#do you feel better. do you feel special. are you the bravest little thing on earth. aw good for you.

[lesbiangiratina]

I think making fun of people for being scared of something makes you 1 million times more of a loser than the scared people. Genuinely

[ratwife77]

Just my opinions on S.E. Hinton novels- and the fandom

If you disagree, I’d love to hear, I enjoy seeing new perspectives! (PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE ONLY ON TEX, THE OUTSIDERS, AND RUMBLE FISH BECAUSE I DON’T WANT SPOILERS FOR OTHERS I HAVEN’T READ!) also please click off if you don’t want to hear any criticism on fandom stuff, and prepare for disjointedness

spoiler warning for Tex, The Outsiders and Rumble Fish

The Outsiders: reading rating- 8.5 (I really didn’t care enough to pay attention to the little things till the end because I read this for class and therefore already had a vendetta against it, so I’d give it a better rating now probably but..) book rating- 9.99 (I never rate things ten and I will stand by this.)

I cried, for like 10 minutes, and I don’t cry. It was very impactful, and it gave me more exposure to characters that are not justified, but understandable. (Cough cough Dallas). He also was destroyed by Johnny’s death, which I thought was interesting. I think of him as brittle- looks hard, but he’s been through enough and can just snap. He sees Johnny as someone who could be like him, but he doesn’t want that for him. Quote:"’Johnny, I ain't mad at you. I just don't want you to get hurt. You don't know what a few months in jail can do to you. Oh, blast it, Johnny,’" ... "’you get hardened in jail, I don't want that to happen to you.’” He wants the best for him, but he’s misguided sometimes, as shown by:“You'd better wise up Pony… you get tough like me and you don't get hurt. You look out for yourself and nothing can touch you”(147). He wants them to be able to be not like him, but not hurt either. He’s a bad person, but bad people can still be able to care for others. It also felt like certain characters were very well fleshed out- Johnny, for example, was not just some kicked puppy. He had his moments, and he’s one of the bravest characters I’ve ever read about, despite his FLANDERIZATION by the fandom. Also Cherry was so accurate with the quote “‘No,’" Cherry said slowly, looking at me carefully, "’not innocent. You've seen too much to be innocent. Just not... dirty.’” This applies to Ponyboy and Johnny. It also implies that others are dirty, and it just shows that they are special, and they can be better than products of their terrible environment. Impacted, but not tarnished, because they’ve made the choice not to be. It makes Ponyboy’s breaking the bottle at the end all the more impactful- he could be dirty. He could be Dallas. But when he picks up the pieces, that’s what Cherry saw and who he can be. That’s who Johnny wanted him to be. And quick commentary on Soda- he’s not dumb. He’s very smart, really. He’s their glue, and he knows how to talk to Pony. He is emotionally intelligent as well, and he can work on cars. You have to have some degree of intelligence to do that. Steve. He didn’t exactly get fleshed out well, if I’m being honest. He had more potential, but I don’t think he’s the worst character ever. I don’t even dislike him. Darry, Darry, Darry. He shows how one person can be crushed with stress and anxiety, and can lash out uncharacteristically. He’s not a bad guy, but good people can do bad things. I think it takes maturity to see this, and I don’t blame the people that don’t. Everyone can have their own take, but I would assume that people that think this are among the younger fans. Darry also shows that sometimes our perspectives can be warped- we can feel unloved, but that doesn’t mean it’s true. Feelings are important, but they aren’t necessarily right all the time. And guys I despise Bob but I love what he did for the book. When children don’t have barriers, guidelines, they can feel unsafe and like they aren’t cared for. I think this was the case. He pushed and pushed until it just spilled over. Got into drinking, and that just led to things escalating, until his death. Oh- Two-Bit! I think he is mature in certain ways but decides not to act that way. He contributes by making jokes, but he’s more than that. He cares for Pony and Johnny, and he was willing to look all over for them. You know, I wish there was more of him.

next: Tex: reading rating- 7.5 (I didn’t know what was going on sometimes because it was so jumbled but fast paced) book rating- 5 (it had less meat than other books I’m just saying, it lacks some of the substance and relies on action)

I knew in the back of my head when the Outsiders was written, but I thought this was its precursor. It simply isn’t as well written. It feels jumbled and actually episodic. But it certainly kept me hooked. I think the reason I finished it was because I could see parallels between it and The Outsiders. I just wanted more of that, and this doesn’t stand as strong on its own. Mason and Tex are like a less traumatized Dallas mixed with Pony and Darry but with something else sprinkled in. I liked seeing his shenanigans, and I was SCREAMING when he got shot, when he jumped the creek, and all of that. I was terrified for him. That’s what I really admire about Hinton- she makes you feel the characters in a special way. I wish there was an actual fandom for this though. It was pretty decent and could be improved upon. But it may be for the best that it is not that well liked, because I don’t know if I’d even tolerate anything out of character because I just don’t love the characters as much, so I wouldn’t deal with it because I don’t need to see more of them.

Rumble Fish- reading rating: 5 book rating: 9

this may be a hot take but I’d like a book from Motorcycle Boy’s perspective. I actually did not like reading it but I love the book. Let me explain. I felt like very little was going on at a time, and nothing was happening. But at the end, it really didn’t make sense until I was fully done and had taken a day or so to think. The ending is something special. His transition into being like Motorcycle Boy, being separate from the world, hit me so hard. How the hell did she even write this??? It seems so wack, but it’s something I relate to. I have plenty of friends, but I just feel off, like I’m singular and uninvolved. I have friends, but I don’t, and I could deal without them, because I’ve never belonged anyway, and I’ve grown accustomed to it. Also the very very end where it loops is incredible because it gives so little information at the beginning, but it makes so much sense at the end. But anyway I don’t have much to say on this sorry

okay judge me now 👍

[unculturedmamoswine]

My fic for Forduary week 1: Childhood and school years!

This one is an HDM AU-- Ford's daemon settles and he's not that happy about it. Takes place in the same verse as this ficlet I posted a good while ago. (Short version of an HDM au: people's souls live outside their bodies in the shapes of animals. Kids' daemons can shapeshift but they settle into a permanent form during puberty.)

Ford settles first, not so long after his and Stanley’s Bar Mitzvah. He’s almost relieved. He kind of didn’t want Stan to be first, but he wouldn’t admit it to Stanley. It’s just that people expect Ford to be the more responsible one, and if his daemon’s settled, it’ll get people to take him more seriously. Stan wouldn’t understand that; his feelings would be hurt if he thought that Ford thought he was better than Stan. Not that he thinks that! Stan is the best. The best brother and friend and the bravest and toughest and most fun and lots of other stuff, besides. But he’s not very responsible, and Ford can’t even quite admit it to himself that he loves being seen as responsible when compared to Stan.

So Ford should be really glad that Elisheba’s settled. They’re the perfect age for it, right smack dab in the middle of the bell curve– they’re normal about something for once. It’s just that he can’t understand her form. They used to fantasize about what she’d become, like all kids probably do. Ellie loved to be an arctic tern– a bird that’s always migrating! And they can sleep while they’re flying! That would have been so cool! And she was a green iguana a lot, and even a Tasmanian tiger! Almost nobody had an extinct animal for a daemon– that would have been really impressive. And if it set them apart, made them even more different than their peers, who cared? Ford could take it. He’d had everyone making fun of him for his hands his whole life, he could stand it if people thought his daemon was too different or strange. But Ellie’s form, the thing she’s going to be forever, well. He’s just not sure about it.

Castor canadensis, North American beaver, isn’t really… him. Right? She isn’t anything particularly interesting or special. Nobody brilliant or noteworthy ever had a beaver for a daemon. No inventors or explorers or anything. In movies, do hard-boiled detectives or chiseled leading men have beavers for daemons? No, they don’t. The only beaver daemons in movies and on TV are laundresses or scolding mothers.

The only person Ford’s ever seen in real life with a beaver daemon is a mechanic. A Catholic mechanic with a beaver daemon and arthritis.

“I don’t really get it, Ellie,” says Elisabeth, Stan’s daemon. She’s on the floor of their room next to Elisheba, a red fox at the moment, sniffing at her. “Is being a beaver really that great?” She becomes a perfect copy of Elisheba and loudly smacks her tail against the living room floor. “Oh, that’s pretty fun!” They both laugh and slap the floor until they hear a distant shout from Dad.

“Okay, I guess the tail-slapping is alright,” Stan tells him skeptically, “but not that great. You could just drop one of your books on the floor and get the same effect.” Lisa pops into the air as a hornet and buzzes teasingly around Ford’s head.

“You’re just jealous,” he laughs as he bats Lisa away, wishing that he didn’t agree with Stanley.

-

Ford kicks his feet against the hull of the Stan o’ War. He’s holding a schoolbook, but staring out at the ocean. He should be doing his homework while he waits for Stan to get out of detention, but instead he’s brooding. Elisheba sighs behind him, and Ford frowns. He doesn’t want to turn around and see her squat little form, her dopey face, her long orange teeth. It’s been two days since she settled, and he still doesn’t know how to feel about it.

“You’re just going to have to deal with it,” she says resentfully, breaking their hours-long silence.

“I don’t have to deal with anything. I’m fine. I’m happy! It’s good that we’ve settled,” Ford tells her, feeling his jaw settle into a mulish expression. He can hear her clawed forepaws dig into the planks of the deck. He rounds on her, ready to scold her for clawing up their dilapidated wreck, but he looks straight into her eyes and finds he can’t get a word out.

Elisheba stares back at him, burning with the resentment and disappointment that feels too big for Ford’s chest to hold. Of course she feels the same, how could she not? She’s him, the biggest, truest, most important part of himself. That's the problem.

“I just didn’t think that we’d… be like this.” He feels ashamed to say it to her, even if they both think it. It feels like some kind of betrayal.

“We are who we are!” Ellie slaps her tail on the deck for emphasis. “This form just feels right, what does it matter exactly what I am if we’re still ourself?”

“Hey, break it up!” Lisa flaps up over the side of the Stan o’ War in her largest avian form, a brown pelican. She alights heavily on the deck next to Ellie, reaching a wing out over her as if to shelter her from harsh sunlight. “Man, this is why you need me around, Sixer,” she says lightly. “You get yourself into trouble when you think too much.”

Stan struggles up onto the deck, flopping down with an oof. He sits up, taking in Ford, standing facing his daemon and Stan’s, fists clenched. Ford knows he must be bright red, and hopes Stan thinks it’s all anger.

Stan, who is sometimes so able to be cool under pressure, shrugs off his heavy backpack and his jacket, leaving them behind him in a heap on the deck. The wind flutters through his and Ford’s hair, and ruffles Elisabeth’s feathers.

“Hi, Stanley. How was detention?” Ford mumbles, hoping to change the subject before Stan can even start it.

“Fired six spitballs onto Miss Lackson’s dress without her noticing even once!” Stan says proudly. Lisa preens. “And I even got some homework done, so you don’t have to do it all,” he adds impressively.

Ellie laughs. “My hero,” she teases, and nudges Lisa so hard she has to open her wings so as not to fall over. Ford snickers.

“You should be grateful!” Stan insists, all overblown indignation. Ford knows it’s just to make him laugh, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t work. “Here I am slaving away, learning crap outta books that I’m never gonna use just so you don’t have to do my homework, and you’re here talking to yourself like a crazy kid!”

“I’m not crazy, you’re craz– hey!” Ford grabs for Elisheba as Lisa opens her beak wide, trying to fit Ford’s daemon into her cavernous mouth. Before Ford can grab Ellie, she hisses viciously, flashing her long orange teeth at her brother. With a whoop of delight, Lisa turns into one of her favorite forms, a caiman, and snaps her jaws right back at Ellie.

“Hah!” Stan flings himself at Ford, grabbing him in a headlock while he’s distracted by Lisa’s many sharp teeth trying to take a bite out of Elisheba’s new, permanent tail.

“Hey, I’m planning on keeping that tail, Lisa!” Elisheba yelps, naturally echoing Ford’s thought. “Ow! Stanley!” Stan’s knuckles dig into Ford’s scalp. Ford flails his hands blindly in the direction of Stan’s body, completely forgetting anything he might have learned in boxing.

“Say uncle, Poindexter!” Stan demands gleefully. Ford raises his foot to kick Stan in the shin– it’s a dirty move, which Stan should approve of–but Stan gasps and lets him go before Ford goes for it.

As he straightens up, Ford has a brief impression of Elisheba between Lisa’s shoulders, claws gripping crocodilian hide and incisors digging into her head, perilously close to Lisa’s eye. Lisa turns into a dingo and shakes Ellie off her back with a slight yelp. She bounds over to Stan.

“Wow, jeez, ease up, Fangs,” Lisa complains, as Stan cradles her head in his hands, inspecting it for damage.

“Eh, don’t be such a baby, Ellie ain’t gonna blind us,” he tells her. Still, he strokes her ears gently.

“Yeah, I had everything under control,” Ellie says, panting. “When have we ever blinded you before? The trend would suggest that we will continue not to gouge out any of your body parts.”

Ford, grinning, leans down to pick Ellie up. She’s heavy– must be almost forty pounds. They haven't weighed her yet, which they should. And they need to find out how fast she can run– can she even run? He doesn’t know, but he’ll find out.

“That was pretty good, Ellie!” Stan, satisfied that his soul will survive, reaches out and ruffles the fur on the back of Ellie’s neck.

“Stan!” Ford tugs her away from his reach, embarrassed. They’re getting too old to touch each other’s daemons like they did when they were small. That kind of thing is only for babies and really little kids, which they definitely aren’t. “You shouldn’t do that!”

Stan goes on like Ford hasn’t spoken. “You can fight pretty good in that form, but what else can I expect from a guy with metal teeth?”

“What?” Ford laughs.

“Yeah! Stan opens his own mouth and points inside as if that explains anything. “Beavers got iron in their teeth, that’s how come they’re orange! It’s like rust!”

“How do you know that?” Ford asks suspiciously. 

“I know stuff! I know everything! Specially everything about you,” Stan insists, as Lisa wags her tail charmingly.

“Come on!” Ford punches Stan in the shoulder, grinning at his brother. “You don’t just know that magically! Unless…” Ford scratches his chin, wincing as he scrapes a pimple with his nail.

“Don’t bring up aliens,” Lisa groans.

“It’s a known fact that the protective anti-alien-scanning machinery the government uses to protect national secrets interferes with human brainwaves!” Ford crosses his arms, eyeing Stan suspiciously. “Have you been having headaches? Dreaming about nuclear launch codes?”

Stan groans. “God, Ford, you’re the biggest nerd! I read it in a book, okay?” Stan slumps over to his backpack, Ford following curiously. He pulls two thick books from it, turning and offering them to Stanford. “Here. I figured, you know, you’re a huge geek, you’d wanna read up on Ellie’s form and stuff.”

Ford sets Ellie down, then kneels so she can look at the covers with him. Rodents of North America says one, and Beaver: America’s Engineer says the other.

It’s so strange to feel so many ways at once. It’s surprising, and not, that Stan would do this; Stan would do anything for him, and Ford knows that. But that Stan would do this, specifically, go to the library– the city library! Those are city library stickers on the spines, they aren’t even from the school! All just for him, because Stan is his brother and the only person in Ford’s corner. He grateful, really. It's a nice thing for Stan to do, but there’s a little part of him that’s annoyed that Stan could read him so well. Shouldn’t he get to have some feelings that are private? Oh well. Ford shoves that down, and tries to just be grateful.

Made nervous by Ford’s silence, Lisa says “We didn’t look that close at ‘em but there’s some cool stuff in there. About your fur and your teeth and all the stuff beavers can build. And you’re gonna be a real good swimmer! That’ll be handy if we’re ever lost at sea!” She wags her tail vigorously and nuzzles Ellie, who presses herself close in response.

“Yeah, yeah,” Stan nudges the daemons apart with his foot, as uncomfortable as Ford is with all the mushy stuff. “Look, point is… uh.” He scratches at the back of his head.

Ford jumps in to save them both from the awkwardness. “I get it, Stan, really.” He hugs the books to his chest. He’ll say it, partly because he means it, and partly because he should probably mean it more than he does.

“Thank you.”

[voidcataro]

how do i know if im trans?

first of all, if you're currently questioning your gender, or even tentatively considering poking it with a stick, congratulations!! welcome to the world of 5D gender chess, we've got a broad and nuanced range of excellent genders to choose from, or feel free to make your own <3

with that out of the way, here's a secret: the first step to figuring out your gender... is Not Knowing. you may find yourself spending a lot of time on this step.. that's normal. it's frustrating for a lot of us, because we want answers right away, but the truth about gender is there's no right or wrong way to do it, and there's no secret indicator bound to the very essence of your soul with your One True Gender written on it. gender is a made up concept that shapes our lives and its implementation is pretty much entirely subjective. some people have an easier time figuring out what they want out of gender than others, and that's okay.

but how do i know what i want? you might ask. if you ask most cis people how they know what their gender is they'll probably tell you they "just know". that's not really helpful though, especially if you suspect your gender might be a little spicier than your typical 'male' or 'female' options. for me, questioning my gender was a little bit like being introduced to an extensive menu of diverse food choices after eating pretty much the same simple meal every day of my life. as soon as i realized there was something else, i never wanted to go back; but i didn't know what i'd like best, either. the only way for me to get a feel for what i wanted was to try things that looked good. this advice likely won't work for absolutely everyone, but it's a decent starting place for just about anyone. pay attention to gender presentations, labels, pronouns etc. that interest you, and try them out. it's okay to go through and taste a little of everything in a short time before deciding on something to explore more deeply; it's okay to spend a lot of time savoring something only to change your mind and go for something completely different later; follow what feels natural to you, and don't worry about getting it right the first time. you'll always have room to change your mind later and try something different.

to extend the food metaphor a little bit, it's important to remember that there's more than one way to prepare a particular food. some people can only enjoy vegetables prepared a certain way, for instance. there's many ways to view and inhabit a given gender. the first couple times i tried out being male felt.. almost right, but there was something off about the experience that made me shy away from it several times before i found a kind of masculinity i'm comfortable and happy in. if you find yourself coming back to a particular gender more than once but can't seem to make it fit, i recommend exploring queer and nonconforming flavors to see if you like any of those better. i have a trans woman friend who's very tomboyish and will never ever wear a skirt, and another friend who's the strongest butchest bravest person i've ever met and everything about her makes way more sense since she came out to me as a woman. i wasn't happy with my own gender until i realized that i could be soft and gentle and vulnerable and silly and not be any less strong or any less masculine for it.

it's important to note here that you're not obligated to choose only one gender, either. the food metaphor works here too: lots of people prefer to keep their meals simple and consistent, or have a particular staple they always come back to, but it's normal and common to switch things up now and then. sometimes for a special occasion, sometimes Just Because, but most people's genders aren't truly static. there's a lot of nuance and give to every gender. there's infinite ways to make a sandwich, and people can argue in endless circles about the true ontological distinction between a sandwich and a salad, but at the end of the day it's nobody's business but yours what shape your daily nourishment comes in.

a note on safety: while recent legalization of gay marriage in the US and proliferation of queer spaces on the internet has created a lot of opportunity for queer people to find accepting communities, it's still by and large a huge social risk to be out as trans in irl spaces, especially in conservative rural areas and many religious spaces. it is vital to protect your own safety and the safety of your queer friends in spaces that have not demonstrated genuine acceptance of and solidarity to queer identities, so be mindful of what information you share and with whom. on a lighter note, it's difficult to try out varying gender presentations and pronouns etc. without a supportive social circle to reflect your presentation back at you and allow you to experiment with being seen as a different gender. after all, gender is a social construct; it's an important aspect of relating to other people, so it's all but impossible to explore in a vacuum.

last but not least: remember that you do not have to change yourself to fit your preferred gender. anyone with any set of traits can be any gender they like. it's not about what social role fits you best, it's not about your body, it's about how you interpret yourself and what interpretation makes you feel the most like yourself.

gender is your playground now; have fun, try new things, and eventually you will find yourself knowing what you like and what you want. and it's normal and fine if what you want changes from time to time; change is a natural part of life.

[ria-writes-stories]

Title: When I see your smile

Ship: Thuzi

Genre: Romance, wholesome(fluff), a *th*ad of glass(angst)(the h is silent bc french )

(No one's pov)

Life on copper 9 was ruthless. You had to hide or die, you couldn't have freedom without death, and you couldn't have a life without being locked behind walls. Wasn't it so infuriating? Living behind doors. Living behind these empty hollow walls?

That's why she wanted to become the most dangerous drone there was.

That's why he wanted to become the strongest drone there was.

Avenge those fallen and take revenge on those responsible for what has happened in the past that determined this present, and that is doomed to represent their future.

To protect those unable to protect themselves, to protect the future of the colony and all the innocent lives in it, like a guardian, like a knight, like a true hero.

Then it came to her, a perfect idea. A railgun. She could do it with such ease. With her intelligence and skills, before you knew it in just under a month she has made the most dangerous weapon known to this world they live on.

Then it came to him, the perfect idea. To train so hard, and to be the bravest that there was. With his patients and determination, before you knew it he was the most popular jock in school, and the most appreciated person in all of the colony, everyone knew him, and just few special knew of his dream...

Maybe she hated her old man, but she had to admit somewhere in herself that if he didn't have such programming for engineering, she wouldn't have had it as well, but that didn't matter, well, it did, it mattered so much, despite all that she feels in her. Despite what she feels like late at night trying to figure out where she is going wrong, she wants to make him proud, at least this once, at least once, once at least...

Maybe he wasn't always around the best company, but he had to admit somewhere in himself that if he was always around good people, he wouldn't have this fire flowing through his veins to become even better, because when all is sunshine, you tend to become docile and forget your ideas.

Two lovely drones with nothing in common, isn't that right now, hm? Well what if I told you, that there was more then meets the eye? What if I told you that the outcast and the most popular drone were brought closer by fate in a way that you couldn't even imagine in this life?

Two broken mirrors hanging on a wall each shattered by the inner demons. In on a girl looked at herself with despair, in another the boy looked at himself with hatred.

'Freak' 'Outcast' 'You freak us out' 'Ew it didn't kill her' but the final blow, what really got her down, the look in her father's eyes. Looking at her as if searching for something as if she was a fragment of the past he so desperately missed, and she couldn't live up to it, no matter what, so, she decided to be better than it.

I didn't stand a chance. That disassembly drone moped the floor with me!' 'Weak!' 'Hahahahaha! Come on Thad! Be more realistic!' 'Pffft sure, you can't spell your ABC's but you want to be a WDF? HAH!' Ever since he can remember, he has learned one thing, if you tell anyone about your dreams they will give you their opinions on them, and not all are kind, but what drove him the most was for the hatred he had for himself. He had to get better. He had to...

That is what they think, that is what they tell themselves, that they do it to be something, to be worth something, to be someone. Heh. Petty little liars these two, don't cha think? Because they already knew why they were doing all of this, but they forgot, but not their heart, never their heart.

"Hey!!! Leave her alone!"A boy's voice shouted as a couple others laughed. "Is that your boyfriend?" a girl teased. "Let's get outta here!" Another panicked one said as she ran off with her friends.

Uzi had bitter tears running down her cheeks as she was sitting on the ground, one leg laid and another standing up. She scrapped her knee when one of those girls pushed her. 'Freak!' 'Weirdo!' 'Creepy!' all said with a smile, such cruelty.

