm. Sirius grimaced, not replying until the waiter, who had brought over their drinks, had sidled away from them.

“I… look I know this sound ridiculous and you have every right to continue thinking I’m a right twat, but I sort of thought that James was playing a prank on me.”

“…What?”

“Well, it started when he superglued my paw- uh feet into my… shoes. I was stuck for a whole day,” Sirius hurried his story when Y/N didn’t laugh. Y/N personally felt proud of herself for not giving him the satisfaction, when she really did want to hear the rest of the story, “Well anyway it escalated to some relationship stuff and I sort of thought James had told you to create the most awkward thing I’d have to deal with...”

“What, dealing with someone else’s feelings?”

“Uh… yes?”

“Isn’t that a bit pathetic?”

“I mean I’m not standing up for myself here, I was a complete idiot, for both, what I did and not being able to handle other’s feelings very well,” He grinned sheepishly at her, taking a large gulp of his Guinness. Was he actually uncomfortable right now? Y/N really couldn’t tell if this was all just an elaborate lie or not, but it would be a pretty shit lie to tell.

“At least that’s something we can agree on.”

“Yeah, so I mean, do you believe me?”

Y/N sighed, so this is what it was, pandering his ego so that he could feel better about himself and forget that he ever did anything so terrible.

“Look I guess so, it would be a pretty terrible lie and I have a feeling you’re not an awful liar given the number of detentions you managed to get out of,” Y/N took a big gulp of the whiskey, savouring the burn that went down her throat.

“So… why are you working in hospitality? Ravenclaw like you would have expected big things as well,” Sirius seemed even more uncomfortable than before. Y/N also want to hit him a little bit, Ravenclaw stereotypes always got her riled up.

“Sirius, I’ve forgiven you, I believe you’re an idiot and didn’t mean to make me feel like shit, what are you still doing here?”

Sirius looked very taken aback, his cheeks flushing a bright red. He pulled his fingers through his hair, letting it fall down across his face and hide his eyes.

“I’m sorry I really didn’t want this to come across like that I just, I guess I wanted to make an effort to actually get to know you. So, I knew who I’d hurt.”

Y/N had no idea how to reply to that. It was annoyingly pragmatic, wanting to know who you’d hurt so they weren’t just a memory but a whole person.

“I totally understand if you want me to leave.”

“No, I get what you’re saying,” you’re an idiot you’re an idiot.

Sirius seemed to relax, leaning back into his chair with his pint held lazily in his hand. Y/N took the chance to put more alcohol in her system and avoid his gaze. She could feel her heartbeat increasing ever so slightly every time he looked at her and wished there was an easy spell to tell your body to shut it.

“So, was there a reason you decided to work at a bar?”

“Oh, well I originally wanted to work as a healer, but I guess I wanted to take a break from studying and all that, you know,” And she’d had to watch her parents slowly fade away after death eaters had found them in their holiday home two summers ago.

“Yeah I get that, that was kind of how I felt as well.”

They continued to chat for the better part of an hour, Sirius keeping his promise to cover the bill and said he would walk her home given that it was the middle of winter and the sun had long since gone down. They made small talk throughout the short walk over to her apartment building, both ignoring the fact that she probably could have apparated home much quicker.

“So, this is me,” Y/N nodded towards her apartment building which was a very ugly brown colour and regularly had fire alarms go off.

“Right of course, so uh thanks for letting me buy you a drink, and feed my ego,” Sirius smiled at her, putting out his hand for Y/N to shake.

“Yeah no worries, thanks for the expensive whiskey I guess,” She shook it and smiled back at her, pushing down the thought that had been plaguing her since she met him after work you idiot you idiot.

“And, well I wanted to say sorry again. If I could go back and curse everyone who was a prat to you in Seventh year I really would.”

“Well I mean they still exist.”

“Well then, my week will be spent hunting them down and making them spew slugs,” Sirius grinned, stepping back and towards the street corner, “I’ll see you around, I’m sure.”