"Uzi! Are you ok?" Thad asked as he knelt down. They were maybe four or five that day. Thad had a chipped tooth, so, sometimes, just sometimes, some words he said sounded weird. "Y-yeah." The girl said looking away. "You're injured!" "I'm fine Thad..." Thad used his jacket and used it as a bandage for her wound, it quickly dirtied in her oil. "?!" "There! Is this better?" He asked with a beaming smile as he looked at her with hopeful bright eyes. "Yeah, but, you're jacket..." Uzi said quietly. "Who cares about that? Come on." Thad said getting up and giving her a hand. His green emerald eyes, his warm charming smile and his perfect sun kissed hair as if it was made out of sun rays. Uzi blushed lightly and got up on her own. "I'm not a baby!" "I didn't say you are one..." Thad said confused rubbing the back of his neck as Uzi huffed as she continued to have a small blush on her visor. "Are you ok?" "Stop asking! I'm fine!" She said huffing. Thad just chuckled, even now he remembers how they met.

"Hahahaha! You can't even spell your ABC's and you want to be in the WDF?!" "L-leave me a-a-alone!" Thad had a slight problem with his voice box, which caused him to stutter. A boy pushed him, then another, and another... "HEY! LEAVE HIM ALONE YOU MEANIES!" A girl's voice rang. "Oh look, the purple freak! What are you gonna-" The boy didn't finish his sentence for Uzi punched him in the face without hesitation, the other two boys got afraid and ran eating the dust as soon their 'fallen' friend joined them, crying for his mommy. "Are you ok?" "Y-yea-A-h." Thad said looking at the strange girl with a small blush. "Did they damage your vocie box?" "Oh- n-no tha-aAT-h's how i-i-iT iS-sSs." When he as nervous it would get worse. He looked away embarrassed. "Oh... I think it's cool! It's different, so that's nice." Uzi said bluntly. "R-really?" Uzi nodded as Thad blushed a bit more.

The two kids began to play together after that, every single day.

"I'll be the next WDF leader!" Thad announced proudly while walking with Uzi to the nursery. "Ugh, really? Well, please do, dad's never around...What even is so great about it?" Uzi said mumbling the dad part between her teeth as she looked at the ground sadly before looking back at Thad puzzled. "Cuz! I will be fighting murder drones, and I'll keep everyone safe and- and no one will hurt you!" Thad exclaimed with pure joy. He looked so proud of himself, as a soft gentle green blush rested on his visor as Uzi looked at him in disbelief as her own cheeks got a tad purple. "Well, I won't need protection!" Uzi said crossing her arms as she began to walk in front as Thad's face dropped, turning puzzled as he looked at her so lost. "How so?" He asked as he rushed to catch up with her. "Because I will destroy the murder drones! I will be an awesome solo and amazing fighter!" "Sooo, a hero?" "Not a hero! A...a...I don't know what but not that! I refuse to go by the social norms of this society!" Uzi said so sure of herself as if she came from another world, as if she wasn't from this colony and from somewhere where worker drones eat murder drones for breakfast. "Well... why?" Thad asked so confused. "Cuz you can't look after me if you can't even look after yourself." Uzi said in the heat of the moment but then realised her words. "I- I didn't mean it like that I meant- I meant I am tired of you looking out for me, so, I'll spin the ship around and lead!" "Why a ship?" Thad seemed completely oblivious to Uzi's earlier comments. "Cuz... on ships there is a captain...and a captain is the one who leads on a ship...?" Uzi didn't know what she was saying either. "Checks out." Thad said simply as he shrugged.

Thad looked up at Uzi's father. Founder of WDF. Little did he know back then what a father he, better said, wasn't... as for Uzi, she looked up at Thad's bravery. She always acted on impulses, he acted on courage, and that inspired her.

She wanted to be the most powerful, but it was so hard...she lacked the courage he had. He on the other hand appreciated her as his best friend, but, he lacked that fire that she had, and he was never able to tell her what he felt. Oh to be young and clueless...

The years went by, they drifted apart, and yet...every time Uzi went to the nurse's office, Thad was close behind, it just became an instinct, he just...knew when she was there, and even if they didn't talk everyday, even if they didn't see each other all of the time... they still talked as if they did every single day, neither realised it, but both felt a comforting feeling deep in their core when they got to talk with each other.

God how they drifted, Gow how they knew everything of each other and now they knew nothing and yet...

Outside of the colony, late at night, after a lovely little walk outside, Thad's idea, to catch up with Uzi, check on her, as he has become more concerned for her well being, Uzi tried to ran off, constantly checking the hour as if the sunrise meant she'd die, but it was far from sunrise, it was midnght for goodness sake!

'What if I snap? What if I hurt him? What if- Oh Robo-Jesus what if I- No, no, no. I can't control myself, this was a bad idea, why am I so stupid? Stupid! Stupid!' Uzi thought to herself as she ran off, as the snow helplessly crushed under her feet.

'Did I say something? Did I do something? No, wait, please. I am sorry. Come back. I didn't mean to drift apart from you, I just- I became so focused on all of these sports to be stronger- please.' Thad thought as he reached his hand out. No. These weren't his dreams and when he'd wake up nothing would have happened.

"UZI!" He screamed on top of his lungs as he bolted from his spot, running after her. Uzi froze in her place, confused, as her eyes widen in shock while she turned around. Before she knew it Thad was right in front of her, as if he was as fast as a disassembly drone. How did he...?

He was desperate. 'Run. Run you fool, you will loose her! RUN!' His mind screamed at her as his heart cried out for her. But the closer he got, the more unsure he became, what to do? What can he do? Embrace her? No, that would be so sudden... ki- no, no, that's not even in the equation that would be so weird, so then what, what could he possibly do, say, to make this less awkward, to... to make her feel better...? To make her feel better around him?

Uzi's eyes widen even more if possible as she looked at him in utter shock, unable to respond to what she saw before her, unable to move. The way he moved, like an animal pushing it's limits for the last chase of their life, as if it was this or nothing, as if...as if what he was chasing was always there but he didn't see it until it was almost too late...almost.

The moon shined upon the two drones, here, in the middle of nowhere in this God forsaken winter wasteland, nothing more, nothing less other then the two of them and the cold of the night. The moon light shinning against their metal surface, as if putting in the spotlight, two snowflakes, or better said ninja star's since they were snow-flake shaped sort of, made out of iron.

Thad's body acted without him knowing, acted without him thinking, acted before he could because his senses knew that he wouldn't be able to think it through in time. He found himself kneeling before her, taking her hands into his. His hands so beaten up. Basketball, box, dodgeball, boxing, so many sports that he signed up for hoping to toughen him up. Her hands, so precise and gentle to be able to engineer such fascinating things, yet such dangerous deadly weapons that took away more than one life.

"Please, I love you." he said breathlessly without skipping a beat as his green eyes, like the fresh lively grass that appears in spring looked into her purple galaxy eyes. She didn't know what to say, didn't know what to do, as he stood there, knelt before her.

As if he was making an oath, a knight to it's princess. "Please." he said again.

Before Uzi's eyes flashed the image of a boy that once upon a long time ago she defended from some 'meanies', the same look of fear, confusion and innocence in his perfect green eyes. A boy she always followed with the edge of her visor, to ensure at least he was doing fine, like a queen looking out for her loyal knight.

Before Thad's eyes flashed the image of a girl that once upon a long time ago, he stood by her side for so long yet lost himself in the training he took upon himself to be strong enough to protect her, like a loyal knight fighting life day and night to become enough to protect the queen that has made him what he is.

Uzi didn't have words. What words could you possibly have in such a moment? Neither did he have any, but those were the only things he was able to split out, and he had no clue what he'd say if she spoke, he'd make something up, find something in this hurricane of feelings, anything just to not leave her hanging. But words...plenty meaningless words are the poverty of one, aren't they?

So, they did what the most primal animal knows how to do when showing joy, and she took the first, just like she did so, so, so many times. She smiled. That perfect smile of hers. The smile he hasn't seen since they were young kids. That smile when she said so proudly that she won't need his protection, before quickly and nervously trying to explain that she won't need it because she will look out for him, and what else could he do? He smiled like the fool her was. His true genuine smile that was only ever given to her, followed by a few tears in his green perfect eyes.

"Heh..." He said breathlessly as he got up warping his hands around him as she hesitantly warped her hands around him as well. Two fools smiling without even knowing what they are smiling for and yet...this made them the happiest they have been since the last time they were together.

The end

[donttalkaboutmemes]

The Lion King (1994) Sentence Meme

Under the cut you will find 200+ sentences from the 1994 version of The Lion King to use for your enjoyment!  

1.      “Life’s not fair, is it? You see, well, I shall never be king. And you shall never see the light of another day.”

2.      “Didn’t your mother ever tell you not to play with your food?”

3.      “You’d better have a good reason for missing the ceremony this morning.”

4.      “You’ve made me lose my lunch.”

5.      “You’ll lose more than that when the king gets through with you.”

6.      “He’s as mad as a hippo with a hernia.”

7.      “I quiver with fear.”

8.      “Why, if it isn’t my big brother descending from on high to mingle with the commoners.”

9.      “That was today? Oh, I feel simply awful! Must have slipped my mind!”

10.   “As the king’s brother, you should’ve been first in line.”

11.   “Oh, I shall practice my curtsy.”

12.   “Don’t turn your back on me.”

13.   “Perhaps you shouldn’t turn your back on me.”

14.   “Is that a challenge?”

15.   “Temper, temper. I wouldn’t dream of challenging you.”

16.   “As far as brains go, I got the lions share, but when it comes to brute strength, I’m afraid I’m at the shallow end of the gene pool.”

17.   “There’s one in every family, two in mine actually, and they always manage to ruin special occasions.”

18.   “Your son is awake.”

19.   “Before sunrise, he’s your son.”

20.   “Everything the light touches is our kingdom.”

21.   “A king’s time as rule rises and falls like the sun. One day, the sun will set on my time here and will rise with you as the new king.”

22.   “What about that shadowy place?”

23.   “That’s beyond our borders. You must never go there.”

24.   “I thought a king can do whatever he wants.”

25.   “There’s more to being a king than getting your way all the time.”

26.   “Everything you see exists together in a delicate balance. As king, you need to understand that balance and respect all the creatures.”

27.   “We are all connected in the great circle of life.”

28.   “Let an old pro show you how it’s done.”

29.   “Young master, one day you will be king.”

30.   “I despise guessing games.”

31.   “My dad just showed me the whole kingdom. And I’m gonna rule it all.”

32.   “Forgive me for not leaping for joy. Bad back, you know.”

33.   “When I’m king, what’ll that make you?”

34.   “You’re so weird.”

35.   “So, your father showed you the whole kingdom, did he?”

36.   “He didn’t show you what’s beyond the rise at the northern border.”

37.   “It’s far too dangerous. Only the bravest go there.”

38.   “I’m only looking out for the well-being of my favorite nephew.”

39.   “All the more reason for me to be protective.”

40.   “Oh, dear, I’ve said too much. Well, I suppose you’d have found out sooner or later, you being so clever and all.”

41.   “Just do me one favor. Promise me you’ll never go there.”

42.   “Remember. It’s our little secret.”

43.   “Come on. I just heard about this great place.”

44.   “Where are we going? It better not be anyplace dumb.”

45.   “How are we gonna ditch the dodo?”

46.   “Just look at you two, little seeds of romance blossoming in the savannah.”

47.   “Your parents will be thrilled, what with you being betrothed and all.”

48.   “One day you two are going to get married.”

49.   “I can’t marry her. She’s my best friend.”

50.   “It’s a tradition going back generations.”

51.   “When I’m king, that’ll be the first thing to go.”

52.   “Nice try, but only the king can do that.”

53.   “Well, he’s the future king.”

54.   “With an attitude like that, I’m afraid you’re shaping up to be a pretty pathetic king indeed.”

55.   “Hey, genius, it was my idea.”

56.   “Ha! Pinned ya!”

57.   “I wonder if it’s brains are still in there.”

58.   “The only checking out you will do will be to check out of here.”

59.   “Right now, we are all in very real danger.”

60.   “Danger? Ha! I walk on the wild side. I laugh in the face of danger.”

61.   “Do you know what we do to kings who step out of their kingdom?”

62.   “Ix-nay on the upid-stay.”

63.   “Hey! Why don’t you pick on somebody your own size?”

64.   “That was it? Do it again. Come on.”

65.   “You deliberately disobeyed me.”

66.   “I though you were very brave.”

67.   “I’ve got to teach my son a lesson.”

68.   “You could’ve been killed.”

69.   “I was just trying to be brave like you.”

70.   “I’m only brave when I have to be.”

71.   “Being brave doesn’t mean you go looking for trouble.”

72.   “I guess even kings get scared, huh?”

73.   “We’re pals, right? And we’ll always be together, right?”

74.   “Let me tell you something that my father told me.”

75.   “Look up at the starts. The Great Kings of the Past look down on us from those stars.”

76.   “Whenever you feel alone, just remember that those kings will always be there to guide you. And so will I.”

77.   “Look at you guys! No wonder we’re dangling at the bottom of the food chain.”

78.   “We were afraid it was somebody important.”

79.   “Now that’s power.”

80.   “I just hear that name and I shudder.”

81.   “I’m surrounded by idiots.”

82.   “You’re one of us. I mean, you’re our pal.”

83.   “I like that. He’s not king, but he’s still so proper.”

84.   “I don’t think you really deserve this.”

85.   “What were we supposed to do? Kill him?”

86.   “Now, you wait here. Your father has a marvelous surprise for you.”

87.   “If I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise, now would it?”

88.   “If you tell me, I’ll still act surprised!”

89.   “Lucky daddy was there to save you, eh?”

90.   “Just between us, you might want to work on that little roar of yours.”

91.   “This is awful! What’ll we do!?”

92.   “Long live the king.”

93.   “Coem on. You gotta get up. We gotta go home.”

94.   “No one ever means for these things to happen.”

95.   “The king is dead and if it weren’t for you, he’d still be alive.”

96.   “Run. Run away and never return.”

97.   “He’s as good as dead out there anyway. And if he does come back, we’ll kill him.”

98.   “You hear that? If you ever come back, we’ll kill ya.”

99.   “For me it is a deep personal loss.”

100. “It is with a heavy heart that I assume the throne.”

101. “Out of the action of this tragedy, we shall rise to greet the dawning of a new era.”

102. “You better come look. I think it’s still alive.”

103. “Look at him, he’s so cute and all alone. Can we keep him?”

104. “Maybe he’ll be on our side.”

105.  “Ha! That’s the stupidest thing I ever heard!”

106.  “Who’s the brains of this outfit?”

107.  “I’m fried. Let’s get out of here and find some shade.”

108.  “Ah, you’re an outcast. Great! So are we!”

109.  “In times like this my buddy here says you gotta put your behind in your past.”

110. “Lie down before you hurt yourself.”

111. “You gotta put your past behind you.”

112. “Bad things happen and you can’t do anything about it, right?”

113. “When the world turns its back on you, you turn your back on the world.”

114. “That’s not what I was taught.”

115. “Maybe you need a new lesson. Repeat after me. Hakuna Matata.”

116. “It’s our motto.”

117. “These two words will solve all your problems.”

118. “Welcome to our humble abode.”

119. “We live wherever we want.”

120.  “Home is where your rump rests.”

121.  “I’m so hungry I could eat a whole zebra.”

122.  “If you live with us, you have to eat like us.”

123.  “Slimy yet satisfying.”

124.  “I’m telling ya, kid, this is the great life. No rules, no responsibilities, and best of all, no worries.”

125.  “Do lighten up. Sing something with a little bounce in it.”

126.  “You know the law. Never, ever mention that name in my presence.”

127.  “Yes, sire, you are the king. I only mentioned it to illustrate the differences in your royal managerial approaches.”

128.  “Hey, boss! We got a bone to pick with you!”

129.  “I ate like a pig.”

130.  “Ever wonder what those sparkling dots are up there?”

131.  “With you, everything’s gas.”

132.  “Somebody once told me that the great kings of the past are up there, watching over us.”

133. “You mean a bunch of royal dead guys are watching us?”

134. “What mook made that up?”

135. “It is time.”

136. “She’s gonna eat me!”

137. “Get her! Bite her head! Go for the jugular!”

138. “What do you mean what am I doing here? What are you doing here?”

139. “Wait ‘til everyone finds out you’ve been here all this time.”

140. “She doesn’t have to know. Nobody has to know.”

141. “You’re alive. And that means you’re the king.”

142. “It’s not gravel, it’s grovel. And don’t. He’s not the king.”

143. “I’m not the king. Maybe I was gonna be, but that was a long time ago.”

144. “Let me get this straight. You’re the king? And you never told us?”

145. “Whatever she has to say, she can say in front of us.”

146. “You think you know a guy.”

147.  “It’s like you’re back from the dead.”

148. “You don’t know how much this will mean to everyone. What it means to me.”

149.  “I’ve really missed you.”

150. “I don’t understand something. You’ve been alive all this time. Why didn’t you come back?”

151. “I just needed to get out on my own. Live my own life.”

152. “No one needs me.”

153. “We’ve been through this. I’m not the king.”

154. “Sometimes bad things happen and there’s nothing you can do about it. So why worry?”

155. “I left to find help. And I found you.”

156. “Don’t you understand? You’re our only hope.”

157. “You know, you’re starting to sound like my father.”

158. “You think you can just show up and tell me how to live my life? You don’t even know what I’ve been through!”

159. “I can’t go back. What would it prove anyways?”

160. “It won’t change anything. You can’t change the past.”

161. “You said you’d always been there for me, but you’re not. And it’s because of me. It’s my fault.”

162. “The question is who are you.”

163. “Well, I know who you are.”

164. “I think you’re a little confused.”

165. “I’m not the one who’s confused. You don’t even know who you are.”

166. “I hate to tell you this, but he died a long time ago.”

167. “He lives in you.”

168. “You have forgotten me.”

169.  “You are more than what you have become.”

170.  “You must take your place in the circle of life.”

171.  “How can I go back? I’m not who I used to be.”

172.  “Remember who you are.”

173.  “Looks like the winds are changing.”

174.  “Change is good.”

175.  “It’s not easy. I know what I have to do, but going back means I’ll have to face my past. I’ve been running from it for so long.”

176.   “The past can hurt you, but the way I see it, you can either run from it or learn from it.”

177.   “The king has returned.”

178.   “I can’t believe it! He’s gone back!”

179.    “It’s awful, isn’t it?”

180.    “I didn’t want to believe you.”

181.    “What made you come back?”

182.    “I finally got some sense knocked into me and I’ve got the bump to prove it.”

183.    “This is my kingdom. If I don’t fight for it, who will?”

184.    “I see nothing funny about this.”

185.    “If it’s important to you, we’re with you to the end.”

186.    “What do you want me to do, dress in drag and do the hula?”

187.     “Where is your hunting party? They’re not doing their job.”

188.     “You have sentenced us to death!”

189.     “I am the king! I can do whatever I want!”

190.     “I’m ten times the king he was.”

191.     “You’re alive? How can that be?”

192.     “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t rip you apart.”

193.     “You see them? They think I’m king.”

194.     “The choice is yours. Either step down or fight.”

195.     “Must this all end in violence?”

196.     “I’d hate to be responsible for the death of a family member. Wouldn’t you agree?”

197.     “That’s not gonna work. I’ve put it behind me.”

198.     “What about your faithful subjects? Have they put it behind them?”

199.     “So you haven’t told them your little secret. Well, now’s your chance.”

200.     “It’s not true. Tell me it’s not true.”

201.     “If it wasn’t for you, he’d still be alive. It’s your fault he’s dead. Do you deny it?”

202.     “You’re in trouble again, but this time daddy isn’t here to save you.”

203.     “Please. Please have mercy. I beg you.”

204.     “You don’t deserve to live.”

205.     “Why should I believe you? Everything you ever told me was a lie.”

206.     “Friends? I thought he said we were the enemy.”

[frozen-fountain]

Thought I’d ask about inspiration; aside from things related to your fandom’s source material, is there any visual art (specific style, artist, work) that acts like a wellspring for ideas?

The most obvious and important one regarding my current work is the solarpunk movement over the ten years or so it's existed. I see a lot of vitriol going around about art that offers comfort versus art that challenges; and even overlooking the utterly false dichotomy that a lot of this back-and-forth presents, my assertion with this project and in general life is that sometimes, the single most challenging feeling to sit with is hope.

It can be that way if life has kicked you and you've been miserable for a long time, when it hurts to even imagine things could be different because that comes with the caveat of could have been different. That's hard to reconcile and accept. And I think it's true for more people than are aware of it. I think it can be the hardest, bravest thing in the world to sit with that, to allow yourself to see the better world that could be, and trust the other people around you to see it as well. So that's what I get out of this niche online art movement beyond just pretty pictures of rooftop gardens and inner city canals. It's braided into what I do even when I'm not actively working with these motifs and aesthetics.

Other than that, I'm not very knowledgeable about visual art. It's not something I have any skill for myself and I haven't studied the history of the subject in-depth or anything. I can often grasp the story a piece is trying to communicate and comment on its symbolism, but I'm pretty lost when it comes to singling out styles and movements. I like taking a little inspiration from any art I sit with, though, and I'm bound to remember some special pieces that have stayed with me. I'll edit the post or message you with them as they come to me!

[5sosfanfictioncatalogue]

Shy!Michael Masterlist

Christmas Eve, after Tour (ao3) - Memoire (nowherebound) michael/luke G, 1k

Summary: After being on tour for weeks, Michael and Luke cuddle up under the Christmas tree. Michael has a surprise gift for Luke.

i don't care if your beautiful lips exist out there (ao3) - dancingmalum michael/calum, luke/ashton N/R, 3k

Summary: Michael can't help but to agree to skip school with the boy he's been crushing on forever; Calum Hood.

is it cool if i hold your hand? (ao3) - orphan_account michael/luke N/R, 2k

Summary: Michael gave Luke a soft smile and hesitantly intertwined their fingers, watching Luke’s face for a reaction.

Michael could feel that his hands were kind of sweaty but Luke didn’t seem to mind. If anything his face seemed to light up a little more. He gave Michael’s hands a squeeze and lowered them down to his sides.

“Is this cool?” Michael asked cautiously.

Lessons With Ashton (ao3) - im_just_a_sucker_for_bromance michael/ashton E, 35k

Summary: Michael’s boyfriend, Calum, was coming back after two years at uni and Calum had told him he was looking forward to spend some special time with him. That was when Michael’s best friend, Luke, who thought he was a desperate case, decided Michael needed help and according to him, there was no one better than Ashton for that job. Michael had to learn some exciting things to please his boyfriend and Ashton had to loosen Michael up before his boyfriend’s arrival. That was how Michael found himself in front of the door of a stranger, in order to spice up his sex life, as Luke had put it.

My Cobain Shirt (ao3) - unconditionalcalum michael/calum, luke/ashton T, 14k

Summary: the one where the shy boy with the bright hair (Michael) has a hopeless crush on the popular soccer-player-with-a-scholarship (Calum).

Of Postcards and Love (ao3) - RamblingWithFantasy michael/luke T, 14k

Summary: "Luke, I know you have got a boyfriend and that you're not interested in me, but I need to say it out loud before you go, before I don't see you anymore. Will you let me say it?" Michael pleads uncertainly, other threatening tears ready to be cried like a river. Is he going to be free and forget Luke forever after doing this? Will he open his wings and fly away from his past without Luke?

"You can say it. Whenever you feel like saying it just do it. Once, twice, ten times per day, I don't mind. I'm here for you, okay? Say it whenever you feel it's the right time. I'm not going anywhere until you say it. I'd like to hear those words from you, you know? They are the bravest words someone can say, Michael" Luke tells him softly, standing up from his seat and sitting again, this time dangerously close to Michael.

Once You Remember... (ao3) - Tori2004 (orphan_account) michael/luke, calum/ashton E, 12k

Summary: Luke’s idea of fun, is to torment Michael Clifford, a shy boy with brightly dyed hair. Michael gets into a car accident and develops amnesia. Luke and one of his friends make a bet. Luke has to try and make Michael fall in love with him. Until he realizes how unpredictable love can be.

post-show haziness (ao3) - dancingmalum michael/calum N/R, 1k

Summary: "Come on, Mikey, let's go," Calum said once the elevator doors opened and they were on their floor. Michael tripped over his feet and nearly fell over, but Calum managed to grab him and toss him over his shoulder before he hit the ground.

Calum adjusted Michael on his shoulder better and unlocked their separate room, entering and starting to set Michael down on his bed. Michael clung to his arm, obviously not wanting to let go.

"Mikey, I have to shower, let go," Calum said. Michael didn't answer, he just held on tighter. Calum sighed and took him to the bathroom, lifting him up so he was sitting on the counter. Calum threw off his shirt and jeans, leaving him in boxers, before he started taking Michael's shirt off.

Or; Michael can't focus or do anything by himself sometime and Calum showers with him and it turns into shower sex (whoops).

The Frigid Wind of Teen Rebellion (ao3) - orphan_account michael/luke G, 897

Summary: In which Michael walks into a Sally's Beauty Supply asking an employee to find him the most rebellious color hair dye, only to find out he doesn't actually work there.

You're Pretty (Cute) (ao3) - orphan_account michael/luke N/R, 541

Summary: He was too shy to even go over to him, no matter how bad he wanted to.

Basically Michael really likes Luke and how pretty he is but is too shy to say anything, and Luke likes his shyness

[shyflameweasel]

I am like, 12 hours into the game after playing it on and off for the past couple days and all I can say is that its meh. If you like it then all the power to you and I'd love to hear you're reasoning. This is just my little ol' opinion of the thing which I'm hoping will change as I get further into the game. Spoilers beware, you're in for a scare.

Honestly it's not worth the 60$ price tag or the 30$ dlc. Not the biggest fan of the character designs, the walking toothpaste commercial not withstanding just generally don't like any of the designs I've seen so far, especially whenever I need to talk to a character and I just see their hair clipping through their bodies or jiggle physics applied to hair/hair ornaments. Colorful looks aside a lot of them really do feel bland even when I do their support conversations. Feels like there could have been something there but so far its like drinking a flat soda filled with more melted ice than drink.

The boutique isn't for me either but I'm sure the people that want to dress up their characters in different designs are having a ball. Long as people are enjoying that feature I guess.

It is a bit weird that the possible marriage possibility that was introduced all the way back in Awakening but that may have been because the developers didn't want to turn the game into a dating sim. Or at least that's what I'm guessing but who knows, I stayed away from a lot of information regarding the game while it was in development so I wouldn't hype myself up. But with how watered down the characters are it really doesn't seem worth it to S rank anyone if it was available.

The story doesn't grip at all. It is nice to see all the locations and the four different nations plus flying sky island do offer a nice hook that it sadly didn't catch. Wake up with amnesia, get told that you're the kindest bravest person ever to live, find your mom who's a divine god dragon who's also obviously the queen of this land, get a dark and evil vision of yourself grinning evilly, queen dies because she was giving you all her power to wake up and then you go from place to place getting the pieces to dear old dead mom's jewelry collection. All I know is that Alear is the best thing since sliced bread and I would not at all be surprised if the allies on the Somneil became some weird cult.

The fighting mechanics are one of my favorites with how smooth it is at times but even then for a while I still felt something was off. That 'something' being the weapon proficiency leveling up. It doesn't do that unless you get to a high bond level with a Emblem that specializes with that weapon. Or when you change class you can increase you're weapon proficiency a whole rank or even decrease it. It feels a bit clunky still so I don't have much to say.

Also a bit iffy on the decision to get rid of the durability of most items. On one hand now people don't have to worry about their weapons randomly breaking during battle. On the other hand it feels like if you can get your hands on powerful weapons you can cheese the fights cause now you don't have to strategize as much as you did before.

Aside from the battle UI the only other things I can find enjoyment in are Sommie and the animal adoption aspect. Both are adorable and I am so getting every animal I can get my grubby little hands on.

And the Alear and Ring!Marth interactions that make me think they were a couple. Can't help but let out a cackle every so often.

Altogether, I'm just really hoping that the game does get better as I continue playing it. I'm not so much as angry at the game as I am disappointed that there's seemingly feels like there wasn't much thought put into it since it is a Fire Emblem game so obviously there's going to be people who buy it for the name alone. Only time will tell I guess.

[djarinsbeskar]

EXPLORATION ARC: PART 9 - RUINS

A/N: We come to the end of the Exploration Arc at last! Six months and over 120k words later, a huge chapter in Mandomedic's story is complete. I have to apologize in advance for the heaviness of this chapter. There was a lot to get through and it has resulted in quite an introspective/emotion heavy part. There is very little smut (a first??) but a lot of feeling so I hope it won't be too difficult to get through. Special thanks as ever to @heartsofbeskar for the gif and @asta-lily for reading this to be sure it was okay!

Please see the notes at the end for explanations of lore mentioned and any creative liberties I’ve taken with it.

Word Count: 18k

Pairing: Din Djarin/Fem!Reader

Rating: 18+ (NO Minors)

Warings: References to smut, language, mentions of death, feelings, deep introspection (forgive me)

Summary: It’s mighty hard to distract yourself from your mysterious and alluring shipmate, so why bother?

AO3 | Stitches Masterlist | Main Masterlist

You could say with some certainty that the Rebellion – war – had taught you exactly three things.

One, that life was precious—fragile and so easily snuffed out. Sometimes, it felt a cruel joke to be given a shot at survival, burdened with the knowledge of how quickly a body could drop dead. How everything that made a person them – years of memory, experience, and emotion – could vanish in seconds, leaving only the corporal sacs of flesh you were tasked at saving. Where the strongest, bravest—most honorable were destroyed in blaster fire and explosions that shattered any naïve belief that good people would always win in battles with the bad.

Two, that time was priceless. The whispered heat of blaster fire grazing past your ear and singing your hair as you worked. Catching a casualty in the moments before they were beyond saving. The hours spent in hyperspace where you could heal and rest with some measure of safety when the whole galaxy was considered enemy territory. And while invaluable, it was also finite. Things ended – for better or worse – and nothing remained in stasis. You lived the years after the Rebellion existing alongside that ideology, neither comforted nor aggrieved by the reality, but grimly appreciative for the awareness. You lost that perception in your time aboard the Razor Crest, living with the façade of ignorance that such a life could continue indefinitely.

And three, that given a single opportunity, the tiniest of footholds… bad things would always find a way to fester, grow strong and return. They sought to infiltrate precarious, hard won peace and the delicate balance of diplomacy with an obsessive desire and stain it with new wounds. The newer the peace, the more fatal the blow and more devastating the scar. Another lesson that slipped your mind, abandoned on Mynock almost a year ago when you escaped the city with the Mandalorian and his child.

The months you spent in a comfortable limbo, detached from the plights of an ever changing universe were seductive in the reprieve they offered your wearied soul. You filled your time caring for a child, working on patients whenever you had the chance – feeding your ever hungry mind with new knowledge in the interim – and indulging in the pleasure the Mandalorian gave you night after night.

You should have realized it wouldn’t last that way forever. Not when you knew better, not when you knew there were still people outside the steel shield of the Razor Crest who would do harm to a child.

It ended up being one of those days you regretted getting up.

You should have known something was amiss the moment you realized Mando wasn’t on the mat beside you. The leeching chill of the ships frigid structure in the tundra of hyperspace sapped any heat the warrior might have left you with after rising hours before and dragged you to consciousness with a shiver.

But you didn’t.

Instead, you rolled onto your back with a noise of satiated drowsiness—still half asleep as your mind lazily woke up to the pleasurable aches and relaxed muscles you always felt after a night spent slaking your desire for your Mandalorian lover and vice versa. That contented thrum combated both the default discomfort that was unavoidable when you slept on the floor, and the surrounding cold that pricked your nude skin.

Any confusion you might have had over his absence disappeared with a delicate flutter low in your stomach as the previous night returned to you in gentle waves, the shallow lap of the tide washing over your feet—warmed by the heat of an afternoon sun.

Din…

Your eyes fell shut again with the shadow of a smile – secret and intimate – giving yourself that moment of privacy in the pitch black hold to bask in it.

His name.

You never knew how much you wanted to know his name until it was offered to you.

The Mandalorian who came crashing into your life years ago on Klatooine, more devastating than a wildfire and as impossible to hold onto as the smoke that rose from the flames. He was a veritable shadow in a dark universe—for all those who knew him, knew of him, and feared the stories told about him. And yet…

Din Djarin.

You hadn’t been sleeping with a shadow, you had been sleeping with – falling for – a man. A man named Din Djarin. Your lips formed over the name, tongue tantalized by the whisper of it that you couldn’t prevent escaping, an exigent need to hear it once more. He had always been real, that was never a question—but in that moment—when he had a name beyond the moniker given to him by countless others and shared with anyone of his Creed… it felt intimate—it felt special. When you said his name it felt like he was—

You flushed. The chill chased away by a flood of heat up your body. The thought invasive and possibly untrue despite the feeling it inspired to the contrary.

When you said his name, it felt like he was… yours. Yours in a way he had never been anyone else’s. Perhaps it was an arrogant thought, to assume—and truthfully it didn’t matter. Just like the multiple lovers you had taken over the years ceased to matter from that first frisson of attraction between you years before. You were happy, hesitantly hopeful at the creaking shift of the solid walls surrounding him, a sliver of space cracking ever so slightly wider. Wide enough perhaps, for someone like you to slip in after the child had months before.

You caught yourself. Sat up on the mat. Shook your head.

Stop it. You chided yourself, rubbing both your hands down the length of your face before you stretched your arms up over your head with a scornful groan at your own callow slip of the mind.

You were getting ahead of yourself with idle fantasy and rose tinted glasses. You still didn’t understand your own feelings for the Mandalorian – for Din – how in Malachor were you to anticipate his?

No. You pulled yourself up to reach for the switch that would fill the hold with light once more. You didn’t do this, dream—you were realistic, pragmatic—and it had always worked in your favor. Always kept you… safe?

You frowned. That didn’t sound quite right.

You chewed on the word as you pulled your clothes on for the day, pondered it while you brushed your teeth and combed the tangles his hands left in your hair, ruminated on it as you prepared the little squirt something to eat as he sat on the counter beside you.

Not ‘safe’, you decided when you sat the chopped boar jerky softened in a bowl of bone broth in front of the child, still no sign of his father – buir – in the meantime.

Remaining realistic – denying yourself the luxury of fantasizing about anything beyond what you could independently achieve – it kept you shielded, sheltered away from disappointment and pain. But those shields kept you apart, separate from experiencing things you knew most people yearned for. It prevented pain but encouraged loneliness—and you weren’t sure which was worse, looking back on it now.

Your life revolved around pain, relieving it—reducing it, healing it. You spent so much time faced with pain, that you were taken aback when faced with an altogether different variant of it. But loneliness was its’ own form of pain—one that had so easily slipped under your radar. Untreated, it became an old wound that healed incorrectly. A constant ache the bearer grows accustomed to and only understands the extent of their suffering when they receive the proper treatment and experience the relief of being healed.

Your own fear of pain had inadvertently become the orchestrator of that very eventuality.

A gurgle of noise from the child pulled your attention from where you stared unseeing into the middle distance, chin propped on your hand as you poked at your breakfast. Galaxies shone in the depths of bright eyes as they met yours, happy and full from his food. It made you smile; the gloomy path your memory had taken soothed immediately by his presence. You reached across the short distance from your own meal to wipe the corner of his mouth without thinking. How curious was it that the duo you had unconsciously tasked yourself with caring for became the very antidote to a condition you assumed was permanent?

It was both a sobering and uplifting truth.

Amused with his metal ball for a time as he sat in the disused bunk, you busied yourself with pouring Mando – Din’s – portion of the food into a bowl, the pot keeping it warm over a low heat for when he chose to come down. You considered leaving it for him to get whenever he had the time but the man had a knack for forgetting to eat that you decided to give it to him yourself. Not just because you wanted to see him. No… no, absolutely not.

That didn’t stop you from waiting until the color that flushed your face had cooled down at the thought of him.

Climbing the ladder to the upper level of the Razor Crest one-handed was a skill you never thought you would come to need or appreciate. But whether it was holding the child or a tray of heated rations as you were now – sweetened with the addition of the last of the boar jerky from your stay on Bharani V over a month ago – it was a skill you utilized often.

You set the tray on the grate flooring as soon as you could, pulling yourself up through the entry point. The cockpit door was open a fraction. That was usually a good indication that the Mandalorian wasn’t there, but the murmur of conversation suggested otherwise and halted you in your tracks from turning into the storage area adjacent to the cockpit in search of him.

“Honestly, Mando—have I ever led you astray before?”

There was a muted silence from the other side of the hydraulic door. You recognized the voice—that booming swell of open charisma stood in jarring juxtaposition to Din’s guarded rasps. It was the same voice that had interrupted you when… oh yeah. You snorted in amusement, heat rising to your face at the memory of being on your knees in the hold, lapping at Din’s swollen cock tentatively for the first time while he growled his restrained desire for you, when that burgeoning attraction roared to a flame that had yet to dwindle.

You hoped it never did.

Bantha balls.

There you went again—fantasizing.

The immediate reaction you had to squash that sentimentality felt wrong, but habit commanded you to do so before you even had time to register it. Ironically, your brain was still uselessly trying to draw lines in the sand when the reality that those lines had already been crossed at some point over the last nine months washed over them like waves.

Just when was a mystery, one you had tried to dissect numerous times.

Maybe it was when you asked him to stay with you in bed instead of leaving, maybe it the moment you stepped onto his ship. Or perhaps even earlier than that; maybe that line had been crossed the moment you felt safe enough to invite a bounty hunter into your home—when you decided not to ignore him in that alleyway on Klatooine. Whenever it was, the fact remained, Din had stopped being a bedwarmer a long time ago. Din Djarin became… important.

You frowned, brows lowering in concentration over your eyes.

It tugged at that train of thought you were on as the child ate. What you would have once considered a concerning amount of dependency mere months ago didn’t fill you with as much dread as it once would have.

Dependency.

It was a grim reality that a woman in your position, your profession—had to remain almost universally independent to be taken seriously. To complete all tasks and know all things by oneself and to rely on someone – on anyone was to feed into the rhetoric that somehow – because you were missing a cock and two balls, that you were othered, a foil to the standard capabilities of a man. To fulfil one part of your life was always to the detriment of another – of connection and relationships and meaning. Until you had separated yourself so thoroughly, you were only now realizing that the reticent warrior and his founding becoming the very center of your small world wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

Perhaps that was why you hadn’t felt the urge to run, to leave as you always had before when the gaping maw of hunger crept into your peripheral—to seek out something more to fill a void hollowed out by the fires on Durkteel and the devastation on Pamarthe. You found that fulfilment in shadowed kisses and clawed fingers wrapped in strands of your hair for comfort. A man and his child. A small patchwork family you somehow managed to stitch yourself onto and feel whole again.

“Don’t answer that,” the disembodied voice continued when you pulled yourself from your thoughts, “All I’m saying is, he’s in Guild custody until further notice—he has nowhere to hide and any leniency we might show him rests on the legitimacy of his information.”

“Fine,” came the familiar, deep rasp of the warrior that instantly sent a tremor of heat up your spine – dammit, every time – and you frowned at the sigh you heard distort in his vocoder, “Send me the coordinate.”

Coordinates?

“Still as personable as ever I see,” the man hummed, displeasure superficial atop a jovial tone, “Thought you might have thawed a bit with that girl arou—”

“That girl is none of your concern, Karga.”

There was a sharp lash of danger to the monotonous tone of Din’s voice, a strike of lightning down the impassivity and nonchalance that gave you pause when you turned back towards the ladder once you realized you were technically eavesdropping. It wasn’t often you heard anything but vague disinterest whenever he bothered to indulge others with a verbal response, if not a conversation.

“Easy,”

You couldn’t see, but you could imagine the agent holding his hands up in surrender. Din inspired such reactions—even you had shown your hands the first time you saw him, and he hadn’t even spoken.

“I just assumed that a medic as highly trained as she is, would have better things to do than help you reunite the kid with the Jedi. Unless… there something else keeping her occu—”

The agent’s name was spoken as a threat, a warning that instinct would tell any creature not to aggravate further. The twitching tail of a slumbering apex-predator as he pulled closer to consciousness. Where poking and prodding the beast were the last things anyone should do if they wanted to avoid being mauled. Alas, this Karga seemed to have little sense of self-preservation around your Mandalorian.

That derisive wince of pity on Karga’s behalf was cut short – frozen on your features – when his words finally registered in your mind. You didn’t hear another word of the conversation that followed. A reel of a simple phrase of insignificant words individually, that when put together—had the power to turn your life on its head and change everything.

Reunite the kid with the Jedi.

A painful squeeze gripped your heart, the muscle pulsing between fingers that held it in too tight a hold and almost stole your breath.

The child.

Nausea made the food you had just eaten with that same little green cutie feel like lead in your stomach. The keen awareness of helplessness you hoped to never experience again—of being faced with a reality you couldn’t prevent—surfaced. The death of a star that still shone in the night sky, fate already sealed millions of light years away as its last spark died while you remained none the wiser gazing at its light. The present consequence of a past action, you were powerless.

You remembered the destruction of Alderaan, remembered seeing it on the live holotransmission on Pamarthe. The silent horror of watching a planet of beauty and culture implode from villainous intent, knowing there was absolutely nothing any of you could do. That same feeling – even stronger – crept up your throat now with clawed nails and a bulbous form that made you want to gag.

Nine months… nine months you had been travelling with him, and it never once came up. Granted, you knew Din wasn’t particularly quick to share anything but this—how could you not have known? Even by your own intuition or observation? But you had… and all at once, it seemed so… stupid for you not to have connected the dots earlier—blinded by a naïve sense of happiness you had more sense than to trust.

The detours, the frustration, the elusive sorcerers you had heard him growl about on more than one occasion when even silence wasn’t enough to contain the myriad of emotions numerous dead ends and moot leads could invoke in a man used to succeeding. Maker, the name ‘Jedi’ hadn’t even come up until a month ago when he told you how special the kid was.

Din loved the child, in his own way. You never doubted that. He was surly—brusque and difficult—but there was a softness about him, hesitant and unsure, whenever he interacted with the child.

So why? It didn’t make any sense.

Mind scrambling to regain pace after it had been so uncharacteristically tripped up, you tried to gauge just when you had assumed the child was a permanent fixture in his life. When one solitary warrior you patched up a handful of times suddenly became a package deal with a little green menace.

“I was sent by the Mandalorian. He needs your help to hide his child.”

The memory of heavy jowls and honest eyes made tears sting the back of your own.

Kuiil.

His child.

It was never even a shadow of a thought that the child was only in Din’s custody temporarily. But with the knowledge that he was actively trying to find the Jedi and possibly reunite the little bogwing with them, a tidal wave of rejection swept over you. It still didn’t make any sense. He belonged here, with his father—on the ship, with you. The onslaught threw you for a loop, a disorienting trek through the identical sand dunes of a desert stretching far as the eye could see and you couldn’t be certain if you were even going in the right direction anymore. It resulted in an illogical, short-sighted panic to cloud your mind.

Looking down at the steel grate flooring – feet frozen in place where you had turned back to stare blankly into the empty air over the ladder – your stomach sank with the dawning recollection that despite your familiarity with the child, your intimacy with his father and the months you had spent together, you really… had no say.

The child wasn’t your foundling, the same was assuming that Din was yours simply because he told you his name was dangerous.

That stung. Because apart from the crack of pain it instilled, the immediate rejection of your instincts to such a thought was frighteningly strong. The child meant something to you now, the same way Din did.

A something that made you not want to be parted from either of them, to be without them. But that seemed to be exactly what was going to happen.

And there was the truth.

You wanted them both, and not just temporarily. It terrified you. More than the Rebellion, more than the Empire, more than being alone. You cared. More than you should. More than you realized. But like you began falling for his father – his buir – you fell for the little squirt the moment you met him swaddled in Kuiil’s arms.

You loved the child.

Din loved the child.

It didn’t make any fucking sense.

The overwhelming desire to hide from a fast approaching reality in the vain hope that it skipped you by deafened you to the heavy footsteps approaching the cockpit door.

If this was all temporary—

“Kitten?”

Like a deer caught in the speeder-lights, your head whipped around to look over your shoulder at the Mandalorian filling the doorframe with one armored forearm braced against it, having caught himself upon seeing you outside unexpectedly. He adjusted his stance to hide his surprise, masking it with an effortless roll of his weight back onto one of his feet. His free hand tucked a thumb into the worn utility belt at his hip, visor unreadable as he watched you.

Color darkened your cheeks when you turned back to him fully, tray in hand and embarrassment written plain on your features. His helmet cocked to the side slowly, assessing you—reading your body when you didn’t immediately respond.

He made no mention of the conversation he no doubt knew you had overheard. He didn’t need to. Din knew every nut and bolt of the Razor Crest; he knew how much you would have been able to hear.

But he didn’t say a word. Not about any change of plans, not about the Jedi, not about the child. He didn’t address it. Neither of you did. You were good at that, both of you. Avoiding things. Whether it was ignorance – unlikely – or a desire to live out this façade for a little while longer was uncertain. But the reality hung thick and heavy between you, pungent and turbid with unacknowledged truths.

You could only ignore the stench of it for so long before you snapped, needing to know. Because it just didn’t make any sense.

“How long have you been looking for them?”

You were proud of how level your voice was, but even that couldn’t fill the space between you. It only highlighted the chasm parsecs wide stretching endlessly and growing farther as the atmosphere changed with a subtle shift of Din’s muscles. A roil of tension stiffening him from his relaxed posture to a coiled threat.

Your question was bald-faced and candid, giving him nothing to hide behind—catching him off guard. It was cruel—you thought belatedly, to put him on the spot, but common sense left you with every sharp exhalation through your nose as you tried to contain the maelstrom of questions, of accusations.

He held your gaze for a few measured seconds and then he looked away. A decided turn of his head away from you—fingers tightening and releasing in his belt, leaving your thirst for an answer unquenched. You jaw clenched, his silence inciting misplaced anger stemming from confusion, from the quandary of unfavorable scenarios that it gave rise to.

“Were you ever going to tell me?”

His only response was to drop his arm from the doorframe, and you could practically hear the cogs turning in his head. There was nowhere to go, no way to avoid this—and the corner he was both physically and mentally backed into made his muscles hum with warning. You could feel the surges ebb and vibrate against your skin—that instinct that prickled along your nerves dismissed in favor of your own hurt feelings. They made you vitriolic, made you mean.

“I thought he was you ad’ika, Mando—”

You threw back not only the very word he had told you about only last night, but by not using his name… caught up in the moment by using his moniker reflexively—it was a slap in the face. It sounded harsh, puzzled—edged with an accusatory venom you wanted to flinch at. You hadn’t meant for it to sound that bad.