“Yep,” Y/N gave him a last awkward nod and turned around to unlock her door. Before she could stop herself, she flicked her eyes towards the corner to see if he was still there, but he’d disappeared.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Y/N was surprised that Sirius had also kept his promise to see her around, making sure to stop by the bar semi-regularly and stopping to chat, and always left a tip. In fact, it had slowly become a regular occurrence for Sirius to stop in after his own shifts at work or on a Sunday afternoon when he knew she worked and had time to chat if he sat up at the bar.

“Waiting for your boy,” Her manager had winked at her the previous Sunday, obviously noticing Y/N’s incessant habit of checking the door every few minutes even though she knew he worked late on Saturdays and wasn’t usually up until 12.

“He’s not my boy, he’s just a friend,” Y/N had replied weakly, looking quickly away from the door and smiling at another customer who had leaned over the bar to get her attention.

However, one day he’d stopped coming. At first, Y/N had thought perhaps he’d just decided not to come, but after a whole week Y/N had begun to think otherwise.

She pushed him from her mind, but couldn’t help glancing over at the door subconsciously every so often as if he was going to wander through the door with a wide grin and a ridiculously wild story of where he’d been all week. Y/N hated it but she’d really become accustomed to his visits, enjoying chatting to him about work, his friends, her friends, the escapades himself and the boys got up to when he had a day off.

Stop getting sucked into boys being prats she scolded herself for wondering about him again when she walked home after work that night, huffing and speeding up, enjoying the feeling of the cool air whipping her face.

“Y/N?” A voice called out to her in the dark. Y/N immediately whipped out her wand, turning to the steps leading to her apartment where the voice had come from. Lumos she thought, her wand shining onto the top step, revealing a figure hunched over and leaning on the marble pillars that sat beside the door.

“Merlin’s beard, Sirius?” Y/N stood momentarily in shock before rushing over to him, getting rid of the light on her wand in case any of her neighbours came around the corner, “What are you doing?”

“I -uh, may have done something a little bit stupid,” He grimaced, pulling open his coat and revealing what looked like a huge gash across his chest.

“What on earth is that! Why didn’t you go to St Mungo's?” She shook her head at him but leaned down and helped him up, all the same, leading him into her apartment building and towards her home.

She huffed, trying to hold him up whilst she unlocked the door, nearly falling over as she pushed him through the door and onto the nearest couch, closing the door with her foot.

“Well, what I was doing wasn’t exactly legal…” He groaned as he sat down again, pressing a hand onto his injury and trying to straighten his body so it wasn’t contorted.

“Why am I not surprised,” Y/N huffed, busying herself in the kitchen, grabbing a mixture of potion ingredients she’d kept around since she’d attempted to go through the healer training.

“I’m sorry to just turn up like this, I just remembered you know a bit about dark injuries and the boys didn’t exactly know where I was going and fuck” He groaned louder this time, his head banging back into the top of the couch.

“Take off your coat and shirt, if anything the material is going to be making it sting more than necessary,” Y/N placed a heap of magical ingredients and a small cauldron onto the sitting room table, placing a mixture into it and setting it alight. She couldn’t help but glance up every few moments as he winced, pulling off his clothes to reveal his tanned and annoyingly muscular chest. The gash also looked much much worse now that there was nothing covering it, a deep black line that seemed to have burnt a hole so deep she could see his pink flesh in the middle.

“You know you’re going to have to tell me what you did so I can actually do something you help you,” Y/N grabbed some disinfectant and began dabbing the wound softly, kneeling on the carpet in front of him. He didn’t reply, just wincing at her touch as she made her way along his chest, careful to only press as hard as needed. She definitely didn’t need her neighbours hearing someone screaming from her lounge, especially when she already suspected they thought she was a little odd.

“Sirius,” Y/N murmured again, softer this team, sitting back on her heels when she’d finished disinfecting the wound and looking up at him.