He growled at you.

He actually growled at you. And not in the way you were used to—no, this was a threat—a warning you had not minute’s ago pitied Karga for ignoring. How ironic that now you were the one to disregard your own advice.

“Din.”

You tried again, tone pleading—begging him to understand with your eyes in ways you were obviously failing vocally. When had articulating become so difficult? When had your emotions become so complex? You just wanted to understand. Wanted him to understand that you would drive yourself crazy without knowing.

He still didn’t speak, squaring his shoulders when you approached him and in hindsight—it was another automatic move, one you shouldn’t have made. To corner him further, to trap him. His head lifted, looking down his nose as your eyes flickered across your own that were reflected in his visor; a poor fallacy of looking into his eyes.

“Are you never going to tell me why? Why you want to give him awa—”

“By Creed, until he is of age or reunited with his fami—”

“You’re his buir—” you interrupted him moments after he interrupted you, petulant and aggrieved by the robotic, cold tone of his voice – this wasn’t him, “doesn’t that make you his family?”

That seemed to crack him finally, for with a snarl of your name he was in front of you with a hand tangled in your hair to yank your head back as you looked at him, the sting in your scalp making you hiss-- his own temper frayed and raw as he loomed over you menacingly,

“Do not speak of things you know nothing about,” he snapped, a feral edge to his tone that had you been anyone else, you would have mistaken for aggression and not pain. But you weren’t just anyone else, you knew him—and still, you were blinded enough by your own fear of losing them both that you did something you would never do normally. You poured salt in an obviously open wound.

“Are you so eager to be alone again, that you’d give him to some… to some, strangers?”

You cut him with your words, the resounding choke of noise caught in his modulator as his hand dropped to the back of your neck in surprise told you as much. How cruel would it be, to only realize how much you needed them both – wanted them both – and to lose that life in the next instance. Fate was cruel, but coincidence could be downright sadistic.

Din didn’t lash out at you as you expected, as he would have not long ago. Maybe he was mentally exhausted the way you were beginning to feel – the burgeoning headache throbbing in the back of your skull – or he had learned more patience from being with you and the child than you thought.

“You’re smarter than this, kitten—” he growled after a deep inhale, reining in his temper—wrangling it better than you were yours, “you know it’s for the best.”

His tone was lower, viscous, but entreating. A hidden message of unspoken words more at home in the dark where vulnerability existed between you. The daylight was for strength, but you knew all he would see was weakness in your eyes and you couldn’t look away. His fingers pressed the back of your neck, framing the top of your spine. He could kill you with that hand – the barely restrained power you always felt when he touched you present as usual – but he didn’t,

“Don’t make this harder.”

You bristled, your eyes narrowing dangerously as you stood backwards, out of his hold. You were smarter than this? You? He was the one who wasn’t making any sense and refusing to answer any of your questions that would help you understand. Maker, you just wanted to understand.

“Harder for who?” you bit out, the small area outside the cockpit war torn and suffocating, choking around the two of you despite the distance you could feel stretching wider and wider between you.

Din’s patience finally ran out then.

You could feel the anger erupting in him—could feel it crack like magma under the rock of his body and armor—streams of molten lava pressing up between the fissures. Somehow, he still didn’t let it spew and burn you. His anger turned icy, freezing you with a turn of his back to stomp back into the cockpit, one last dagger thrown at you from over his shoulder before the door slid shut.

“He is my responsibility. Not yours.”

And in a way befitting the skill of a Mandalorian, that dagger hit its mark lethally and your heart bled.

The two of you kept away from each other for the rest of the day.

When you had stormed back down into the hold to try and ground yourself with the breathing technique that had helped in Mynock, you conceded that there was no use in butting heads and hurting each other out of vindictive spite when deep down, it was coming from a place of mutual pain. And with space and time to process the shock, weigh in the logic he used with your own sound judgement—it was clear that he meant to do what was right for the child, not for himself.

He had been right.

Your short-sightedness, the loud roar of your heart over your head – such a rare occurrence exacerbating the intensity of your reaction – had deafened you to reason, made you lash out at him in a misguided attempt to stop him from doing precisely what you were wanting him to do. Make sense. You hadn’t wanted to hear it then and realizing he was right now didn’t make you feel any better. You hated it.

Well… he hadn’t been right about everything.

Your stomach clenched uncomfortably. Neither of you could claim to be innocent in that exchange even if you had perhaps edged him to win the title of biggest asshole.

He is my responsibility. Not yours.

Okay, maybe you were tied for that title now that you thought about it.

It was a disservice for him to minimize your role in the child’s life simply because he what? Didn’t want you to feel burdened by the decisions he had to make? Please.

That pissed you off more than it upset you. Your relationship was too… ambiguous for you to know what it entailed. You were his medic, then his child’s guardian when he wasn’t around, then a woman he slept with. But there was more to it than that, at least for you—and Din? Removing his armor, his helmet—telling you his name, you couldn’t dismiss the significance of those actions. But he was so singularly obstinate, you had no clue how deep his feelings ran for you—or what he wanted… or what you wanted.

He had tried to draw a line between himself, the child and you but that was something you weren’t going to take. Not this time.

So, you both steered clear.

The manner with which you avoided each other was vaguely reminiscent of your first few weeks on board the Razor Crest. When you could go days without seeing the Mandalorian and even longer without hearing him speak a word. You were reminded just how small the ship was. How disjointed your day became when you weren’t living it together. Even if that was still spent in silence or if you normally spent your day completing different tasks in different parts of the ship, there was still some cohesion. An indulgent hand to his bicep when you passed by him, a graze of his gloved fingers along your inner wrist when he thanked you for bringing him something – food usually, given his proclivity to forget – and thereafter, the meals you had begun sharing—his back to yours, times you looked forward to each day.

There was none of that today.

The ship became a battleground divided down the middle of your territory and his. You claimed the stern of the ship, the point from the anti-gravity generator that was tucked safely between the weapons chamber and the small galley served as the bona fide no man’s land that separated the areas. You easily could have taken the entire hold; Din didn’t once come down from the upper level all day—but you didn’t cross that line. Not when both of you were hurting. And you knew he was. Maker, of course he was.

You found yourself wincing on more than one occasion as your behavior earlier rose in your memory, unfair and undoubtedly overwhelming for him. You had been so concerned with having your own fears alleviated, your own questions answered—you had selfishly forgotten to consider him beyond trying to convince him the child belonged here, not with the Jedi. A falsity when you considered your situation objectively.

The same child that had been waddling throughout the hold all day, fussy and distracted—sensing the tension and acting out because of it. That brought on an entirely different layer of guilt, one that told you that the time you had with the little bogwing was scarce. You should be making the most of it. But you spent the day in the dumps, dragging your feet and feeling sorry for yourself as your body ran on autopilot—your mind absent as it held court with itself to figure everything out.

He had settled after some time, food always a sure way to improving his humor and he had fallen asleep not long after that. The little metal ball you had been rolling to each other on the make-shift table spun to a stop in the center after his small, clawed hand loosened around it enough for it to slip out as he nodded off, still sitting up in the crab carapace.

After putting him to bed, you dragged yourself into the fresher for a shower, hoping the tepid water – it could never be described as ‘hot’ unfortunately – would at least improve your mood that had soured into a bitter sadness at the recognition that this was no life for a child.

It was a strange feeling that startled you with the illusion of surrender, of giving up. Something you vehemently refused to do all your life, but it wasn’t that. It wasn’t surrender; it was reluctant acceptance. Accepting that no matter your personal feelings on the matter… you—Din, this just… wasn’t what was best for the child.

You wondered grimly as you stepped out of your clothes and under the spray if this was what your own mother felt when all her children decided to join a Rebellion she would die during. You all knew she hadn’t wanted you – any of you – to go, but she had seen the atrocities of the Empire—knew the kind of people she had raised. She knew none of you would stand idly by and so, she let you go…

Unshed tears were given refuge to fall in secret among the rivulets of water that ran down your face after soaking your hair and body, cascading down the swell of your breasts and caressing the delicate ring of ink around your upper thigh. Your fingers traced over the antlers mindlessly. The water – as always – was the comforting embrace that let you be weak.

Lay your sorrows at Llyrians’ feet and watch them be swept away with the tide.

The old wives tale filled you with a familiar warmth, a serenity—oh, how many sorrows would the sea god need to pull with the tide should you ever set foot in those waters again?

Sorrows so different to the superficial plights of a young girl that had at one time seemed like the end of the world when you would kneel within the shallow waves and roar your pain back at a thundering ocean. The answering bellow of violent waves crashing against rock and stone soothed you, calmed you—kept you company in those times where you shirked all others to lick your wounds in isolation.

It worked though, and your tears dried.

You let the water wash them down the drain with what you hoped would be the pain too. And in a way, it did—it didn’t disappear, but lessened—became less catastrophic and instead a hollow ache where the swell of pain had once resided.

Consumed as you were in regaining some sense of self, you were startled when the fresher door slid open with a quiet hiss. Strong light from the hold spilled into the dimply lit area, blocked only by the silhouette of the man you had been avoiding all day, the wide line of his shoulders rigid as he gripped the side of the door and helmet shadowed so that even his visor wasn’t visible with the contrast of light and dark.

Silence saturated air that was already damp with a dismal amount of condensation from the temperature of the fresher and apart from your surprise at seeing him, you were once again astounded at how you could read his body. It probably shouldn’t have shocked you, but your ability to converse in silence still intrigued you after all these months. But he was talking to you.

He had come down to the hold—to the fresher where he knew you would be. Din was stubborn, almost to a fault – as if you were any better – and he wouldn’t seek you out if he was as angry with you as you had thought. He wouldn’t want to approach you if he blamed you entirely.

I’m sorry.

You could practically hear the rasp in your mind with the cock of his head as he watched you. The action slow—intentional as he dropped his gaze to the side—to the cracked mirror taped to an exposed pipe. He wanted you to see him, an open posture to expose a vulnerable belly to your claws should you choose to strike him—trusting you not to.

He wasn’t the only guilty one.

You answered his apology with your own vulnerability. Keeping your eyes on him, you didn’t attempt to cover yourself as you stood soaked and naked under the flow of water. If he could approach you with forgiveness, you could reciprocate—you hadn’t felt right in your skin all day with a need to apologize.

He tipped his head, making a show of trailing his gaze down your body—reading it. He fingers clenched on the doorframe as his eyes took in a body he could paint in his mind if he closed his eyes but would always fall short of the reality once he saw it again. You shifted under the water, the soft splash of your feet in the small puddle as you moved breaking the silence and with it, a deep breath entered your lungs.

He sighed and the burden lightened.

Forgiven.

His arm lifted along the doorframe, caressing the metal before leaning his forearm against it, a question as he kept the hydraulic door from sliding shut.

Can I come in?

In a move that might have mirrored his question, you lifted your hands to run through your hair, rinsing the strands in a flood of water that smacked the ground as you pulled it over your shoulder, exposing the marks he had left the night before in panted whispers of Mando’a as he fucked you. You were inviting him in.

His shoulders squared. Understood.

He stepped inside, head to toe in armor and still as silent as a wraith. The door slid closed behind him and the space instantly shrunk. It expanded once more when he reached out a hand to flick the switch by his head that plunged the fresher into darkness.

The sound of the spray became a roar in your ear with your sight taken from you. You could feel every droplet of water that hit your skin and trickled haphazard paths down the slopes and valleys of your body to crowd in the puddle at your feet. The calming sound of water was contrasted by the rigid rasp of metal when he set a piece of armour down. Piece by piece, the familiar noise of him removing his armor echoed back against the cascade and filled you with relief.

Breathing felt like an intrusion on this melody of water and metal, two elements at odds with each other and yet—creating such music as you had never heard before.

His mouth found your neck from behind moments later, forming over flushed skin and sensitive nerves when you gasped, his ability to move so quietly still awe-inspiring. Hands molded possessively over your hips, and he breathed your name into the water that soaked you both, the once dry strands of his thick hair plastering down onto his forehead and brushing against your jaw when he bent his head. Desperation laced his voice, tangy and wet and sticky as it coated your body and made goosebumps lift on your skin.

The darkness once more the stage for your intimacy and vulnerability. It was where you were most comfortable with it. When you could imagine the eyes that stared back at you as his breath mingled with yours before he kissed you, where the only barrier was your vision and not layers of beskar.

“Do you know why I sent him to you? On Dandoran,” he muttered after some time, voice rough from disuse all day—the rasp thicker with the unfamiliar emotion of wanting you to… not think badly of him. It was a strange sensation for the warrior, to care for how someone else saw him, and that uncertainty was evident in his voice.

You shook your head – no – and he let one hand shift across your ribcage, calloused fingers mapping your skin, down over the arch of your hipbone and up the curve of your side as he pondered his next words,

“I knew you were the only person I could trust to help him, to help me,” he admitted. Your breath held, caught in your throat as he ran an aquiline nose down your neck and across your shoulder where he pressed his mouth lightly, fingers squeezing your hip lightly, “you’ve never stopped helping me since that day.”

You dropped a hand to cover the back of his as it splayed across your abdomen, interlacing your fingers with him as you turned your head, his forehead to your temple preventing you from moving any further. Even in the darkness, he couldn’t have you looking at him—not yet.

“But I’m selfish with you, kitten—” he sighed, breath fanning your cheek as you whimpered his name, a press of his hand into your stomach to bring you back flush against his hard body, “and I—fuck, I’m gonna be selfish again, and ask for your help one last time—”

Your stomach sank in dread. The thought of something being the last of anything—it made your heart hammer with fear and lodged the question of what would happen after you did so from leaving your lips. You didn’t think you could handle the answer.

“Help me find them, kitten—”

And there it was. Din Djarin asked you for help. It was only the second such time he had willingly asked you and both times were for the benefit of the child. You were filled with a bittersweet affection that he was a good enough father to put aside his own discomfort for the child’s sake and it was that sacrifice that made it impossible for you to refuse him. You couldn’t leave him to do this alone, not anymore.

“You were right,” you whispered into the spray, his free hand reaching across your breasts to hold you against him at the quivering sadness he heard in your voice, the heartbreak of admitting something you wished wasn’t true, “I didn’t mean—”

“Shh…” his lips found your jaw at your upset, hand lifting to cup it and turn your mouth for him to kiss you slowly, “I know, kitten.”

He turned you in his arms, your back arching against the cold of the fresher wall when he backed you against it, cupping your cheeks while his tongue tangled with yours, coating your tongue with promises of passion, eradicating that film of poison hurtful words had caused.

“I’ll always help you, Din—you know that” you muttered against his mouth, cupping his scruffy jaw. His mouth ghosted against yours as you spoke, his breath hard and a shiver running down his spine involuntarily as you threaded your fingers in the hair at the back of his neck.

You could feel a wan smile form on his lips as he pressed his mouth down onto the curve of your neck, the hard lines of his body caging you against the wall while the water and shadows clothed you. The familiarity of that word – always – used so carefully by you both, a promise—an oath he couldn’t begin to explain to you but sensed you understood, nonetheless.

“And I’ll always protect you, kitten…” he whispered, the spray of water masking his words, concealing them in the small confines of this bubble—a space for only the two of you to experience.

One hand shifted down the arch of your spine, your pebbled nipples pressed against his chest. His nose ran along your jaw, glanced across your neck before his mouth found yours when you pulled him back up from where he was committing those promises in scripture on your skin, a slow melding of tongues and lips fused by the warm water that coated you.

“I’d tear planets apart to keep you both safe…” he admitted, the only reassurance he could think to offer after the naked emotion he had seen outside the cockpit, the anguish the separation was going to cause not only him, but you as well. A primal desire unrelated to his attraction to you physically roared inside him, the urge to keep you safe from harm—reminiscent of that time after you were injured on Dantooine, filled him—demanded payment despite being safe in hyperspace.

You nodded in understanding, in relief. A soft mewl of affection lost in his mouth when you met his lips again, cupping his scruffy jaw in your smaller hand and dosing yourself in the fact that you had him here, had him now.

He fucked you bent against the fresher wall and again with your back to it while he wrapped your legs right around his narrow hips, breathing that same promise into your mouth to the keening whines and gasps of pleasure that left yours—desperate to give you what you needed – what you both needed – to pour every ounce of sincerity inside you with frantic thrusts and spilled seed,

“Always, kitten—always.”

The three days spent in hyperspace travelling to an obscure planet that straddled a meteor riddled part of the galaxy felt like weeks.

It was all down to the addition of an unwelcome fourth passenger aboard the ship. A hollow manifestation of mourning whose presence you felt grow larger – more stifling – whenever you were reminded of your new destination.

It began with an uncomfortable tightness in your stomach, a nauseous churn that solidified into a mass of shattered glass and barbed wire—the edges catching on soft flesh with every breath you took. It loomed like a wraith in the darkest corners of the ship, a fathomless unknown that sought to wrap itself around the child and take him from you forever. It seeped into the slivers of space between your body and Din’s as sleep eluded you both, gripping at sensitive nerves and pulling slowly, ever slower—like a band aid.

The reassurances you tried to offer yourself in the meantime, those softly spoken affirmations of “we might not even find anything there” became less and less convincing when you remembered that even if this lead came to nothing, there was always the next, and the next, and the next. Until finally, the probability of success would grow—and you would find them.

You wondered if Din had been living with this perpetual mourning by his side all this time.

The thought had made you wince and bury your face further into his neck, his confused grunt as he lifted a confused hand to run over the back of your head filling your soul with turmoil. How often had he felt the way you did now? Fearing this lead would be the one that finally separated the child from him. He had whispered your name, a croak of sound from fatigue and disuse but you had simply shaken your head, remained buried in his scent, and praying to deaf gods to give you strength to do what needed to be done.

It didn’t seem any easier for Din over those few days travel. He retreated into his shell of beskar and silence when it became apparent that despite him asking you for help – a difficult task for him – things did not magically become easier. He told you what he knew and where he had been so far, but even if he wasn’t expecting you to miraculously know where the Jedi were, there was surely the faintest flicker of hope that that mountain he had to scale in admitting to needing help would have something to show for it.

As it was, all you could offer were tales—half of which you couldn’t be sure were fiction or reality.

The only story you were able to vouch for, was the visit of a Jedi to your home planet years before you were born. During the Clone Wars you told him, a Kel Dor general and clone commander had been searching for something and made quite the impression on the locals. It was one of the few instances that Pamarthans had questioned the legitimacy of the rising Empire’s propaganda of the Jedi being traitors. A suspicion that had been strong enough so that when Alderaan was destroyed, it took less than an hour for the Clans of Pamarthe to declare the attack an act of cowardice and turn on the Empire entirely.

Your own positive knowledge of the Jedi conflicted with Din’s who had been told they were an ancient enemy of the Mandalorians but, like you, his information was second-hand at best. You both agreed though to approach them neither as a friend nor a foe—but with a neutral standing.

Eventually, three days passed. And the dreaded orbit of a sandy beige planet came into view from the cockpit as the Razor Crest left hyperspace. The navicomputer blinked ominously as the coordinates came ever closer.

Vrogas Vas and the Jedi that might live there, awaited.

Vrogas Vas was unwelcoming to travelers.

A sea of brown and beige netted with jutting spines of barren rock and steep inclines that repelled any notion of easy exploration. Whatever secrets this planet held, it intended to keep them. The coordinates Karga had sent on were impossible to reach from the ship—the camouflaged structures of yellow stone sitting high atop a hill that was surrounded by silty, unstable land beneath dismissed the possibility of landing close by.

Distractedly, you were curious how such structures could exist with a non-existent foundation. Din’s response when you voiced your thought absently was humorous in its candid gruffness,

“Sorcerers.”

You would never tell him, but the warrior had a charm about him – a blunt charisma that could sometimes be described as adorable in his frank misunderstanding or assumptions – that made you need to stifle a snort of amusement. Sorcerers could be the answer to everything then, you figured. He would be in for a rude awakening the next time he dislocated something and still had to go through the pain of recovery because as far as you were aware, magic healing didn’t exist—or you would be out of a job.

After scanning the surface landscape for a landing spot that could sufficiently support the weight and size of the Razor Crest while giving you the space to not only take off again, but also gave you a clear path along the rocky terrain—Din had no choice but to land the ship some distance away. He made a point of always keeping a visual on the structures in the distance, but there was a weighted, steadily growing recognition that there was nobody here.

How could there be?

You turned where you sat in the co-pilots chair to look out the transparisteel with trepidation. You had yet to see a single shrub or plant from the high vantage point the cockpit afforded you, and ripples of heat barely visible on the other side of the transparisteel spoke of an unrelenting climate that – while breathable – was uninhabitable to most.

It was the same thought that had prompted Din to tell you to stay on the ship as he made his way past you out the cockpit door, but the very fact that he planned on taking the child with him this time was the deciding factor in you going too.

Grabbing his elbow—preventing his departure and staring hard into that obsidian visor that concealed a face you somehow knew intimately despite never seeing—you told him as such. Butting heads and a battle of wills wasn’t unusual for you both, and usually ended up being resolved with sex, but this was a bare-faced struggle as he growled his logic.

Too dangerous… don’t know what we’ll find—

Coddling was the quickest way to raise your hackles and your eyes narrowed coldly. A frisson of ice rippled from your demeanour and when you folded your arms over your chest, you knew he realized he had fucked up. A sigh and a tired hand to the back of his neck as he tried to rub weeks of strain out of it were all you were offered with a rumble of, “Don’t glare at me like that, kitten—” didn’t work in his favor at all and you arched a brow challengingly.

“Do you think I spent my time in the Rebellion sitting pretty in a clinic like on Klatooine and Dandoran just waiting for patients to show up?”

“That’s not—”

“I may not be a famous bounty hunter or, or skilled with a blaster or even a great pilot—but I have seen enough of war to know that an empty, Maker-damned skughole of a planet is child’s play in comparison.”

He watched you carefully, but your position remained strong—you wouldn’t be swayed.

“I’m also a pro at keeping you alive so let’s not disregard that fact.”

He choked in disbelief, and you were certain he was going to argue further when you lifted your arms to cup the sides of his neck, effectively silencing him. You would try the path of least resistance first.

“I don’t have a death wish, Din—I know my limits, okay?”

He still didn’t seem convinced, if the grunt of frustration he released from under his helmet and the blatant show of placing his hands on his hips impatiently was anything to go by.

Oh well. You tried to be nice.

A few well-placed threats and appeals to his baser nature with the reality that should he leave without you, you would simply follow without his guidance or protection. It wasn’t a matter of whether you were going or not, it was a case of whether you went with him or by yourself. He knew you long enough and intimately enough to know you didn’t make idle threats. That stubborn streak he admired was as much of a headache for him as it was a trait he respected.

Realizing there was no way around it unless he wanted to physically restrain you – and the consequences of that would easily be more fatal than anything he might find on this planet – he gave in. He growled something incoherent and guttural in Mando’a, no doubt cursing your obstinate determination to get your own way and succeeding. But you didn’t care. You rolled your shoulders back proudly and left the cockpit before him—delighted with yourself and mentally chalking up another win in the tally you were still beating him in by klicks.

But you didn’t leave the ship immediately. For all its’ isolation – and a condition Din demanded for you to come with him – he insisted on scoping the area for threats. You called it overkill, he called it foresight.

You didn’t argue his point this time. The thready snap of his tone was revealing enough; Din was dragging this out for as long as he could, whether he was aware of it or not. You weren’t about to mention it. So, your shoulders sagged with a sigh and a compliant dip of your chin—you would wait with the child for the hour or so he usually took for reconnaissance.