“Look, I just… I just need something to help it heal ok? I’ll be out of your hair in no time,” He replied finally, through gritted teeth.

“Don’t be stupid, Black, I couldn’t give a rats ass what you were up to ok? I’m not going to go about sharing it with the world, but you know as good as anyone that this is obviously dark magic and dark magic always needs something extra to get the healing process started. Unless you want that to eat right through your chest?”

Y/N gave him a small smile and he sighed loudly, wincing at the effect it had on his chest.

“Yeah right ok,” He grumbled but sat up a little, letting her get a better look at it, “I’d heard of some death eater activity on the outskirts of Oxford, from Bellatrix Lestrange – not sure if you remember her from school? She was the Slytherin with black hair and bitchy demeanour?”

He laughed at himself and then winced again as his lungs pushed out and moved the wound.

“Alright enough with the jokes, what did she do to you then?”

“Well, uh, she and I have a bit of a history of hating each other, and she seemed to think it would be funny to cast the fun ol’ obtusiore nouacula curse on me.”

“Shit, Sirius, you’re lucky she didn’t get to your heart.”

“Yes, lucky man am I,” He tried to smile at her again, slowly slipping lower into the chair. Y/N got him to stand up again, arm around her shoulder and moved him to the couch so he could lie flat.

“Don’t you dare try to get up again, this isn’t something that’s going to heal overnight. I’m going to put a salve on it to stop it from spreading for the minute but it’s going to take me some time to put together the potions that will stop it from spreading and begin to heal the skin,” Y/N started to leaf through some of the books she had grabbed, finding the right pages and making sure she had all the necessary ingredients. Sirius watched her silently, letting his body relax into the soft couch, feeling relief wash over him for the first time in 24 hours.

“Thank you,” He said quietly, reaching over to grab her forearm, making Y/N look up at him. Sirius swore he saw her blush lightly, but she dropped her head quickly before he could give her a proper look.

“You can thank me by not chasing after death eaters by yourself,” She muttered, but was smiling all the same, “I’ll put on the TV.”

With a flick of her hand the small television in the corner had switched on, blasting Bewitched loudly.

“What a classic,” Sirius snorted.

“I just feel so separated from the wizarding world sometimes I need to see what’s going on.”

“This is most definitely not the way to do that.”

“Shut up and let me make potions so you don’t die.”

Sirius put his hands up in defeat, grinning mischievously, and turning back to watch the episode.  They sat in silence as Y/N brewed the first potion that would let him at least sleep without pain, and started on the next as Sirius began to drift in and out of sleep. She watched him, leaning into the couch, his eyes closing slowly and opening quickly every few minutes as his body contorted awkwardly.

Y/N got him to sit up slowly, bringing the potion over to him and lifting it to his mouth so that he could sip it slowly. It was clear that he was losing the adrenaline that had got him to her apartment and likely even awake given the intensity of the wound.

“Ok come on, let’s get you into bed so you can actually go to sleep,” Y/N lifted up his arms slowly so that he could start pushing himself up off the couch and help drag himself into her bedroom.

“I can just sleep on the couch you know,” Sirius mumbled into her arm, the weight of his body leant almost entirely against her. Y/N lay him down on her bed, pulling off his shoes and putting a blanket over his legs.

“Shut up, Sirius,” She snorted at him trying to get back up off the bed and barely lifting himself upright, “Look it’s fine, sleep here, I’ll be in the other room. I’ll probably be back in every few hours to clean your chest again so don’t get freaked out if I wake you up, alright?”

“Mmmmhmmm,” He replied into the pillow, his eyes already closed. In a few moments, he was already snoring loudly. Y/N watched him for a moment, his hair moving up and down across his face with every breath. Leave him alone you stalker, she made herself turn around and head back into the living room where the books for the remaining potions were left open. For a curse like this Sirius was going to be downing potions for a week, something which Y/N didn’t quite trust him to do by himself.

Whilst she continued to brew, she wondered if she should be getting in contact with James or someone, someone who might actually be able to help him. Someone who actually knows him.

She set an alarm so that every few hours she could wake him up and feed him some more potion, checking on his chest to see if the dark spots had started to recede from the wound instead of going further in towards the flesh of his lungs. He barely noticed her every time she woke him up, mumbling a little in his sleep.

Sirius didn’t wake up again until about midday, stretching out slowly in the bed. It felt like every muscle in his body was aching, he could feel a dull throbbing in his chest and peered down to see the bandage stuck across where his wound was. He slowly pushed himself upright, looking around the room he’d fallen asleep in, trying to blink the light out of his eyes.

The room was covered in posters of the Holyhead Harpies, the floor covered in clothes and shoes to the point where he could barely see the carpet. He groaned loudly as he got out of bed, sluggishly walking out of the room and toward the living room where he presumed Y/N had made her bed for the night. Unsurprisingly, Y/N was fast asleep on the couch and snoring loudly, one hand still on the table as if she was reaching for some more ingredients as she fell asleep.

He leaned down and tapped Y/N on her shoulder, smiling down at her as she sat up quickly looking around like she had forgotten something, finding his eyes after a few minutes of confusion.

“Oh sorry, you’re awake! I haven’t cooked anything I must have fallen asleep,” She stood up quickly, blinking her eyes quickly as if she was seeing spots.

“Sit down you idiot, I was only waking you up to see if you liked bacon. I can make us some eggs on toast,” Sirius pushed her back down on the couch and looked at her expectantly. Y/N was definitely caught off guard, her brain still riling at the fact that Sirius Black was standing over her, very much shirtless, his hair almost 10x better after sleeping on it which just made her a bit mad.

“So… breakfast?”

“Oh right, yes, yeah I’ll eat whatever. There’s stuff in the fridge I think,” She lay back into the couch, watching him saunter off into the kitchen and start pulling out a bunch of different spices and ingredients across the counter. Y/N couldn’t really remember the last time there was anyone cooking in that kitchen except for the few late-night moments when she’d made very average French toast whilst drunk.

“How are you feeling?” Y/N finally got up to join him, making a pot of coffee and sitting on the countertop sipping slowly.

“Oh, heaps better,” Sirius had begun frying up the bacon and was clearly wincing every time he had to reach for another egg to fry up, “I can be out of your hair after breakfast, promise.”

“And are you planning on telling anyone else what happened?”

“Well, I mean… probably not?” He turned to face her with a bit of a sheepish grin, plating up the fried eggs and bacon onto a large plate Y/N had forgotten she had.

“Well then you’re not going anywhere,” Y/N used her most forceful voice, trying to seem like she was doing this for her own good. Yeah, you’re not forcing him to hang out with you or anything, stalker.

Sirius frowned at her, getting some knives and forks out so they could start on breakfast. He didn’t say anything, making Y/N’s stomach form a knot and regret saying anything ever in her entire life. They dug into the food, sitting side by side on her oversized chairs under the kitchen counter.

Y/N had never been so aware of someone’s body in her life. It felt like every single movement he made beside her made her arm hairs stand on end like she’d been hit with an electric shock.

“You can obviously go though if you need. I more just meant that you know, you should at least tell someone so you can keep taking the potions and like, not die.”

“Yeah look fair,” Sirius barked a laugh, finishing off the last of his eggs, “I’ll stay another day, and I’ll make sure to pay you back for the ingredients.”

Y/N bit her lip, smiling a little uncomfortably.

“Yeah about that, we are actually going to need some more. There’s like 10 different potions you’ll need to avoid permanent damage to your lungs.”

“Well we can take a trip to Diagon Alley this afternoon, I wouldn’t mind picking up some fun curse books myself,” Sirius winked at her and grabbed her plate to wash up.