The mirage of heat shimmer vaguely distorting the landscape as the ramp lowered slowly onto undisturbed land was joined by a pulse of arid wind, that had you shrinking back from the entrance. Not dangerous, but hostile—uncongenial to growth and life. A plume of dust – sandy grains of rock milled to a fine grit and larger pebbles of gravel – lifted from the weight of the ramp and for a split second, you were concerned with the integrity of the landing spot. The last thing you needed was the Razor Crest slipping further down and getting trapped in any one of the many cracks and fissures of rock, some easily wide enough for a ship to fall through.

You frowned when another aggressive howl of wind blew in through the back of the ship. You wouldn’t get very far comfortably with your usual attire, obviously.

The Mandalorian left the ship unaffected, shielded from the worst of the elements and with a warm palm to the back of your neck – a solid squeeze of silent affection – he disappeared onto Vrogas Vas, likely the first person to do so in years if not longer if your instincts were correct.

The heavy knot that had been coiling tight—growing larger and harder to ignore since you awoke from a fitful sleep demanded distraction, and when big watery eyes blinked up at you curiously from his place standing at your feet, you swallowed back the emotion choking you suddenly. A clawed hand habitually gripping the soft fabric of your dark leggings as he cooed made you chuckle quietly.

“You’re right. I can’t go out looking like this,”

His ears fluttered and you nodded,

“Good plan. Let’s see what we can come up with for cover while your buir is gone, squirt.”

A smile – hazy like the heat shimmer rippling outside – tugged at the corner of your lips when he chirped at you. Nothing could quite diminish how taken you were by the little cutie, the flow of happiness that seemed to course from him into you with just a noise or nuzzle. But it could be dampened, tainted with a sadness at the thought of losing him.

Shaking the thought away, you crouched down to pick up his feather-light weight into the cradle of your arm to sit contentedly, the position comfortable and instinctive after so many months,

“Do you wanna help, or will I put the holoprojector on?”

Ears fluttering and a babble of excited coos told you your answer relatively quickly.

“Keep picking Moray and Faz over me and I’ll start to think I’m not your favorite anymore.”

You tapped your index finger to his button nose and laughed, your heart lightened by his easy enjoyment of the holoshow he must have watched a thousand times by now. You hadn’t been lucky enough to come across another market that sold them in any of the cities you had landed near since Ryloth, but it didn’t seem to bother the child. He was happy to watch and re-watch the cartoon antics of the two characters over and over, enraptured by their nonsensical dramatics and adventures. No matter how convoluted, everything always seemed to work out by the end of the show, and you were struck by a bout of envy. If only…

Your smile froze as you watched him settle happily into the crab carapace you had placed on the ground by your sleep mat to keep him close as you changed. The holoprojector was already beginning the familiar introduction tune that filled the hold so often that Din had complained of not being able to sleep sometimes because it was stuck in his head. It was catchy and was played often enough that even you found yourself humming it sometimes when you brushed your teeth or showered.

That twinge was abated with a promise to try find more episodes when you left this planet. If the child was still with you, that was… no, you weren’t going to think of the alternative. You would convince Din – somehow – that it was imperative you return to Ryloth, or land somewhere with a market for holoshows when you finally did leave.

You sighed and dragged a weary hand down the side of your face. Even your skin felt ashy, dry to the touch—your emotional state making you sensitive to what could be seen on the surface. A stony picture of life stripped of color and vitality, the sculptors carving mimicking life with facial features and a body—but lacking the warmth and depth that made an individual alive.

Maybe you were just being dramatic—you had recovered somewhat after news of your brothers’ death, after news of your mothers—and truly… the child wasn’t going to die. He would just be… away. Gone. Was that worse? An ending with no finality? You would cross that proverbial bridge if – when – it came to it.

You had spent so many hours over the last few days pondering the results of this journey you hardly knew yourself. It wasn’t common for you to dwell on fears that had yet to pass, priding yourself on a realistic mindset that allowed you to keep a cool head and a calm heart in high stress situations.

But here you were, obsessing over the what ifs, the scenarios that led you down dark roads where you would be saying goodbye to a little green alien who had woven himself into the fabric of your heart. Deep down into the layers of beating muscle his needle sewed—and once removed, there would be no saving what was once there before his addition. Modified so completely by the additional cloth, that its’ absence would leave tatters. Jagged lacerations and scars unlikely to heal, or at the very least… heal fully.

You couldn’t count the number of times you had felt the sting of tears press at the backs of your eyes, making you instantly annoyed with yourself. A roll of your eyes to look up at the dark ceiling to try collect the dangerous droplets of moisture that would reveal itself and a long, shuddering inhale to ground yourself was all you could do. All you could rely on. Din had enough to deal with without worrying about your tears as well. It was just… taking your heart longer to catch up with your mind that this was what was best for the child, if not for you.

And dammit, you cared too much about him to be selfish with him. Even if you knew you would lose a part of yourself the moment he went away.

It was a strange awareness – to know parts of you were held by others, so free to be injured, abused, or destroyed. But alongside that risk, came bountiful rewards. A wash of purity over tainted sheets to a pristine white, where you assumed life had stained and discolored them beyond repair with grief. Or perhaps, these were not the same sheets at all. Perhaps they were new sheets, smelling of fresh linen and air, of deep breaths and hope. Crisp and waiting to crease against the bed you would lay them over, imprint themselves personally and create new memories, new possibilities. You would still have those old sheets, they carried memories of their own in their battered form—but you were no longer reliant on just one set to lay your weary head on. You had many memories of happiness, just as you had many sets of sheets.

It was worth the risk, the possible pain—you realized just the night before as you lay with Din’s chest pressed to your back. It was worth the pain of losing the child to have had him in your life at all.

Grabbing one of Din’s shirts – a charcoal short sleeve you had pilfered for your own – you recalled a tip one the of the pilots you were stationed with from Tatooine had showed you about making masks to protect as much skin as possible from whatever you had in your pack at the time. A spare shirt was nearly always the most common item. While not nearly as blisteringly hot nor as unforgiving as the desert planet, the wind here was arid and dry—that alone would make trekking on uneven, steep ground more challenging, and you could do with as much comfort and protection as you could afford.

Holding the shirt up, you mentally worked through the process as you ran a calculating eye down the seams and sleeves. A dummy attempt on the mat where you lay it in front of you and you clapped with a victorious, “got it, cutie!” to the child who wasn’t paying the slightest bit of attention to you whatsoever. It didn’t detract from your pride at remembering such a vacuous piece of information you hadn’t needed since being taught over rations in a Cruiser cantina.

Mask sorted, you lamented the lack of goggles or eyewear, and it wasn’t for a lack of trying that you had to give up on the idea. Din had little need for protective eyewear on the ship given his helmet, so when he tinkered with the ships wiring, it was never a necessity for him. But even your craftiness couldn’t fabricate glass in so short a time, so you cupped your chin, tapping it with your fingers and tried to figure something else out. The best you could realistically achieve would be a buffer of some kind, something to intercept and disrupt any grit or grain present in the harsh winds.

You ended up laying every article of clothing you possessed on the floor, a paltry amount but a rummage in the crate you used for your personal effects reminded you of the dark beige poncho you had purchased when you first started travelling with Din and the child. The selling point of this poncho was the wide, heavy hood that would keep you nestled deep in its cover and break the dusty winds effectively. You had never been so grateful for an impulse buy and you were thankful as you pulled the tightly woven wool over your head. The tapered, asymmetrical hem fell longer in the back for added weight and shorter in the front for ease of movement. Wide sleeves protected your arms along with the long-sleeved top you wore beneath.

Grabbing the holster Din had adjusted for you to wear, you strapped the dark leather around the poncho at the hips to cinch the material in case the wind was stronger than you anticipated. You securely fastened the bucketed sheath with the extra strap Din had added to latch around your thigh.

It’ll stop it from bouncing as you walk, had been his reasoning as he darned the small strip of leather he had first wrapped around your upper thigh for measurement – conveniently high and brushing over the inked antlers he was so fascinated by. You hadn’t been surprised to find it much more comfortable when you tried it on then and now.

Hips: was his explanation—rough and with an attempt to hide your effect on him. Granted—you hadn’t been wearing much else other than his shirt when you tried it on, and that was something even his staunch self-control couldn’t resist. It wasn’t too long before his shirt too was gone and all you were wearing was the holster as he spread your legs and took you hard.

You flushed at the memory, the shirt hiding your darkened cheeks as you pulled the neck of it over your head but allowed it to catch on your forehead and nose, exposing only your eyes in a taut oval of space when you pulled the arms to tie tight at the back of your head. The shirt still draped unimpeded down your neck and shoulders, but with a twist inward at the neckline, you were able to keep the makeshift mask secure around your face. Tucking the extra length of the shirt under the neck of poncho sitting on your shoulders and you were ready to go.

Your change in appearance – the unusual occurrence of you being the one concealed – finally drew the child’s attention away from his holoshow to you. Several slow blinks and a cock of his head that reminded you painfully of Din had you chuckling nervously, hoping he wouldn’t make strange,

“What?” You don’t like it?”

He chirped – that didn’t sound very positive – holding his short arms up for you to lift and once he was in your arms, he patted his hand curiously at the shirt fabric, his ears drooping unhappily as he held it.

Ah. Your hair.

“You can pull on it a little later, okay? The wind and grit would tangle it beyond even your little claws,” you reasoned as you adjusted him to sit in one arm as you carelessly tossed the rest of your clothes back in the crate, wordless grumbles of dissatisfaction making you shake your head at the implied rejection of your idea,

“You’re lucky I still let you play with it at all after you nearly scalped me last week—” you refuted and the further droop of his ears and drop of his head to make his eyes look even bigger when he looked back up at you had you pursing your lips. Damn, he was good.

“Later,” you emphasized to the sound of the ramp groaning with a hiss as it opened once more from the outside. You held a hand to shield your eyes from the flood of light that entered as the Mandalorian trudged up the slight incline heavily, fully armed but not looking any worse for wear that you could tell. He hadn’t fallen off the side of a cliff then, that was a good start.

He came to an abrupt stop when he saw you, hand instantly flying to the blaster at his hip with frightening speed. A speed that belied his bulk and the weight of his armor when he was able to become battle ready quicker than you could blink. He froze when he caught sight of your eyes however, still exposed by the mask under the hood of your poncho and he dropped his hand with a tired exhale,

“Maker’s Helmet, kitten—I could have shot you,” he rumbled belligerently, the well of patience and tolerance he had for, well, anything had run as dry as the planet you were on. Fatigue, stress—it was making him irritable, making him unapproachable and abrasive. When Din was stressed, or his emotions heightened—he regressed to old habits, familiar habits. Silence or graveled growls in place of warm rasps of affection against your skin. You couldn’t blame him for it. You were hardly innocent of the charge yourself, but where he became distant and aggressive, you became snappy and impatient.

Self-awareness, you would chant to yourself when you felt yourself getting unnecessarily bitchy. Age had taught you that when you were aware of those habits, you could work on them. So, you did—and focused the energy that might have gone into snapping back at him into a much more enjoyable pastime. Teasing him.

“Do I look threatening?” you quipped, completing a quick spin to give him a full look at your outfit.

“You look like a bounty hunter,” was his growled response, and even though you knew it wasn’t meant as a compliment, you took it as such. You could still sense the begrudging appreciation he had for your change in appearance by the way his helmet dipped and lifted as he circled you slowly, examining the poncho and then leaning closer to investigate the mask,

“Is that—”

“Mine, yes—” you interrupted with a smile hidden by the material you had definitely stolen, your eyes crinkling at the corner his only indication of your amusement and he huffed out a sigh before standing back up to his full, impressive height with a grunt of approval.

“Think I’ll be able to repel people as well as you do with this getup?”

He decided – quite rudely – that that only warranted a snort of dismissal as he brushed past you to his weapons chamber to ensure it was locked securely since all of you were leaving the ship together.

You narrowed your eyes at him as he passed – bastard – but even you could admit it was a laughable comparison. You looked like you were playing dress up while he – easily standing at least a head taller than you – wore intimidation like a second skin, exuded dominance so casually people moved out of his way without thinking. He called to others baser instincts, you had seen it so many times already, submit, flee, or fight. An alpha male if ever you saw one. An embarrassingly submissive side of you that yearned from his dominance wanted to preen with the thought, but you suppressed it with a look outside the gaping mouth of the ship.

“Can we go?”

Your own impatience warred with a desire to flee, but not because of Din’s presence. A coo drew your eyes back to where the child was still sitting happily in your arms and your heart squeezed. Din seemed to sense it too, the noise drawing the warrior’s attention where he watched the little bogwing silently for a few moments before approaching you silently to take him from your arms, big eyes turning up to the only face he knew for his buir,

“Time to go, kid.”

Emotions he hid under a low rasp were heavy – difficult to articulate with the toffee thick movement of words on his tongue – and you turned back towards the entrance to the ship with several resolute steps forward. One step, to give him privacy. Two steps, to try escape the desire to cry. Three steps, because you realized if you stopped now, you likely wouldn’t start again. The fourth step had you halfway down the ramp and you inhaled a long, deep breath – the air heated as it passed through the fibers of your mask – and looked around.

This really was a Maker-forsaken place. Could you really leave the child in a place like this if there were Jedi living at those coordinates?

You felt Din shorten the distance with footsteps of doom behind you, echoing in your mind until with a resounding clatter—the ramp into the Razor Crest closed shut behind the three of you. Somehow, it felt like the door was closing on life as you had known it all these months. With no other choice, all you could do was go forward into the unknown. You hated the unknown, you couldn’t prepare or learn or anticipate the unknown. You were no different than anyone else when faced with the future, and it terrified you.

“This way.”

Din pulled your attention back to him, jerking his head west towards tracks that had already disturbed the ground from his previous reconnaissance. The brusqueness of his voice invited no conversation as he started an even stride, not checking if you were following or not.

It was going to be a long day.

The journey was as miserable as you expected it to be.

The structures that Din said he noticed in the distance as he scoped out the area were further than you thought. It occurred to you on more than one occasion to point out the jetpack strapped to his back as it was nearly the only thing you saw as you followed behind him; the added weight obsolete if he had no intention of using it. But using it meant speed and speed meant discovering if you would return to the Razor Crest as two or three sooner.

In some twisted, pernicious way—you didn’t want it to be easy. Call it the ingrained belief that achieving something worthwhile had to be a struggle, but the thought of just flying over the inhospitable terrain in a fraction of the time to hand over the child after barely breaking a sweat just didn’t feel right.

Repentance, deliverance—struggling through this terrain was comforting. It absolved your guilt in a manner of speaking. You didn’t want to suffer—but you didn’t want to look back in the future and think you had given him up too easily without thought or concern. If the road was hard, you had to make the conscious effort every step forward that this was the best decision for him. And every single step you took, you made that choice.

Silence expanded to deafening volumes on this planet. The sheer emptiness amplified the shriek of the wind and the crackle of bare, desiccated rock finally worn down to sand under its assault. It felt so completely different to Bharani V. It had been equally uninhabited, but where Bharani V nurtured life, Vrogas Vas shunned it.

You couldn’t shake the paranoia of a disquieting anger at your presence here. You knew as well as any – from a culture that revered the land to the bloodshed you witnessed in the Rebellion – that history soaked into the bones of an area, staining it with energy it then effused back into the air. The vibrating wrath simmering under every footfall made you question each step before you took it.

You remained silent too, wary of disturbing both the land and the man you were following. Even as every step on an uphill incline that had looked flatter from a distance, ended with your feet sinking inches deep in gravel and loose stones—the disturbed surface reducing the distance you travelled and demanding twice as much energy to achieve something as simple as walking. You were almost tempted after two hours to give in and mention the jetpack when your foot caved into a hollow tunnel – no bigger in diameter than a plate – and disturbed what must have been the only living thing on the entire planet.

Of course, it would be your luck.

Wasp-worms.

The shriek you released as the oversized insects – buzzing and fat – swarmed overhead in an angry flurry at their nest being disturbed was as involuntary as it was embarrassing. You would never have known the noise had startled Din with how quickly he doubled back to stand in front of you with a blaster in hand. The sharp twist of his head to look at you over his shoulder, you could tell he was miffed,

“What in Mal—”

As you swiped a hand erratically over your covered head – skin feeling crawly – the Mandalorian’s immediate urgency relaxed with a sag of his shoulder and a disbelieving look skyward as if to ask for strength as you shivered and swore loudly. You hated flying insects.

“Bantha fucking bastards!” you whined pitifully, trying to make sure nothing was on you.

The amused chirps from his side where the child sat protected from the elements by the satchel you bought on Ryloth and his buir’s cape as he tried to reach out and grab for one of the insects pulled the visor where he was obviously looking at you in bewilderment to the child.

“Seems our medic hates bugs, kid.”

“Your medic will never let your cock near her again if you ever think of using that information against her.”

You lifted a finger threateningly in his direction, an action that might have worked in your clinic where you reigned, but you were in his domain now—the wilds, and you looked like the kitten he called you trying to growl at a loth-wolf. It was probably the image alone that made a chuckle rise in his chest, the sound surprising you both. Lackluster in comparison to the rich rumble you had heard before, the noise strained and thready—but it was there, a brief glimmer of humor during a difficult day on an unpleasant planet. A deep inhale of air before diving back into watery depths.

He looked at you, gaze heavy but seeing you clearly for what felt like the first time in days.

A single sound had brought him back to you after he had drifted away, isolated in his burden—alleviated marginally by a troublesome medic threatening him so comically. You chanced a smile, forgetting he couldn’t see it – did that happen to him under the helmet too? – and he broke your gaze with a dip of his head to look at the ground and back around to the direction he had been heading in before your incident,

“Let’s keep going.”

Reality returned, but it returned with a flicker of nostalgia—the whisper of a feeling that had gotten you through sleepless nights during the height of the Rebellion. It reminded you that people were amazing creatures. Where their souls were marred by wrecked land and desolation, they also contained hope. And hope was what was all about. So, you did what you had done then – through the Rebellion, the aftermath, and the vagrant aimlessness you were left with when the toll war had on your own soul destroyed the stem of roots that would let you settle – you kept going.

The structures Din had noticed were… well, ruins.

There was nothing much else to be said for it.

You planted your hands on your hips as you stared up at what looked to be the remnants of a citadel sitting high atop an earthen bank that you had been climbing for the past hour. The suns moving slowly across the sky diminished your vision of anything more than the dark outlines getting larger and larger but nothing else changed. The sound of the wind, the crunch of gravel beneath your feet and the labored exhales that left you remained the only noises on the planet.

Din had adjusted something on his helmet a few klicks ago, a subtle press to the temple you assumed allowed him access to different features to assist him. Heat signals—that was one he had mentioned before, the ability to see the heat signatures of anyone around. An intriguing – if terrifying – ability that made your lover an even more enviable and ruthless hunter.

Crumbling remnants of towering statues lay forgotten across collapsed structures and stretches of rock that might have once been the walls of buildings that now lay in piles of rubble. The eroded faces of individuals important enough to warrant memorialization lay nameless and forgotten, staring with clouded eyes—void of iris, pupil and humanity. The collapsed cheek of the nearest statue you passed destroyed the vision of immortality the statues were likely trying to convey, nothing but dead stone and lost memory—gods to a barren wasteland.

You caught your breath as you stood beside that same statue, wondering who he was—what he did, if he would have helped had he been alive here today.

The ruins themselves felt remarkably like a bleak monument of your failure, desolate and empty, like the hopes of ever finding what remained of a lost people. Part of you was cautiously overjoyed and another was desperately sad—for the child, for the people who once lived here, for Din.

The howling wind once more highlighting the emptiness as it whistled through pillars kept standing only by the buildings they collapsed upon. It brought attention to the life that was missing here—the life that must have once thrived. The sanctity of this land that had once been important enough for the Jedi to build a temple on it, ruined.

The muffled crunch crunch crunch of gravel and stone beneath Din’s boots pulled your attention over to him as he started inward, cape whipping in the curling breeze like the swipe of claws to stay away—not to get close, a single pointed ear from the child he held close for protection.

Your calves were already burning from the climb on unstable ground, the muscles throbbing—your thighs and ass weren’t doing much better, and you knew you would be sore in the morning. Again. A sigh escaped you from behind the makeshift mask, a brief glance at the disconcerting face laying on its side and you slowly began making your way after Din.

You both knew there was nobody here, but you stayed back—he didn’t need you mentioning something he was already aware of, but you could look around for anything you thought might be of assistance in the meantime. Two sets of eyes were always going to be better than one after all.

And while you looked, it would give Din time. You had never witnessed it before, but the silent trek he made up towards the central structure – the temple – was intentional, slow. This was a pilgrimage, a ritual. Searching, examining—looking for any trace of the Jedi before he allowed himself to give up on this lead. You saw it in the steel line of his shoulders, in the rigid discomfort of his spine. He hated doing it.

But he hated being wrong even more.

So, you would give him space, stay out of the caved in temple as long as you needed for him to come to a conclusion himself that it was better if you cut your losses and left this Maker-forsaken planet that left you feeling as itchy as if those bugs were still flying around. You could wait, you could give him that. It assuaged the shame just a bit at the relief you had immediately felt, knowing the child wouldn’t be separated from you both just yet.

As you approached the head of the closest statue, a few strides off the dusty cobble that had faded to a more even surface, you realized how big they were when your stature barely reached the cracked nose of the nameless human as it lay on its cheek. The tip of the nose was missing – elongating the bridge into an uncanny serpentine image – and the stone the head was constructed from was dotted with fractures that gave you pause.

Their discoloration that bled from a darkened brown – almost black – out in a dusty ombre to the dull harvest gold of the natural mineral rock made you frown. Your eyes flickered along the facial features. One, two, three… you counted six such markings alone and – wearing gloves thankfully – when you ran your hand over it, a sooty ash stained the cream of the fabric.

But it was the smell.

You knew that smell.

Lifting your hand, you pulled down the mask covering your nose and mouth and sniffed tentatively. It was faint, barely recognizable which was a good indication of its age. It wasn’t fresh at least. But there was no mistaking the familiarity, the bizarrely comforting scent of plasma residue you now associated with Din—with protection and affection.

Din had disappeared into the skeletal carcass of the temple, the entrance flanked by headless sentinels and destroyed columns that must have boasted great beauty against a landscape of such miserable bleakness. Now it blended into that misery, finally overcome by an environment it had tried to battle against.

Well… a battle against something, that was for sure. You rubbed the combination of dust and ash between your fingers, watching the black flakes fall like snow and disappear in the wind. You had seen the aftermath of enough battlefields to know one when you saw one, ancient or otherwise. This citadel hadn’t decayed naturally, it had been attacked.

The knowledge that such an attack had long since passed was the only thing stopping you from calling out to Din. He was better versed in this than you, had probably caught the signs before they even came into your line of vision. Realistically, his dismissal of the site would suggest this was nothing out of the ordinary—not worth looking into.

But it was curious still…

You had a different eye for battlefields than Din did, and something didn’t seem right to you. Something was missing.

You chanced a glance up towards the temple, advantageously placed for you to see the dual suns hit the beskar of your lover to confirm his location. With that, you began your own investigation, starting north, rounding the neck of the head you first noticed the blaster char to check behind it.

Nothing.