“Sit down, you fool, you need to rest,” Y/N grabbed the plates from out of his hands and nodded towards the couch.

“Alright, alright,” He collapsed onto the couch groaning loudly and curling under the blanket that Y/N had left there the night before.

Y/N spent the rest of the morning trying to avoid looking over at him as he stretched himself out on the couch, falling in and out of sleep. She ended up going to Diagon Alley by herself, wandering the street to find all the bits and pieces to finish off the potions and stopping into Flourish and Blotts to see if she could find any good books on defensive curses.

“Y/N?”

Y/N turned around quickly, surprised to bump into anyone on a Monday afternoon when all her friends had finished school and professors would be back at Hogwarts for the year. Remus was standing in front of her, holding a pile of about 10 different books and leaning backwards slightly under the weight of it all.

“Oh hey, Remus!” Y/N hadn’t spoken to him past saying hi at the bar for a few years, she wasn’t sure that she would have stopped him if she saw him here. Though to be fair, bookstores were her kryptonite and would have likely not noticed him at all, “How are you?”

“Yeah alright, I’m actually really glad I bumped into you though. We seemed to have lost Sirius – I’m sure he’s fine” He corrected, mistaking her uncomfortable expression with fear, “But you know, if you’ve heard from him at all…?”

“I uh haven’t… well I mean I saw him last we-yester,” Y/N gulped, really not wanting to lie to one of his best friends about his whereabouts when he’s probably worried sick.

“Y/N?”

“He’s at my place, sorry. I have no idea why he hasn’t said anything to you guys.”

“He’s at yours?” Remus smirked at her, his books moving a little as he clearly held back a laugh.

“Well yeah? He needed some potions for an injury… what!”

“You remember Lily, right?”

“Yes?”

“You know, his best friends’ wife and healer at St Mungo’s?”

“Oh.”

“Yep.”

Y/N bit her lip. She wasn’t 100% sure what this meant. If anything this just confirmed that Sirius really didn’t want to tell the boys what he got up to when they weren’t around.

“I mean, he did something really stupid he probably didn’t want to tell you all-“

“He’s been talking about you for about 2 months straight, Y/N, you can’t be that oblivious,” Remus teased, chuckling at her ever-reddening face. Remus was being an idiot, there was no way in hell she meant anything more to Sirius than a good friend. Or maybe he liiiiiikkes you.

“Oblivious to what! He’s the one who thought me liking him could be a prank,”

“Ok ok, well anyway can you tell him he’s a git for not telling anyone where he was for a week, and also stop messing you around,” He winked at her, nodding a goodbye seeing that he was carrying a years’ worth of reading materials. Y/N was rooted to the spot, her heart racing and stomach twisting over and over. Remus was just making fun of Sirius getting excited over a new friend, right? And anyway, it wouldn’t matter because she didn’t still like him, she had a crush on him years ago.

“Yeah, right, it wouldn’t matter.” Y/N muttered to herself, almost walking out of the store without paying. Y/N felt like she didn’t really remember how she got home, but eventually, she was placing the ingredients on the bench and fiddling with the pages of the book she had just gotten Sirius.

“Ah, the master of the house returns!” Sirius croaked from the couch, turning to face her with a sleepy smile on his face.

“Yes, I’m back, I found you a book as well. Though I got a defensive book instead of just plain old dark magic,” She put the book on the coffee table and sat next to it, “Did you take everything I left for you?”

“Yes of course,” Sirius laughed at her, sitting up so he could take the book off the counter, “You would have made a great healer.”

Y/N said nothing but continued to smile at him. Her head was still going round and round about her conversation with Remus.

“This book looks amazing by the way, Y/N, thanks!” He was already half-way through, looking at the different curses.

“Right yeah of course…”Y/N had begun chewing on her nails again, making Sirius look up and raise an eyebrow at her.

“You ok?”

“What? Oh, yes! I’m fine. No, I just bumped into Remus in Diagon Alley.”