Just a mess of rubble stretching far as you could see. You struggled up a column on its side – the only way forward without going back the way you came – your quads complaining as you were forced to stretch higher for your boot to reach a groove carved in the stone to pull yourself up onto the flat surface. Finding your footing, you released a short breath before looking around. The breeze was stronger now that you were higher up, but it was less annoying since you were elevated enough for the dust it disturbed on the ground not to reach your eyes as frequently.

With that reprieve – and a hand on your forehead to block the suns – you began to notice the pattern. Dark speckled evidence of char dotted what remained of pillars and statues – more concentrated in the outer rim than further inside the citadel that you could see. Smaller, more concentrated splotches of residue were fixed predominantly at eye level or lower. The larger, more indiscriminate marks lay at the base of statues and framing the gaping holes in the scarce few walls that remained standing.

Vrogas Vas had been attacked by a combination of ground troops and – if your untrained eye was anything to go by – assault ships no bigger than X-Wings, given the size of the marks. TIE Fighters perhaps? You couldn’t be sure of the timing, but if the stories of the Jedi Order being destroyed by the rising Empire before you were born were to be believed, it would speak of the starfighters the Imperials favored.

Something was still scratching distractedly at the back of your mind as you stepped off the fallen pillar, bending your knees as you landed to absorb the ricochet of solid ground up your body. A cloud of dust – as irritating as the itch in your mind – plumed up around you and you waved it away with an annoyed hand, thankful for the mask covering you but lamenting the lack of eye protection you had as they began to water in irritation.

You blinked away the aggravation – a swipe of your inner sleeve across your eyes to wipe away the dust – and began making your way further into the citadel, towards Din, mind absent as you tried to figure out what it was you were missing.

Every step felt hallowed as you walked along the broad, murram road that led to the entrance to the temple. Your feet stepped gingerly over the rubble and rock that littered the central road, deliberately—carefully, practically tip-toeing with how light your footfalls were. Your nerves prickled with every step, the looming knowledge overshadowing your thoughts that this – in some lifetime – had become a graveyard. And you were traipsing all over it.

You came to a sudden stop.

A graveyard.

You whirled to face the direction you had come from, the height giving you the benefit of being able to sweep your eyes over the majority of the area you had just walked though. Nothing. You had to be sure. You jogged down a few steps – the decline increasing your speed clumsily – until you were by an area covered in blaster fire.

Nothing.

No bodies, no bones, no remnants of anything to suggest life had once been here.

Fear and apprehension formed like rust around your spine, hollowing it—making it brittle as you froze, an unconscious shiver at the festering wrath that permeated the planet. Something terrible had happened here.

Where in Malachor were the bodies?

You couldn’t sure when Vrogas Vas had been attacked, Maker—it could have been hundreds of years ago for all you knew. You hadn’t even heard of this planet before it popped up on the navicomputer once Din input the coordinate. The environment was harsh enough to decompose bodies quickly – that you could easily admit – but it was the lack of, well, anything else. There were no traces of animals inhabiting the planet – apart from the wasp-worms – that were big enough to drag a carcass away from the temple. Even if there were, material like plastoid and metal and teeth would surely take much longer to disintegrate back into the earth.

The way it looked now—you would swear no one had ever been here.

Whoever had attacked the Jedi had wanted them gone. Not just dead but erased from time and history. Not even bones left to mark a final resting place. There was an evil to an act like that.

You could be wrong of course. Allies of this ancient Order might have happened across the site well before you arrived and gave them whatever last rites they followed. Your gut told you otherwise though, and you never thought it wise to ignore that feeling.

You pondered on that thought the rest of your climb up to the base of the temple, a flight of stairs to the right that led up into the elevated ruins. As you walked, your frown grew increasingly deep at the progressively concerning elements you noticed in place of blaster marks like in the outer areas. One statue with its face fully decimated, scores of blaster marks flattening facial features to an unrecognizable husk, blackened, and desecrated and leaving you with an uneasy feeling you hadn’t experienced since coming across some of the Rebel Bases attacked by the Empire. The sheer hatred that undercut the action to defile such a statue was sobering. You skited away from the statue quickly, keenly aware of how alone you were.

The next thing you noticed, was at the crumbling balustrade of the stairway that was miraculously still somewhat intact. Large boulders of rock crushed an area of the steps, the foundation of the temple exposed and fragile but there was just enough room for you to slowly climb up before your eyes caught something altogether different. Something you hadn’t seen before. You took your foot off the first step once you saw it, rounding the balustrade to the outside and there, archaic script you had never seen before was carved into the stone. Crude, but inherently delicate in nature in the long lines and flecks of accent that it was composed from. Measuring no bigger than your hand in height, they looked like graffiti, to be sliced so awkwardly askew into the stairs of a temple. Invaders, once more, drowning what was once here in brands of their attack.

You traced your fingers over the grooves, the lacerations that became more malicious in your eyes the more you looked at them. Like individual slashes of a sword, they wounded the very core of this place—stabbing and cutting with indiscriminate cruelty. If invaders had reached this point of the citadel, they had already won. And still, they spat on the graves of their victims with carved stone—something that would only disappear when the temple itself eventually weathered away.

You took the temple steps two at a time – slowing down at the narrow point where the steps had collapsed – to find the Mandalorian finally. He was with the child near what must have been the back wall of the temple, the sunlight streaming in surely not by chance with the way both suns stood in perfect parallels to the remaining pillars that once framed it.

Steps crunching over loose stone and dirt as you came to stand beside him, he didn’t acknowledge your arrival as his helmet remained as unchanged as it always was, staring ahead of him while the child cooed softly when he turned to look at you.

There was the faint outline of a drawing on what remained of the wall, a faded rust red that reminded you disconcertingly of dried blood. A trident—or at least that’s what it appeared to be at first glance. The handle seemed stunted—or eroded, the wide sharp trio of forks all that remained. It was slathered on with less finesse than the script you had found, and Din seemed fixated on the mark that sat like a signature on the art of destruction the ruins of Vrogas Vas painted.

An unfamiliar emotion rolled off him threateningly—spiking your instincts to be wary, to approach with caution. The child obviously sensed his father’s malcontent, the droop of his ears and gentle chirp up at the silent warrior wasn’t enough to melt the frozen tundra that had invaded the citadel.

“Man—Din?” you probed, acting against your better judgement with softness in your voice and in the hand you lay on his bicep—the coiled muscle tense and humming even from above the duraweave of his fight suit. He marbled further under your touch, but the warring impact of his name on your lips stopped his immediate reaction to jerk away and instead remain in place, allowing your touch—it was all you could really expect.

“I’m—I’m sorry, Din.”

It was a feeble comfort, completely useless and there wasn’t even anything for you to be sorry for. You didn’t murder the Jedi, you didn’t provide him with the information that led him here, you didn’t bolster his hope of finding the child’s people. But it was all you could think to say – a poor, simple offering in response to the unimaginable complexity of emotions he must have been feeling.

Was it always like this?

“Another waste of time.”

Was all he offered, his arm slipping from under your light hold when he turned back the way he came without any fanfare or explosions.

That was it? You glanced around. The silence remained—no clue or miraculous interception of an old hermit waiting for heroes of an epic tale to impart his coveted knowledge. This wasn’t Moray and Faz. Real life didn’t resolve itself with pretty bows and happy endings once the runtime was up.

Just another dead end. On to the next one.

How often had he told himself those words?

How often had he gone through the process of… letting the child go only to have to go through it all over again the next time? The grief he no doubt experienced even if he didn’t fully understand it.

How often had he returned to the Razor Crest when you were none the wiser, beaten down by failure? Burying those frustrations inside you with clawing desire and possessive claim. How powerless he must have felt every time he reached another impasse. Din clung to control the same way you did—and being at the mercy of fairy tales and gossip would make you feel like a fool performing for a galaxy of spectators with no end in sight too.

You didn’t pity Din. You empathized with his desire to do good being met with… this.

Dead rock and stony silence.

He got further away from you as he walked between piles of rubble and fallen architecture, defeated but painting a picture of humble strength. You remained rooted on the spot as you watched him, absorbing the sight of him surrounded by a culture as ancient as the one he belonged to.

At least, you thought, this place was visited by someone worthy of it.

That would be your only solace as you set off after him, dragging your feet to take in the savage defilement inside the temple. Slashes of char reminiscent of the swing of a sword cut across various surfaces. You had never come across a blaster that shot plasma that way—you wondered absently as you walked what sort of weapon could cause such markings.

By the time you reached the top of the stairs, the Mandalorian had already made it down the tall flight of stairs. Pausing to cast your eyes across the citadel from the high vantage point, you looked in vain for something, anything that might help you, help them. But the planet was as barren as it was an hour ago, as it would be for the rest of eternity.

You skimmed your fingers down the rough, weathered stone of the balustrade as you made your way down, your gloves protecting the soft pads of your fingers from being scratched or scraped. As you reached the bottom however, you recalled the graffiti just on the other side of the stairway.

You paused. Chewed on your lip beneath the mask and considered.

It could be nothing, most likely would just be another token of destruction that didn’t mean anything for the child. But he had been so preoccupied with the graffiti inside the temple, fixated on the rusty painting for long enough that you had grown suspicious of its meaning or at least—of Din’s understanding of it.

With so few straws left to grasp at and your own determination not to make this a wasted journey—you did what Din had asked you to do, even with the knowledge that it could assist in separating the child from both of you.

You helped.

“Din?” you called, your voice echoing more than you would like. You winced at the echo, immediately feeling very tiny in so vast a place.

Thankfully, he did stop. The T-shaped visor turned to look back at you as you beckoned him over to the stairway and after a brief hesitation, he obliged silently.

Thank the Maker for small mercies.

“We’re wasting time.”

“Just… one minute—” you negotiated, his tolerance non-existent but tacitly giving you the time you requested, “now this might be nothing but…”

Taking his hand in yours, his swallowing yours in its size as you led him around the outside of the balustrade. He followed you reluctantly, a squeeze to his hand encouragingly making him finally relent and stop resisting.

You expected him to scoff when you pointed down at the carvings, maybe snort in derision at your attempts at playing bounty hunter. But he didn’t. He stopped beside you. Tipped his head to the side, slowly—calculated and deliberate. You could practically hear the switch flip in his mind as he fell into a mode he was more comfortable with. Hunting.

A hand to your waist and he coaxed you out of the way so he could crouch in front of the script, his back and shoulders hiding them from your view, but the shift of his arm told you he was tracing over the delicate lines and uneven strokes.

“Do you know what they are?”

“Yes.”

You blinked. You hadn’t been expecting that. A flurry of excitement, of progress filled your mind—firecrackers of possibility tickling the synapses of your brain as you knelt on the ruddy ground beside him.

“Really?”

He glanced down at you; your excited tone almost innocent amidst such a blood soaked scar on the landscape. You leaned closer on your hands to get a better look at it, cocking your head as you tried to see what he saw, wondering how he was able to make sense of it.

“What is it?” you asked when he didn’t speak, a desire to know making you impatient.

He turned his head, a pained tilt—you could just imagine the grimace on his face. Reluctance made him slow, a hiss of frustration catching in his modulator as strong arms pushed on his thighs to stand. His helmet swept over the ruins as if seeing them for the first time.

“Mando’a. It’s Mando’a,” he growled into the wind, the breeze carrying the low words down to you.

You were thankful for the mask hiding most of your face because you were certain you wouldn’t have been able to hide the way your jaw slacked. Your mind scrambled, remembering the rasps of that hidden language spoken into the flush softness of your body.

This graffiti was that same language?

Pushing yourself back up onto your knees so you could sit on your heels, your eyes flickered up to where he stood with his back to you, the squirm of the child in the satchel disturbing his cape.

“Does that mean…”

“That Mandalorians were the ones who attacked this temple?” he snapped over his shoulder angrily, the setting suns reflecting off the black of his visor and setting it alight with righteous flames, “It would seem so.”

He spat the words hatefully. The aggressive bite of his tone – jagged teeth sinking into rock – was raw, bare in the vulnerable shock such a discovery had on one so devoted to his Creed. A Creed possibly shared by the people who committed this atrocity. No one wanted to see that ugliness and you felt for him.

Standing, you dusted off your knees uselessly—knowing they would be dusty again in the next ten minutes but using the time to gather your thoughts and ponder your response. Din wasn’t a man who needed reassurance or indulging. He spoke plainly and appreciated when that was reciprocated.

“Anyone who murders in this way cannot be called a Mandalorian.”

Was what you settled on as you stood beside him overlooking the ruins. You believed those words. For all the stories you had heard of Mandalorians and their penchant for violence, those stories went hand in hand with tales of honor. Whatever code they lived by, it didn’t involve the indiscriminate murder of an entire temple. Not in your eyes anyway.

You chanced a look at him, a slight glance sideways from beneath your hood. You couldn’t call yourself an authority on Mandalorians or their beliefs, but you knew one Mandalorian. And he was one of the few good men you believed still existed in this universe. So no, you didn’t believe the people who did this could be considered Mandalorian. They didn’t deserve to share that title with Din.

He was looking at you when you glanced, observing you quietly and you flushed.

“At—at least in my opinion,” you tagged to the end hurriedly, dropping your gaze.

“You’re right, as usual,” he rumbled, and you couldn’t suppress the noise of surprise from leaving you in a breath. There was still a pained edge to his tone, the toil of the last few days weighing heavy on him still—but there was also a wary agreement that somehow, made you feel closer to him—an invitation into his home, through the cracks in those walls. Somehow, it felt special.

You smiled; confidence bolstered enough to broach something you had filed away for later should you need it.

“However,” you began slowly.

“Here we go,” he sighed as if expecting you would have more to say.

“Hey—” you warned with a shove to his arm—the fact he didn’t even move an inch making you huff indignantly, asshole.

“What is it?” he indulged you.

“I think maybe we’re going about this the wrong way.”

He was silent, the only encouragement you had to continue. Picking at the hem of your poncho distractedly to give your fingers something to play with, you chewed your next words carefully.

“We’re chasing ghosts at the moment. We don’t know any Jedi or anyone who knows the Jedi, right?”

He nodded once. You exhaled.

“What we do know though, is that Mandalorians were an enemy to them. These markings—the Mando’a proves that at some point in the past, they met.”

Din cocked his head in confusion, rolling his weight back so he could face you more fully, the soft snores of the child in the satchel accompanying the sound of the wind whipping around you.

“Why chase ghosts when we could chase something real? Something we know has at least some information on the Jedi.”

“Are you saying what I think you’re saying, ner mirdala bar’uur?”

He stood closer to you, his tone dripping honey thick with unexpected pride and ran his knuckle along the arch of your cheekbone— still covered by the mask as your plan made him rumble in thought.

“What I’m saying, Din Djarin—is that maybe we shouldn’t be looking for Jedi, maybe we should be looking for Mandalorians.”

**********************************************************

Notes:

Mando'a Translation:

Ad'ika - son, child

Buir - parent, father

Ner mirdala bar'uur - my clever medic

SW Lore used and any Creative Liberties taken:

Vrogas Vas - I have definitely amended the history of this planet to suit my own needs so I hope you won't be too annoyed by it! The Jedi Temple on Vrogas Vas was in ruins by the time of the Rebellion, but in canon-- it was visited by not only Luke Skywalker, but Darth Vadar where a skirmish battle took place in 0 ABY. As you might recognize from the above chapter, I have eluded that the Temple had not been visited since it was attacked. The introduction of the Death Watch to Vrogas Vas is a liberty I have taken with this particular area of canon but it's not without some logic! I have assumed that the Jedi Temple on Vrogas Vas might have been one of the last to be destroyed post-Order 66 simply because of it's isolation. Before this point however, was the moment when Pre Viszla (the Manda'lor) fell out with the Sith. I have assumed in some manner of speaking, that the Death Watch went out of their way to destroy Jedi and Sith alike. They were an indiscriminate and cruel group that I'm excited to focus more on in a future Arc but for now-- though Vrogas Vas was not visited by Mandalorians in canon, for the purpose of this fic-- it was!

Llyrian - the sea god in Pamarthan lore, extremely powerful and deeply revered by a people who are surrounded by the ocean. More on this in the Pamarthe Arc.

Jedi on Pamarthe - unconfirmed in canon.

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[clairecrive]

can u make a nikolai x reader based on the song mr perfectly fine by taylor swift?

Mr Perfectly fine

A/n: Ahh, thank to you friend, I've been jamming to this song every day lmao Hope I've done it justice x Also, I've left out some parts of the lyrics to make it better fit the story.

(if you want, you can add yourself to my taglist here)

for my other masterlists, you can find them on my navigation page

Word count: more than 7K (ikik it took a life of his own, what can I say)

Warnings: bit of fluff, angst (like a lot), character's death, spoiler if you haven't read Siege and Storm

Tagging: @jupiterandbutterflies (Thank you so much for your comment! I saw it and it made my day✨)

(I don't remember where I took this from so if you know pls lmk)

Most people knew of Nikolai Lanstov. He was a prince, the second born and the most charming. Most people knew him thanks to the countless rumours that went around at court: supposedly he was not of royal blood. "Sobachka" was what they called him.

No matter how though, everyone knew of the last Lanstov prince. But very little knew him.

Meeting him wasn't difficult. Since he had been of age, Nikolai had always been out of the Grand Palace and among people. He’d also volunteered to enlist in the first army, refusing any kind of special treatment and fought beside his brothers in arms in the infantry. That was part of the reason why everyone outside the court loved him so much.

Being Grisha meant that fighting in the Second Army was mandatory. Not that you minded. There was nothing you wanted more for your people than to finally be free. Also, that Shadow Fold needed to go and as the Darkling has always said, all efforts are necessary.

That’s how you met Nikolai the first time. Generally, the First and the Second Army were stationed in different parts of the campsite. Numerous quarrels between oprichniki and Grisha had rendered the separation necessary. However, you never liked crowds much and living in the Little Palace meant that you were always surrounded by people. So, every chance you had to draw away and be by yourself for a while, you took it. Also, being a Healer meant that you’d spent more time in your assigned tent taking care of soldiers than among them.

Word had gone around that everyone in need could come to you. Usually, you had been instructed by the Darkling that your powers were reserved for Grisha. However, what good was it to have the ability to cure people and only take care of a selected few that very rarely got seriously injured? Meanwhile, soldiers of the First Army often suffered from severe injuries, fatal gunshots or knife wounds. You could help them and possibly save their lives so why shouldn’t you?

That was why Nikolai found you one night. Sure at that point it was just another nameless soldier to you. He had never been in your tent before so you had never seen his face before. The boy whose arm he had draped on his shoulders though, was a usual visitor of yours.

“Oh, Petyr, what happened this time?” gesturing to his blond friend to lay him down on the table, you started gathering everything you needed. Not that you needed much but you had found out that Petyr was absolutely incapable of bearing having his bones or injuries in general repaired without having some kind of pain reliever before.

After a few tries, you came up with a herbal composition that dulled the pain but didn’t make him unconscious. Using kvas would mean that Petyr would be knocked out for a couple of hours. That would put him in trouble with his superiors.

“He’s a fool, that’s what happened.” The explanation came from his friend after he put him down gently. Despite his words, you could hear in his tone worry and guilt?

“If saving your life makes me a fool then go ahead and call me one,” Petyr huffed in pain.

“Who knew you were so brave, uh?” After quickly shredding the herbs you needed, you poured hot water on it and brought the cup to Petyr’s lips while helping him keep his head up.

“He’s the bravest of us all,”

“If I knew it took a bullet wound to make you hand out compliments so easily, I would have done it sooner.” Scoffed Petyr after sending you a thankful look.

“See? What did I tell you? A fool,” his friend said dramatically and you smiled amused at their playful banter.

“Let’s see what we’re dealing with, shall we?” You said out loud to warn both Petyr and his friend. Letting them know what was about to happen was best, your experience taught you. Both for the person on the table that could brace themselves for what was about to happen and for the person with him that was filled with worry and cautiousness. Oprichniki didn’t trust Grisha that much.

After assessing the damage, you let out a relieved sigh as the bullet had gotten through and it had not hit any major artery. It had already got infected though, so you knew it would be a painful one to treat.

“So, did you receive any letters lately, Pety?” You ask, suggestively wiggling your eyebrows while your hands cover the wound. You had your eyes closed to better focus but you were sure that he had rolled his eyes.

“Only from my mum.”

“Don’t tell me you didn’t write her back,” you said, opening your eye just in time to send him a glare.

“Ugh, not this again, y/n, please. Have mercy on me, I’m bleeding all over the table.” Petyr moaned making his friend snicker.

“You’re not bleeding all over the table and if you didn’t notice, I’m already taking care of you, am I not? That doesn’t excuse you for being an idiot, though.”

“Are you two in cahoots or something? It’s not fair. Wounded man over here.”

“Oh shut up.” Both you and his blond friend said at the same time. Petyr moaned once again and you sent a little amused smile to the blondie.

“Should I leave you with a cool battle scar? Maybe acting like a war hero will give you the balls to write to her.” You harmlessly threatened him but your hands were already reconnecting the tissue of his skin without letting it scar.

“I’ve told you, y/n. She deserves better than what I can give her. I am, who knows if I even make it home? I’d be only stringing her along.” Now Petyr was dead serious. It was true, you had talked about this often since he was a regular you got to know him better and he had soon told you about his sweet Katia.

While his friend chanted “fool” like a mantra in the background, you took his bloodied hand in yours, his wound fully healed.

“Petyr, how do you think she’s gonna react when she learns that there hasn’t been any delay to her letters but you’re just ignoring her? Besides, you should let her make this decision too. Who knows, she’ll surprise you.” Squeezing his hand you turned to let your words settle and to put away your utensils. You knew you had given him so much food for thought so you didn’t address the subject anymore. His friend helped him off the table and that’s when you noticed that he was injured too. He had a pretty nasty cut on his lower lip and there was already a bruise forming on his temple.

“Petyr, you can sit on my chair while I take care of your friend. You should be fine but for at least a while don’t stress your body.”

Mentally making a list of the things you need to tend to this kind of wound and where you kept them, you started collecting before heading back to them.

Petyr had sat down but his friend was still standing.

“You don’t have to lie down if you don’t want to, but unless you don’t want me to go take a ladder or something, it would be best if you sat on the table.” You gave him your best reassuring smile as you mixed the healing paste. Sometimes, men didn’t like to put themselves in a vulnerable position with someone they didn’t know and had learned to fear. He wasn’t that badly hurt and it would only take a couple of seconds to fix but not every oprichniki was comfortable with being healed by Grisha power. So the paste would do your job for you. It would take longer, sure and it would also sting a lot more but at least he’d be healed at last.

After looking at you for a little while, the blond man did as you instructed, giving you a dazzling smile in return when you settled between his legs to fix his cut.

“The name is Nikolai or handsome if you prefer.” It was not the first time a wounded soldier tried to flirt with you. IT didn’t bother you, you found them amusing more than anything and you knew it was the allure of someone taking care of them speaking more than any real interest.

“Let’s hope you won’t be around here much for me to learn your name.”

“I’ll have to find another way to make myself unforgettable then.” He winked at you before hopping off the table.

You didn’t address his words, only gave them the paste you had prepared. It would prevent any wound from being infected and would be able to cure small cuts and bruises if applied for a couple of days. With that, you sent them both on their way. Petyr waving you goodbye while Nikolai sent you another wink.

And so this was how it all started.

Mr. "Perfect face"

Mr. "Here to stay"

Mr. "Looked me in the eye and told me you would never go away"

Everything was right

Despite your fellow Grisha, military life could be a bit alienating. Which sounded like a paradox, sure, but everyone had their own way of processing trauma and emotions and of course there were plenty of those during the war. If the best way to come to terms with everything that happened was to distance yourself from others and try to find the solution in solitude, it could get to the point where you’d feel alone in a room full of people.