“Ohhh,” Sirius put down the book, grimacing, “What did you say?”

“I may have told him you were here, I’m sorry I don’t really love the idea of your mates wandering around unsure about where you are,” Y/N smiled at him, hoping he wouldn’t hate that she gave him up.

“Ahh, no it’s fine.”

“Are you sure? Cause your face says otherwise.”

“No, I just, uh…” Sirius combed a nervous hand through his hair, looking away from her, “It’s nothing, it honestly is fine. They should know I’m safe and not dead.”

Sirius’ joke would have landed much better if his face wasn’t bright red and contorted into the look of someone who was extremely uncomfortable.

“Are you ok there?”

“Please ignore my traitor of a face,” Sirius barked a laugh, still not looking at her in the eye. Y/N was about to reply when she saw blood oozing from the bandage she had probably averagely placed the night before.

“Ok, I need to change that over, it’s going to get infected.”

Y/N busied herself with getting a new roll of bandages, finding herself standing in the bathroom staring at her reflection.

“Stop being ridiculous, Y/N, you’re going to make a fool of yourself,” She muttered to herself, subconsciously fixing her hair in the mirror. Or perhaps this is your chance? Don’t let your embarrassment get in the way of the stupidly cute boy who is blushing in your presence and is sitting on your couch.

Y/N tapped on the sink for a few more minutes before realising that she had probably taken a little too long just to grab new bandages.

“Sorry, couldn’t find them for a minute, lean back for a second,” Y/N gave a wide, and relatively fake, smile to Sirius, sitting back down on the coffee table and pushing it in towards him so she was close enough to pull the old one off his bare chest.

“This might hurt a little bit,” She said quietly, taking it off slowly. It was clinging to the skin, and Sirius gritted his teeth as she revealed the wound. The black edges were receding slightly, but the flesh underneath the wound was still open and the blood hadn’t begun to clot over it yet.

Whilst putting on the new bandage back on, she couldn’t help but notice how close her face was to his, how easy it would be to just lean in and kiss him.

“I -uh,” Y/N cleared her through, feeling like she was making this much more awkward than it needed to be.

“Yeah…” Sirius mumbled softly, their faces inches apart. Y/N could feel his breath on her skin, his heart beating steadily in his chest. He leaned in a little closer, moving incredibly slowly as if he was unsure, nervous, a side to him she didn’t really think existed.

And then his lips were on hers, Sirius softly pushing her closer to him with his hand on her shoulder blades. She felt like she was melting into the kiss, his stubble rubbing up against her cheek as he deepened the kissed, lifting his arm up towards her hair and running his nails through and pulling her head closer to his own.

Eventually, they pulled apart, both breathing heavily, resting their foreheads against each other.

“So, I need to confess something to you, Y/N,” Sirius mumbled grinning stupidly at her.

“Is that so?”

“I very much have a bit of a thing for you,”

Y/N lifted her head, turning to look around the room exaggeratedly.

“JAMES! I know you’re here somewhere you cheeky boy,” Y/N shook her head, grinning cheekily back at him as Sirius rolled his eyes.

“Did I ever tell you I was an idiot?”

“I think maybe you did, a little while ago.”

“Well hopefully I can maybe make it up to you, perhaps you wouldn’t hate going out for dinner with me sometime?” Sirius’ had pulled away, his grey eyes piercing her own as he bit his lip nervously.

“I definitely don’t think I would hate that.”

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[proxymothh]

Since Jack gave his honest opinions about Life Is Strange 2, I wanted to give mine and talk about some of the things he did.

(Spoilers ahead)

It should be noted that I’m Hispanic and the oldest of my siblings so I could be biased but oh well haha.

I really really really REALLY liked that game, possibly as much or maybe even more than the first LiS game. It just spoke to me more, I suppose. I loved the music and the art style, the characters, and the story, and I like the way they handled racism towards Mexicans and since that was one of the bigger things Sean spoke about, I’ll start with that.