To get a little respite, you’d usually go on a long walk or resort to stargaze. Sometimes, depending on where you were posted, it wasn’t safe to leave the campsite. So, that’s how Nikolai found you one night. Even he had to take a breather once in a while. Being a different version of yourself based on who you’re interlocutor was must be exhausting. Of course, you didn’t know this. You knew nothing about Nikolai at that point if not that he was Petyr’s friend and a socialite, according to other soldiers.

He seemed to be at the centre of gossip no matter what group of people you found yourself with and there also seemed to be a consensus about him. Everyone liked him. Even if it was rare for some Grisha to appreciate oprichniki, you knew they somewhat respected him because if they didn’t praise him out loud, they didn’t speak ill of him either.

“Not a fan of crowds, are you?” he announced his presence before sitting down beside you.

“I love them, I really do. It’s just that sometimes it gets too much.”

“Yeah, I know how you feel.”

“You do? Everyone seems to think you’re a socialite.”

“It’s what I want them to think but alas, I enjoy being more complex and multifaceted than that.” He lightly bumped your shoulder with his, eyes aflame with mischief.

“I bet.” you simply smirked. Despite how everyone seemed to think they knew him, you got the peculiar vibe from him, like there was a lot more to him than what he let everyone see.

“No one seems to know much about you.”

“Maybe you’ve talked to the wrong people.”

“Well, then I guess it’s better if I got straight to the source, don’t you think?”

“That will surely be a better start. Not sure you’ll find what you’re looking for though.”

“We’ll see.”

That night had been the first of many. It had become a sort of an unspoken arrangement between the two of you. While it didn’t last long, you sensed that you got to know him better than everyone. There was something about late nights meetings under the stars that prompted deep and meaningful conversations. It wasn’t hard to form a solid bond with him after a few nights.

The conversations weren’t always personal in the conventional sense. You’d often stray and talk about the most bizarre things. Like why something had the name it had or how cool it’d be if it was possible to pass through surfaces, which led to imagine all the uncomfortable situations one could find themselves in if they were to simply go into a room through its wall.

Nikolai was witty, overly confident and ambitious and he knew a lot of things. You always wondered how he had learned them since he was so young and been in the army for a couple of years already. But Nikolai was never too forward on certain topics, his family and childhood being some of those. You understood, those were sore subjects for you too. So you never insisted. It was much more interesting to listen to him rumble about impossible future projects of his, like a flying ship.

"When people say impossible, they usually mean improbable." He’d say whenever you’d point it out to him. Somehow, despite the absolute absurdity of them, the sheer confidence that he seemed to constantly exude, made you consider the possibility of his success.

You got the distinct feeling that there was nothing this man couldn’t do.

But that was when I got to know Mr. "Change of heart"

Mr. "Leaves me all alone," I fall apart

It takes everything in me just to get up each day

But it's wonderful to see that you're okay

But, alas, as all things do, these encounters of yours also got to an end. You knew it would happen, you were both soldiers so your lives were both heavily characterised by uncertainty after all. However, you were not prepared for it to end so abruptly though. And without an apparent reason. Because Nikolai’s unit hadn’t been posted elsewhere and he hadn’t been fatally wounded. You would have heard of it were that the case. But it wasn’t.

You thought that he had come to cherish your nightly encounters too. Some of those had been full of his promises. How he’d love for you to be around when he’d eventually find the time to work on his ideas. How you had been a nice surprise, a most interesting person among so many dull idiots you were surrounded by every day. How he’d come to value your opinions and presence in his life and that he was going to find a way to make sure that that would never change. Promises that turned to be empty.

You had never allowed yourself to fully believe him. It wasn’t the first time that a boy had made the same kind of promises but Nikolai looked sincere. Honest enough to be believable. But, of course, you had been wrong.

You didn’t realise just how much you had come to rely on him until he was gone. You tried to keep your mind off him and luckily the perfect distraction came your way. The Darkling had scheduled an attack on the enemy’s army and had posted you to be on the field to take care of everyone promptly. You had never been more grateful to the man, even after he had given her a home and a purpose.

Ever since your first encounter with Nikolai, you had thought it had been a blessing. However, you had soon changed your mind and now considered a curse more than anything. Why? Because as soon as you got to the field you couldn’t help but scour the troops for a familiar mop of blond hair. Many looked like him and being this far you couldn’t be sure that he wasn’t one of them but you certainly despised the leap your heart made every time though. That was a distraction you couldn’t afford. Besides, it wasn’t smart to let your heart get involved in times of war.

The battle began, Inferni and Squallers were working together to impair the enemy’s visual so they couldn’t shoot or use their cannons while the First Army marched after them to swap in as soon as the air cleared to catch the enemy by surprise. While your role wasn’t active per se, you were a Corporalki after all, and even if you had been specifically trained as Healer, you had also got one of your friends to teach you the basics of an Heartrender’s work. You weren’t a powerful one but you could hold your ground in a fight. Especially since they weren’t expecting you. And you were still far from any real threat.

The battle dragged on and soon there were wounded soldiers that needed your attention. You hated this kind of work, it was messy and dirty and had to be quick because spending too much time on one soldier could mean dooming another to death. You were accustomed to it by now and soon found a rhythm focusing on ensuring everyone’s survival and not bothering with the aesthetic side of healing. That could be taken care of later if they wanted to.

As soon as your eyes fell onto a crouched figure you sprinted towards them. It was dirty and you didn’t recognize them but you got the feeling it was a life or death situation. Oh, how you wanted to be wrong.

The person crouching turned out to be Nikolai and he wasn’t alone. He was kneeling beside someone, Petyr.

“Where are you hurt?” you hurriedly asked as you tried to assess the damage. His uniform was dirty and full of blood but you couldn’t figure out where it was coming from. Trying to answer you, Petyr opened his mouth only to let out the most gruesome gurgling sound as his respiratory tract was flooded by blood.

“He got shot in the gut.” Nikolai offered.

“Is the bullet still inside?” Opening his uniform jacket you tore a piece from his shirt to use it to put pressure on the wound.

“It’s too late,” Nikolai uttered.

“No.” You strongly refused as you removed the cloth and focused on the wound. His heart was straightening and he had already lost a lot of blood. If the bullet was still inside that it was going to be a problem, if it wasn’t then you still had a fighting chance.

“I removed it earlier.” So that was why he had lost so much blood. Nodding your head to show that you had heard him, you set out to stop the internal bleeding. Slowing his heartbeat so that it was pumping less blood and thus eased your endeavour. You were still in the middle of the field and while you were keeping up with the warfare but in the back of your mind, you registered the sounds of screaming and of gunshots getting closer. A bullet hit you in the shoulder propelling you forward over Petyr’s body. Grisha’s kefta were bulletproof so you weren’t worried for your incolumity but for the harsh movement you had made.

Leaning back, you heard Nikolai calling for you but your eyes were trained on Petyr. You tried to listen for his heartbeat but could only hear two instead of three. Nikolai, who had never left your side, immediately understood what had happened by the fall of your shoulders and the tensing of your hands.

He kept calling for you but the only thing you could focus on was that you had let your friend down. Now there will be one more family crying for a loss, another girl mourning a lost loved one. And it was all your fault. It was because of you that Petyr wouldn’t live to see another day, to write another letter or to fight another battle. It was on you.

The details of what happened next were a bit blurred. Someway you must have found your way back to the campsite. Whether you did on your own after tending to everyone else, you didn’t know. Your memories picked up after you woke up in your tent. Someone was calling your name, saying that the Darkling wanted to see you.

Mechanically you raised and made your way to the Darkling’s tent but your mind was elsewhere. Your thoughts were plagued by Petyr’s face, by that godforsaken sound he made when he tried to speak. The realisation that he was gone hit you like a wall of brick that would have made you stumble if you weren't’ sat in front of the Darkling’s desk. Whether he was speaking and stopped after seeing the forlorn look in your eyes or he hadn’t been speaking at all, you didn’t realize. You did hear him say that you were going to be posted somewhere. Under different circumstances you have said something, anything to not let him send you away. Your mind immediately went to Nikolai. You’d be leaving him behind along with the campsite.

However, you now realised that you had already lost him. Losing Petyr had been the last thing that had completely severed your bond. There was no turning back now and part of you was grateful.

Hello Mr. "Perfectly fine"

How's your heart after breaking mine?

I've been Miss "Misery" since your goodbye

And you're Mr. "Perfectly fine"

You couldn’t know, of course, but Nikolai had left not long after you did. Albeit for a different reason. He had finally earned the Major rank and as such, he took a step back from military life deciding that his skill would be better suited for a life on the sea. Assuring Ravka the supply she needed but in ways that weren’t exactly suitable for a prince but worked just fine for a privateer. And thus Sturmhond came to life.

As for you, you kept doing your job at your new post but were relieved when a letter came from the Darkling instructing that you were needed at the Little Palace. Part of you had relegated Nikolai to that part of your mind where the unmentionable was, however, a traitor thought whispered that maybe there was a chance that you could see him at the royal grounds. Sure, the possibilities were close to zero but it was still possible, right?

No.

You already were ashamed of the fact that you’re still suffering because of him. And yes, you missed him but you weren’t going to indulge the pathetic hope of seeing him again.

He doesn’t want to see you. If he did, he would have already found you. Or write you a letter if he couldn’t, but he didn’t.

You were right. You knew you were, nonetheless, the thought only brought you a bittersweet feeling.

You found the Little Palace just how you’d left it and yet it seemed changed in a way. The insane amount of work you found there waiting for you helped you drown the feeling that it was you that had changed.

Months passed this way, sometimes the Darkling would post you with him or outside the Little Palace. All in all, you’ve kept busy. When news of the little prince leaving the Palace reached you, you let it wash over you. It wasn’t like it mattered much, whether he was a few feet away or in another nation, Nikolai wasn’t part of your life either way.

When the whole expansion of the Fold happened, you were stationed at the Little Palace. Chaos and terror ensued as soon as the news reached the capital making most of the Grisha flee. Most of them went looking for the Darkling while others simply ran away and hid. You were amongst the first group.

Soon, your life was radically changed. The shift in the Darkling was palpable and it didn’t have anything to do with the scars on his face. You had tried your best to heal them and Genya to tailor them away but somehow, they could not be removed. It was an unsettling thing to realize that they didn’t take away his beauty. One could even say that they enhanced his attractiveness.

He was certainly more powerful. None of you knew what had happened in the Fold that day, just that the Sun Summoner had fled and that there were no survivors apart from him. However, as your journey in pursuit of Alina dragged on, you were soon witnesses of his newfound power.

The nichevo’ya, he called them.

He had always been immensely powerful. One of a kind. But this- this was different. And as dread settled among your group as you watched them in action, realisation sat heavily on your shoulders.

He soon found a trail and traced Alina in Novyi Zem and set out to reach the island by hiring Sturmhond’s crew. He was a famous pirate after all and despite his unreliability, the Darkling was sure that as long as he got his money, he wouldn't be a problem.

In the round trip, you didn’t see much of the captain anyway. Some members of his crew were amiable enough, particularly the Yul-Baatar twins. You had even asked Tamar to spar with you from time to time. Your lessons with Botnik were a distant memory and you knew that mastering combat training skills could increase your chance at survival.

When Alina and Mal were held captive though, that’s when Sturmhond made an appearance. He looked younger than you’d thought and there was something oddly familiar in the way he held himself. Still, you didn't talk with him much. Your job was to take care of Alina and so you spent most of your time in her room.

It wasn’t until the Darkling asked Mal to track Rusalye and consequently spent more time with Alina that you had a chance to talk with him. It was during one of your night shifts when he approached you, the Darkling had wanted some of his to always be patrolling the ship.

“What could possibly make a little thing like you be amidst this wretched company?”

“It’s all a matter of perspective, I guess.”

“The thrill of adventure?”

“There’s plenty of it everywhere you go if you’re Grisha, even if you just go on a stroll.”

“Is that why you follow him?”

“I owe everything to him.”

“I’m sure you realize your role in this.”

“Of course I do. I’m not some naive girl who has a crush on her general.”

“Ah, so who, pray tell, do you have a crush on then, beautiful lady?”

“You’re certainly noisy for a pirate.”

“Privateer,” he corrected you, “there’s not much to do around here is it?”

“Not if you have everyone taking care of it, no.”

“Amuse me.”

“It isn’t wise to let the heart get involved in times of war.” That was all you were willing to share. Yes, he was handsome. Yes, the twinkle in his eyes was oddly familiar but he was a stranger. A dangerous one.

“Those sound like words spoken from experience.”

“Maybe.”

“Well, I’d say it’s no fun to only think about war. Life is so much more.”

“Believe me, if I could, it’d be the last thing on my mind. But, alas, l don’t have the privilege to do so.”

You had already lost too much time speaking with him. If someone were to see you or tell the Darkling you’d be in trouble. And you had made it your goal to never put yourself on the path of the Darkling’s anger. So you excused yourself and went back to your rounds.

If only you had stayed and talked to him more maybe you would have understood what was about to happen. Maybe you would have had an enkindling of Sturmhond’s plans. Instead, you were taken by surprise, just like everyone in your group, when Rusalye was spot and a shot was fired. You had found yourself in the uncomfortable position of having to fight against people you had grown to like.

“I don’t want to hurt you, y/n,” Tamar warned you as you stood face to face on the sinking ship dock. Her trusted axes in her hands while your hands were raised ready to attack.

“I don’t want to hurt you either.”

“Then you don’t have to. Come with us.” Her proposition made you gasp.

“That would be treason,” you whispered hoping that the Darkling wasn’t around to hear you. A shiver ran through you as you thought of the punishment he’d give you for even thinking about leaving his side.

“Then you leave me no choice.” She said lowering her arms. Was that guilt you heard in her voice?

Before you could voice your question though, she shouted for her brother and not even a second later, you felt your body grow still. Your eyebrows faltered as you felt your heartbeat slow down.

They were Grisha.

They must have seen you realise because you heard Tamar apologize before everything went black.

Mr. "Never told me why"

He goes about his day

Forgets he ever even heard my name

Well, I thought you might be different than the rest, I guess you're all the same

You didn’t stay out for long though. As soon as Sturmhond’s crew had left the Darkling’s ship and had safely made it onto the Volkvolny, the privateer had asked for you to be awakened.

There wasn’t enough light for you to realize you were on another ship, what alerted you of your new situation were your hands. They had bound them behind your back. Immediately you started to struggle, hoping to wiggle out of the restraints. To no avail though. Huffing out in frustration, you settled for looking around you and see if there was something you could use. That’s when you noticed him.

“Release me- this instant, or else-”

“Or what? You’re a Healer. Not exactly a violent job, is it?” Sturmhond interrupted you, a smirk on his face since he had the upper hand.

“I don’t need my powers to kick you in the ass, do I?” He laughed but didn’t look remotely threatened. Rather amused, actually.

“Please, you have to let me go. He’ll kill me if-” Panic started to build as you realized that there was no way you could successfully escape.

“He won’t touch you.” A solemn glow took over his eyes. “He won’t ever hurt you again, you have my word.” He promised, looking subtly at your left shoulder. You winced as you realized that he must have seen your scars. The ones left by the Darkling’s niche’voya.

“How can I know if you’re trustworthy? You don’t exactly have a good score, you know?”

“You’re going to find out soon enough. Don’t worry.”

Of course, he didn’t bother offering further explanations. He’d left it at that. You weren’t a captive per se but he left your hands bound, only freeing them when you needed to eat or relieve yourself.

Fruitless were your efforts in making you tell more. He often ate with you and would check in at least twice a day but that was it.

It wasn’t until after you had landed after that forsaken vehicle of his had gotten you through the Fold that you understood. His coming out as Nikolai Lanstov, prince and second in line for the Ravkan throne, had shaken you all to your core. However, you doubted that it had sent a pang to the others’ hearts as it did with yours.

Nikolai Lantsov. The man you had been dreaming about, the one that had left you behind without any sort of explanations, the one you missed so dearly, had been by your side all this time.

You weren’t sure how you felt. It made sense now why his eyes looked familiar and his posture. You then connected that the vehicle you had used in the Fold had been one of the many projects he used to geek about with you. It tasted a lot like betrayal. Not because he had lied to you about his name but because he had tried to get close to you again and had managed to somehow break that growing bond again.

'Cause I hear he's got his arm 'round a brand-new girl

I've been pickin' up my heart, he's been pickin' up her

So dignified in your well-pressed suit

So strategized, all the eyes on you

Oh, he's so smug, Mr. "Always wins"

So far above me in every sense

So far above feeling anything

Even if his secret had been outed thus causing some shift in the dynamics between Nikolai and the two new members of his crew - you suspected Mal was closer to punching him every second that passed- not much had changed for you.

On the outside, you pretty much looked like a prisoner. Albeit a very clean one. You rode with them, hands still bound, scowl ever-present on your face.

Nikolai had not come to see you ever since that night after the Fold. And now it had been almost a week since you had started your journey back to the capital. Whether this was all part of his plan to make you look the part of the captive even more or he was just gutless, you didn't know. It was working either way though.

You liked to think that his reason was simply that he didn't care. He had far too much on his plate right now as it was. Going back to court after years of absence while also making claims to the throne and trying to sway the Sun Summoner your way. It was no easy feat. But hadn't he always liked to say that impossible often meant improbable? A lot of things had changed since that night but even so, you'd still pose your bet on him that he'd be able to achieve anything he set his mind to.

It wasn't exactly that thinking this way brought you actual comfort. Of course, not. But it was better than foolishly hoping for him to still care about you the way you did for him. After all, he had sent plenty of signals that pointed in the other direction.

But then why did he kidnap you? Why take you with him? You weren't that close to the Darkling to be of any use to Nikolai in that way. And, as a matter of fact, no one had come to interrogate you regarding his plans or whereabouts. Then why?

You still couldn't figure it out.

Some days your anger shifted more to frustration and you were ounces away from asking for him yourself. Almost as if he had heard you though, he gave you the final push.

It was the usual day, Nikolai and Alina were riding in the carriage, stopping in every village we passed to meet with the locals. However, this time, before climbing back into the carriage, they kissed.

You were too far to figure out who started it and the details. The gist of it was enough though.

You most certainly were a fool. Still thinking about a guy who didn't give two shits about you, who had kidnapped you putting you in a dangerous situation and you were still wondering whether he felt something for you or not? Pathetic.

You had to do something about your situation and quickly too. Officially, you were a traitor. You had fled and joined the Darkling, that wouldn't make you look good in front of the king. He was a lousy bastard anyway and will probably sentence you to death to set an example. You hadn't survived so much shit to end up at the end of a rope.

So, even though you had initially thought against it since you were so close to home, you decided to escape. You were already headed towards certain death so what was the worst that could happen?

Your hands were left unbound when you were in your tent. One less problem to solve. Closing your eyes, you focused on listening for any nearby heartbeats. You heard two, those of the guards posted outside your tent. Maybe you could find an excuse to call them inside, put them to sleep and then slip away.

That was not exactly what your powers were for but you were desperate. You had to at least try.

And so you did. You called them in and immediately set out to slow their heartbeats. You had almost succeeded in putting them under when someone else slipped in. The last person you wanted to see.

"Am I that bad of a host?"

You didn't meet his ruse though, you knew it would make you lose focus.

"I'm afraid I have to ask you to release my soldiers." As soon as he said it though, they fell unconscious at last. Your chest was heaving by now, using so much power in such a different way was costing you. But you couldn't back down now. It was one on one and you were Grisha and a woman scorned. He stood no chance.

"Move out of my way, your highness."

"I'm afraid I can't do that."

"You can or I can make you. Your choice." The venom in your voice was unmistakable and it took him by surprise. He gave you a curious look tilting his head to the side like he was seeing you for the first time over again.

"I didn't realize ruthlessness was one of your personality traits."

"You know nothing about me," you seethed. The tip of your fingers flexed, the tension in the room could be cut with a knife and you were already weary.

"It may have been a while y/n, but I like to think I know a good deal about you."

"And I would like to completely erase this last year but you don't hear me yap about how shitty it has been, do you?"

"You never did like opening up much."

"I'm well past the point of sentimentalism, Nikolai. It is coming far too late anyway. And whatever my feelings for you may be, I won't let you put my life on the line." Your posture straightened, stance ready for battle.

His eyes flashed, jaw clenched. His hands closed in fists and he almost looked hurt. But why would he?

"Is that what you think all of this is?" Nikolai always acted aloof. He was always composed and dignified. You had thought it was for his insane amount of self-confidence but now you understood it was for how he was raised. But you recognised the pout on his lips. It was the expression he’d always have whenever he tried to get something from getting to him. To prevent himself from showing emotions.

"You're holding me captive while you go around Ravka parading your latest conquest, flashing your return everywhere. I don't know why you're doing this but I don't care. I've stopped waiting around for you and I certainly won't let your father put me to death."

"You think I'd let him?"

"So you want to do this?" you threw your hands up in exasperation, "Fine. You really want to know what I think?"

"Be my guest."

"I think that the Nikolai I knew would have left out of the blue without so much as a letter. I think that the Nikolai I knew was ready to go to any length to achieve what he believed in. However, I thought that the Nikolai I knew cared about me and what we had but look at me now. So maybe, I know nothing at all."

"You certainly do seem to know a lot of things. But you’re not wrong."

"If this is the way you care about me," I gesture to my tent, "then I'm not sure I want this Nikolai to care for me."

“This,” he said, emulating your gesture, “is to keep you safe. This is my way to ensure that if the Darkling got news of your whereabouts, he’d be sure not to think you willingly left his side and betrayed him.”

“That’s because I didn’t!” You raised your voice in outrage. The nerve of this man.

“Spare me your indignation. I know you hate being at his beck and call, to do his dirty work and be constantly surrounded by warfare.”

“Do not presume to speak for me.” You snapped. You knew it was best to keep a cool head but his cockiness was getting on your nerves.

“Didn’t you? Hate it, I mean.”

“We’re at war, Nikolai. Being away or close to the Darkling won’t change that. At least with him, I was safe.”

“You can’t be that delusional to think that he was protecting you.” He scoffed at your words as if they were the most absurd thing he had ever heard.

“And you can’t be that delusional to think that bringing me back won’t result in your father killing me.” You fired back shifting on your feet. He winced as if you had physically hurt him.

“You have so little faith in me?” His voice was just above a whisper and you knew that your words had struck a chord.

“How can I have any, Nikolai?” your voice softened a bit. “One day you’re telling me how much you value my opinion, you promise me a future where I’d be the first to see your project come to life and then you left. You just left, Nikolai.” And when I was starting to make my peace with it that’s when you come back? Also, let’s not forget about my abduction and your flirting with Alina.”

“So yes, I don’t trust you.” You concluded, crossing your arms on your chest with finality. He just stared at you for the longest time. If someone would come in now, they’d think you were in the middle of a staring contest. Then he sighed and started talking.

“I had to go away. I had already pushed my parents’ limits when I said I wanted to be part of the infantry. So, one day I got a letter written by my father personally and I knew that my time was up. I had been Nikolai for too long, now I had to start being a Lantsov prince.” His eyes were on the ground now, shame making her way in his words.

“So that’s what I did,” he went as he started pacing,”I went to Kerch to study, just like my father wanted. I did what he asked, he couldn’t reproach me anything now. I could never stay too still though, a life of adventure was calling me and I could not ignore it. It was only then that I realized that I could do so much more than sitting in a class, to realistically help Ravka.”