The racism.

In my opinion, the racism was handled extremely well. It was very realistic and whenever it happened it made me very uncomfortable and angry and yeah, it was good. Jack talked about how it seemed like it was just thrown to us without warning and just dropped until the next time and well... yeah that’s kinda the point?

That’s how it happens, you’re walking through the store and suddenly you’re called a beaner and told to go back to your own country. They spit at you and move on... and that’s what you do too. Wipe the spit away and just move on with your shopping. Obviously there’s times where it gets out of hand and stuff but the game handled day to day racism really well, and that’s all it really was save for the extremists at the end in the last episode.

Since the character you’re playing as is in fact, a Mexican, he’s not going to sit and talk or think about the racism he receives unless someone asks. Sure he can get angry and upset about it but the point I’m assuming the game wants to get to you is that it happens enough that it’s just a day in the life of a person of color and it happens more than it should.

There really isn’t a need to expand upon the topic, it really is just “hey look, this is how hard poc have it. If you really care and want to do more, research it on your own” also I feel like if they dove more into racism and politics than they already have, it would’ve been boring or annoying to some. It’s really just a gateway, if you want to know more or help, look up real life facts rather than explanations from a video game, and I think they peeked an interest on the topic for a lot of people. Like Jack even said that he wants to know more and understand it better... so I think they did a good job.

The powers being more of a burden than a blessing and not using them enough topic.

Again... that’s kinda the point? Rather than having the powers as the main character, it’s up to a ten year old boy to do anything supernatural. He’s a kid, he wants to be grown, not to mention going through some serious trauma. I don’t know how much y’all know about psychology but trauma and an underdeveloped mind don’t exactly make for good decision making. And this goes for Sean too! He’s 16, watched his dad die, has to take care and help raise his supernatural brother all that. He’s still a kid as well, it’s just harder to see that since he had to grow up REAL fast on the road.

They’re going to make decisions that just seem right in the heat of the moment, because they’re kids and they’re scared. It’s harder to see the reasoning behind it since you’re not in the situation, and an adult. The game tries really hard to try and put you in their shoes but that being said... it’s a game and it’s hard to take seriously, that’s really just depends on how into it you are.

Daniel will sometimes do what he wants but overall he’ll listen to Sean, who you control.

The not using the powers more thing is honestly on Jack more than anything, that’s just how is playthrough went because he was kind and careful and didn’t let Daniel do anything too crazy he played it safe and realistic (as you can get with superpowers lol) which determined the ending he got... which he didn’t like.

If you would’ve let Daniel go ape shit things would’ve been different, so that ones on you my dude.

Quick final thoughts.

The whole Mexico thing seemed really reasonable to me, they had a house there, they wouldn’t be in legal trouble there and to a 16 and 10 year old that seems a lot better than facing jail and getting seperated. Stupid to a fully developed mind? Yes. But to scared little boys? No. Again, it’s really just down to putting yourself in their shoes, which isn’t always easy in a video game.

The too much teen drama thing is one of the things I agree with Jack on. But again... it’s kinda what makes a LiS game, corny teen drama. And Jack could’ve had less of it but again, during the weed farm arc he choose to let Sean be a teen thus making... drama. It’s always gonna be there but you have a choice to tone it down.

The cult thing was really weird but desert cults are like a real life issue so eh...??? I could’ve gone without it but I suppose that’s a fun introduction to Karen.

Meeting people cool people on the road and saying goodbye is kinda the point of running away or just traveling like that. People have their own goals and often just move on from each other.

Jack didn’t like the ending but again, that’s on him, there are others lol.

The choices are more important than you think.

Anyway I think that’s all I have to say about that game and just talking about the things Jack talked about. Kinda sad that he didn’t like the game but I get it, and I’m happy he played it anyway. Sorry this was so long but thanks to those that read it! I really loved this game and I’m glad I got to experience it!