“I couldn’t take you with me. You had such a larger role to play in the army and besides, there wasn’t much I could offer you. So yes, I left. I left thinking that I would find my way back to you eventually.” He had stopped by now, regret was swirling in his shining orbs as he looked at you.

“You could have told me.” You contestated, taken back by all the information he gave you. “I would have waited for you.” A whispered promise for something that would never be now.

“I was afraid, y/n. That’s not my best moment, I know and no number of apologies could ever make it right. But I was afraid of your answer. I knew I’d be asking for a lot and let’s be honest-” the desperation in his tone was evident now, he had unconsciously started to lean towards you but you knew what he was about to say.

“You weren’t sure if the future you were offering me would just end up with me being your mistress, am I right?” Your tone hardened but despite the insulting implication of what you said, you weren’t made at him.

“I’m a prince, y/n. We do not marry for love and this country cannot afford to disregard the advantages that a political union could bring.”

His honesty was as refreshing as it was unsettling. He was right. As soon as you had learned he was a prince, you realized just what kind of future you could have with him. But then he left and that problem did not exist anymore. Neither of you spoke, both of you were seizing the other. You had laid it all out, defences were down putting you both in a vulnerable position.

And someday maybe you'll miss me

“You should have talked to me, Nikolai. We could have figured it out together. If it came to being your mistress to stay with you, then that was my decision to make.” You said softly after a while. It pained for you to say this, you would have never thought that getting closure would hurt this much.

Tears streamed on both of your faces, in front of you had been laid what your future could have looked like. It was everything you had wanted, you could still do your job and have the man of your dreams. You were surprised to find that you wouldn’t mind sharing him with his supposed wife. You had been at court for enough time to know how most marriages went. If he assured you it was only a diplomatic affair but that his heart was yours, that would have been enough. Who knows, maybe she’ll get a lover too.

But now… now you didn’t know if you could ignore everything that happened. You did not trust him nor could you ignore how hurt you were by his lack of communication and thus of trust in you.

But by then, you'll be Mr. "Too late"

[arty-shadow-morningstar]

A Failed Betrothal (4)

Am I doing this right? I mostly do write this when I am between the state of sleep and awareness. Hope you enjoy this.

[Masterlist]

(Part 1) (Part 3)

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PART 4

Marinette came to a dungeon cell with two other prisoners. One of them was awake and he looked vaguely familiar. The other had an ugly red helmet that didn’t help with the headache she had.

“Do you know where we are?” She asked the handsome stranger with beautiful green eyes, her throat a little dry.

Wait. Handsome?

No bad Marinette. Don’t fall for fellow prisoners, no matter how cute he looks. Oh Kwamis, she was already screwed.

He still hadn’t replied. Maybe he didn’t understand French. She tried to ask again in another language before her enhanced hearing picked up the sound of footsteps. She faked unconsciousness. Later, she heard the iron door open. She looked through the tiniest slits of her eyes she could muster while the two held a staring/glaring match. Oh shit, that’s the fame Talia Al Ghul, daughter of Ra’s, head of the League of Shadows, and the boy she was glaring at had some resemblance to her, so he must be her son, Dennis? Daniel? Damon?

"Damian, I hope you know what you should do."

Ohh..Damian. Where had she heard that name before?

"To be forcefully married to that little girl. She is no one special. Why am I getting married to her?"

Ouch, that hurts. Well, Damian, just because I forgot your name does not mean you can call me a little girl. I can also kill you very easily and painfully.

“Well, Jason, you are awake. You can be the best man for the wedding.”

“No. I don’t know what game you are playing but you better release us. B is gonna find us and you will pay. Let the girl go. She is innocent in all of this.” Red Helmet, Jason, is officially not going on her hit list for his atrocious fashion choices. But that red monstrosity still needs to go.

"Ladybug may not seem like it but she possesses great power that my father converted for centuries. Speaking of, she should be awake by now."

Marinette felt her hair being yanked. A little pain was expected but the really sharp claws digging into her scalp was not. Making her cry and tear up.

”I am so sorry, kit.” Plagg whispered in the kwami language, loosening his claws.

"Tch, See, she is more pathetic than I thought. She is not powerful." Damian growled out.

Geez, thanks for the compliment, it’s not like you ever had a tiny cat dig its claws into your scalp out of surprise. (Damian once had a kitten thrown at his head and if he knew about Plagg, he would have been sympathetic.) Marinette started begging for mercy, hoping they would buy the helpless girl out of the suit that is ill-suited for the job she had been chosen for and had no idea on how to escape.

“Like I thought, weak. She is not deserving of the title of my wife.”

Oh kwamis, what did she ever do to have such a picky groom? The more he insults her, the less she wants to be married to him.

"Appearance can be deceiving. Despite her demeanor, she is the current wielder of the Ladybug Miraculous and the Current Guardian. The old Guardian, the old fool had promised her in exchange for his protection."

Great, another reason to stop her mother from killing a senile old man.

"That doesn't mean I want to marry her. She is not worthy of an Al Ghul or a Wayne. Look at her, crying at the slightest feeling of pain."

So that’s where she heard it from. The boy was the son of the daughter of a guy who leads a secret order of assassins and a man that owns a multi-million business. How even did a billionaire meet an assassin, ends up in bed with her and lives? Something to think about for later. She quieted down her sobs, (beat that acting, Rossi) kept her voice low to hatch out a plan with Plagg in the kwami language while the mother-son duo bickered.

“Hey, Plagg before you go, you think I can do that thing, the one which your one of your past holders from Japan can do.”

“You have a lot of potential for destruction but you have not used the ring for a long time yet so I am not sure.”

“I will give it a go anyways. Nothing to lose after all. See you later, Plagg.” Marinette smiled, one that drove fear into the hearts of even the bravest of people. Plagg returned it, already loving the new Guardian before zipping out of the cell to do some scouting. Using the enhanced strength the French superheroine got from prolonged use of the Miraculous, she yanked the chains of the walls and wrapped them around Talia’s neck, cutting off her air supply.

The League of Assassins thought that they could kidnap her and get away with it. But they were no match for the daughter of Sabine Cheng, the deadly Blue Reaper. A high ranking member from the group of assassins and mercenaries called the Guild of Night, who had semi-retired. Kidnapping her was a bad move to make as it meant they had declared war on the Guild, despite the reason behind her abduction having a completely different intention.

She whispered as such to the older woman in her tight grip, making sure the League would know how much they had fucked up. After dropping the limp body, she took a deep breath and tried channeling some of her energy for what she was about to do.

Well, here goes nothing.

She breathed out on the shackles, turning it to rust.

Success!

She introduced herself as Lady and concentrated the energy from before into her hand, forming inky black orbs of destruction in order to free her fellow captives. She felt a little drained from doing magic out of the suit and tried not to show it. Plagg returned, informing her of where the Ra’s and the Pits were. She grinned at the thought of showing old Ra’s who the boss is and made sure he regretted ever messing with her. She explained about Plagg as vaguely as she can, no need to let anyone know about the miraculous than necessary. Sure her plan sounds insane but the boys don’t know who they were with.

She would worry about that curse after she got out of Nanda Parbat. Although she could probably find something in the grimoire to reverse it, she was still an amateur at magic so it was best to have a professional to take care of it. Marinette didn’t want to be with such an asshole, no matter how striking he looks in those regal robes.

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Picking off the League assassins, one by one was easy especially in her transformed state. She hadn’t appraised her suit properly but from what she had seen, it wasn’t like Chat Noir’s leather get-up. She was armoured in vital areas and her colour scheme was mainly black with green accents. There were vials that were probably poisons and pouches which she decided to look at later. She still had a long braid as a tail from her brief stint as Lady Noire and she wondered why her suit was different. While hiding in a niche she found, she called the bakery via the comm in one of her various pouches.

“Hello?”

“Papa, it’s me, Marinette. Do you know where Maman is?”

“She went out of Paris, talking about how this League must pay. I think she is meeting up with several of her old friends. Are you alright, my little blossom? I know you can take care of yourself but I worry.” The relief in Tom’s voice was palpable. However, she was right and the Guild was going to war against the League. Marinette was adored by nearly everyone in the Guild due to her strangely bubbly and cheery personality in the harsh and brutal lifestyle.

“I am fine, Papa. Did Maman use the Horse to leave? And how are my friends?” She knew they might be in a panic after her disappearance.

“I think she did. I didn’t see Kalki when I went to feed the kwamis. Your friends panicked when they found out you were kidnapped. But they are fine now, mostly worried about you. Took care of some akumas and senti monsters by themselves. I think your fencer friend, Kagami, knows more about the League than she lets on.” Of course, she does. Her mother was a member of the Guild before being blinded due to a mission. Kagami and her actually first met during a reunion party of sorts.

“Thank you, Papa. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

She hung up and dialed the personal phone number her mother uses that only Marinette and her father knows about. She waited for the call to connect, trying to think of ways to stop her mother from storming into the League’s base of operation.

“Maman, it’s me. I know you want to attack the League right this minute. But I have a better plan. Can you get Tikki’s earrings from Alix? We can use them and the ring to destroy the Lazarus Pits. Make them really angry.” She peeked out of the niche she was hiding in. She had been there for a while and needed to move to gain some grounds.

“Where are you? And are you okay?” Panic and worry filled her usually composed mother’s voice.

“I am somewhere in Nanda Parbat and I am fine. I was nearly married off to Talia’s son but I am not now. I think.” Marinette replied. Better to rip that band-aid off before she showed up with her would-have-been-husband. She jumped out of the niche and looked

“Kalki, Full Gallop. Okay, we will talk about the ‘nearly married’ part later. What was this plan to destroy the Lazarus Pits?” Sabine thought she was already used to Marinette’s brand of craziness that was her normal but apparently, not.

“I am currently on my way there. Plagg said we need Tikki to get rid of them. Since the League pissed me off and by extension you and the rest of the Guild, I thought our first move against them is to destroy the Pits and a trail of bodies. By the way, can you get some cheese for Plagg?” Marinette ran through the halls, knocking out some poor sod with a whack on the head.

Silence. She thought Sabine had hung up when-

“Voyage. Alix, where are you? We need Tikki for one of Marinette’s insane plans. And Marinette, stay safe, sweety, I’ll be there in 15 minutes.”

“Bye, Maman. See you there.”

Marinette turned another corner, the last one before the path that leads to the entrance where the Lazarus Pits were. She only managed to find it with Plagg’s voice in her head, whispering directions and Tikki’s luck. Unfortunately, the luck ran out because the entrance had a lot of guards who had spotted her.

Crap.

She hoped her mother would get here soon. Thankfully, being transformed gave her a boost and would help her to hold her ground for a while.

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Damian and Red Hood followed the trail of unconscious bodies and sounds of fights, trying to find Lady. Damian was impressed at the level of her skills to defeat many of the League’s assassins although he could probably do better. They relied on his memory to find the Lazarus Pits which was their best bet to finding her as she claimed to be able to destroy them. If Lady possessed such powers, they must find out whether she is a threat to the world or not. And also break the infernal curse they have.

Red Hood was silent mostly. He made a few jabs about how kick ass his ‘bride’ was and how the current Robin should not let her get away. Damian tried really hard not to just maim his adopted brother and also ignore that little fluttering in his chest that happened every time they saw an unconscious assassin left behind by Lady. The sounds of fighting got louder as they got nearer to the entrance. They turned the final corner to see Lady fighting against the guards who outnumbered her. But she seemed to be doing fine against them. Mostly.

One had slipped through her defenses and nearly stabbed her in the back if it weren’t for Damian grabbing one of Red Hood’s guns and shooting a rubber bullet to the neck. He jumped into the fight, grabbing the fallen assassin’s sword and taking out the knife he got from his mother. Jason joined in too, not going to let the two teens have all the fun.

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“Thanks for the save, Al Ghul but I don’t know why you bothered when me being dead would solve your curse problem.” Lady said as the guards laid around them and they tried to catch their breath.

“It’s Wayne. I go by Wayne these days. Being an Al Ghul is not something I learned to be proud of. And as much as I don’t want this curse, your death is not worth that price.” he replied, “Although, I have to wonder why you would choose to die rather than live.”

She chuckled, “Okay, Wayne, to answer your question. Petty teenage drama makes death much more preferable. On top of that, I have responsibilities that I was practically forced into for doing one little act of kindness.” Her tone was joking but there was a touch of bitterness in it. It made Damian want to find out what caused it. Red Hood looked at her in concern. Lady went down the stairs, ignoring their reactions to her words. They followed her, not wanting to lose sight of her again.

The Lazarus Pits emitted a green glow that lit up the cave and cast strange shadows on the walls. At the edge of the glowing toxic green waters was a woman in dark blue clothing and strangely enough wearing sunglasses. Strapped to her sides were two Dao, ancient Chinese swords. She wore a vindictive expression on her face as she stood staring at the green lake, likely to kill anyone who gets in her way. Damian didn’t recognize the woman as part of the League but taking no chances, he got into a fighting stance and Hood did the same. Lady calmly approached the woman. He reached out to grab her to stop her suicidal nature when she shocked him by speaking to the blue-clad assassin in French,

“Hey, Maman, sorry I am late. I had a little trouble with the guards upstairs. You have Tikki?”

Lady’s mother rushed to hug her, “灵儿 (líng er), I am just glad you are alright. I knew you could handle yourself.”

How the hell did Lady’s mother get to the Lazarus Pits faster than them and snuck past several vigilant guards? Before Damian could question further, a red blur appeared and went to Lady’s face, hugging her cheek. It appeared to be the same size as Plagg but was red, looked like a bug and had a black dot on its forehead.

“Oh, Marinette, you are alright. I was so worried when your mother showed up, saying you were kidnapped and needed my earrings to escape.” Unlike Plagg’s nasally voice, her voice was sweet and shrill.

So, my bride’s name is Marinette. Such a unique name for an intriguing girl.

Wait what?

Wayne, stop thinking such ridiculous notions. That is probably the curse working. Resist against it. He will not be ensnared in the traps of such magic. He hoped that the curse will be reversed before he turns and act like those fools in Grayson’s idiotic shows or Todd’s ‘secret’ romance novels.

“I am fine now. See,” reassured Lady, “We actually need you and Plagg to reverse the Lazarus Pits to what it was before someone made the wish that resulted in them in the first place. Oh, I almost forgot. Plagg, claws in.”

Green light flashed, leaving Lady in her wedding robes (which actually flatter her body. Shit. Think of something else. Drake with a smug superior smile that needs to be wiped off his face. Grayson and his plans for ‘family bonding’) and Plagg to reappear.

“Cheese.” whined the cat-like kwami(?) to which the older woman held out a brown bag that smelled and made Plagg perk up in delight. He proceeded to open the bag, taking out a slice of stinky cheese, muttering about the greatness of camembert.

Todd cleared his throat and asked in English, “Umm...Pixie as much as your reunion is touching. Who’s the new lady?”

“Oh Right, sorry. Well, Red Hood, this is my mother, the Blue Reaper of the Guild of Night. Maman, this is Red Hood and the one next to him is my husband-to-be and Talia’s Spawn, Damian Wayne.”

Lady introduced them, also in English. Damian stilled in fear, recognizing the name. The Blue Reaper nearly became his mother-in-law. She was famous for her efficiency and ruthlessness. And gained her nickname from the blue clothing she often wore as she killed her targets. His eyes also widened at how his grandfather had gone a little too far now by kidnapping the Reaper’s daughter. There were other organizations that could possibly take down the League if it weren’t for the somewhat truce between Ra’s and the other leaders. The Guild was one of them and having the Lazarus Pits to revive their soldiers made the League a little more powerful. But if what the mother-daughter duo were planning succeeded, then the League was going to have one of its most deadly wars in its history and would probably never recover from.

“Tikki, Plagg, you guys ready?” asked Lady.

“Yes, Guardian.” They both replied and emitted a blinding red and green light which Damian shielded his eyes from. When it died down, the Lazarus Pits no longer glowed a toxic green and looked… like normal hot spring water.

“Oh. I wished I could see Ra’s face when he finds out.” Lady laughed. Plagg and Todd joined in.

“Pixie, I am beginning to like you.”

“Voyage. That being said, it’s time to go home, Marinette. Your father must be worried sick about us by now. I hope you boys can find your own way back.” A portal opened up, showing a cozy living room. Damian grabbed Lady’s wrist as she moved towards it.

“Wait, let us come with you. We need to contact someone to get rid of the curse on both of us. And we can also call our father to send us tickets for a ride home wherever you live.”

“Curse? Marinette, you never mentioned a curse in your call.” Blue Reaper said, raising her eyebrow.

“I will explain later. They can come with us and I am pretty sure Ra’s knows that we have escaped by now.” Lady grabbed the two brothers and dragged them through the portal.

She then threw herself onto the couch after releasing her hold on them and the two pocket gods went to comfort her after her ordeal. The Blue Reaper stood where the other portal was and fed a floating tiny gray horse, that must be the same species as Tikki or Plagg, some sugarcubes.

“You boys must be tired but the showers are upstairs and we might have some clothes your size. Dinner will be ready in an hour. You can stay the night if you want. Welcome to Paris.”

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Tag list: @alysrose-starchild, @buginetye, @lookatthestars1, @blackroserelina, @macncheesemonster, @mochinek0, @myazael, @tonicxworld, @thewitchwhowaited, @t1dwarrior-of-earth, @kissa-chan, @iwantasecretidentity, @theymakeupfairies, @user00000003, @woe-is-me0, @kashlyn, @mochegato,@moonlightstar64 , @greatcatblaze, @moongoddesskiana, @tazanna-blythe. @tonicxworld, @toodaloo-kangaroo, @frieddonutsweets, @local-witch-of-mn, @lady-bee-fechin, @iglowinggemma28, @indecisive-mess-named-me, @k-tea-and-coffee, @jayjayspixiepop, @all-mights-asscheeks, @idk-j-go-with-it , @loysydark, @thenillabean, @lolieg, @zalladane, @silvergold-swirl

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(Part 5)

[forthetherapyy]

Fav Larry Fics I Read in March22

Hold on to Your Heart - falsegoodnight @falsegoodnight

The Proposal AU, where Louis is the no-nonsense editor in chief of one of the largest publishing houses in the country, and Harry is the unlucky assistant that gets roped into a fake engagement to prevent his boss from being deported. Things don't go as planned. 54k [I absolutely adore the movie and this was gorgeous, loved the dual pov too!!]

Babydoll Blues - devilinmybrain @thedevilinmybrain

Louis is a high profile, filthy rich label executive who has the world at his feet - a music god.. Harry is the sugar baby trying to make a name for himself singing in shady bars and hanging off the arm of Louis' biggest rival. What Louis wants, Louis gets. But what if the game gets too hot and hits a little too close to the heart? 111k [this felt like such a treat, it was very very hot and the characters were very emotive.]

It’s Golden, Like Daylight - wildestdreams @butyouneverdo

a College/ABO/Fake Relationship AU where longtime friends, Harry and Louis, come up with the perfect plan to fake date, which, of course, ends up being a complete disaster. 61k [It’s fake dating, what’s not to love?]

Beautiful War - itsmotivatingcara

Five years ago, Louis was nearly the next victim in a string of murders plaguing Portland, Oregon. He managed to escape and the Angel Killer was apprehended and sent to prison. Now, Louis' a best-selling author that assists state police with minor cases. He still suffers from the events of the days he'd been held hostage, but he's found ways to cope. That is, until the killings start up again. A body was found in the woods. A body that bared the same signature the media had dubbed: The Angel of Death. Special Agent Harry Styles leads the case, and he doesn't buy into the clairvoyant bullshit that Louis spewed to save face five years ago. He's certain that Louis Tomlinson was involved. Until they meet, and they're both left questioning everything they'd thought to be true. Or An FBI-Clairvoyant AU. 103k [My absolute favourite au; fbi/crime clairvoyant, I’m obsessed. it had everything i look for in a fic. the minute i finished this, i went straight to the author’s page and they do not disappoint!!]

Maybe You’ll Like the Way I Am - lululawrence @lululawrence

When Louis' alpha neighbor asks him to pretend to be his omega for a week, Louis immediately says no. He has too much he's dealing with on his own, and he swore to himself he'd never get that close to an alpha again. Unable to hold to that resolve once guilt sets in, Louis finds that maybe fumbling his way through a fake relationship for a week was exactly what he needed to finally be able to move on. 55k [the way they fell into a relationship felt so so natural, and i’m utterly in love with the characterizations.]

Into the Midnight Sun - summerwine

It's 1983, Harry embarks on his first world tour and Louis is a budding actor in LA. Life spent apart isn't easily adjustable, but somehow they make it work. 63k [i love this, it was soft and there was angst but also commuincation and it was really really brilliant.]

You Bring Me Home - Justalittlelouislove 

“Lou, I bet you are the most bravest boy in the whole town.” Louis can still hear his mama screaming for his daddy, and his arm still really hurts, but something about the way Harry says it makes everything feel a whole lot better. When Louis is nine years old, he earns himself a cast, three whole weeks grounded from tv (especially Superman), and an addiction to impressing Harry Styles. 15k [this fic!!! i love fics where they grow up together and this was soft even with the angst.]

Fireproof - Justalittlelouislove

After managing to survive everything Louis's thrown at him over the past decade, Harry thinks he's seen it all. That is until he comes home to a dragon egg in his living room. Together, Louis and Harry learn a little about co-parenting mythical creatures and a lot about themselves. 26k [witchy/magic chaotic louis!!! and exasperated, in-love harry!!! do i need to say any more?? also the artwork in this fic is too cute]

Come Away With Me - suspendrs @suspendrs-fics

Louis had such big plans. He wanted so much out of life, and so did Amy. Now Bridget is going to grow up without a mother, and she’s always going to wonder what it would be like if this hadn’t happened. He wonders if she’ll blame him for her mother’s death as she gets older, or if she’ll understand that this is just as painful for Louis as it is for her. Louis doesn’t know how he’s going to raise her on his own, because he’s a fantastic father, yes, but he’s always been the fun parent, and Amy was in charge of the rules. He doesn’t know how to make sure Bridget has everything she needs all the time, doesn’t know how to make her favorite meal or how to do that one braid she loves to have in her hair or how to teach her to be the best person she can be. He doesn’t know how to live without Amy, he doesn’t know what he’s going to do. Or, Louis has to pick up the pieces of his and his daughter's life after his wife dies, and Harry is a beautiful stranger that just wants to help. 80k [my heart hurt reading this beautiful fic]

What You’re Signing On For - abrighteryellow @a-brighter-yellow

Back at home in London after a whirlwind romance, Louis wants nothing more than to break ties completely with the sophisticated Frenchman who swept him off his feet. In order to do that, he needs the help of Harry Styles: former town bad boy and adopted brother of Louis' flatmate. An O.C. AU about flawed first impressions, the seductive power of French pastries, bad romance novelists, and getting on the same page. 29k [i never wanted this fic to end]

[cuquitalocita]

a new addition- rowaelin

AN: okay, a bunch of you guys asked for a part two to this fic so here it is! it’s longer than i meant for it to be and it’s not my favorite but i hope you guys like it- by the way the name eliora is not mine originally- i can’t remember who used it but it was not me so feel free to tag people if you know :)

part one

~~

“And then what?” Her voice was eager.

Aelin shrugged, her lips tilting up into a small smile as she gazed at the green eyes across from her. “Then he kissed me.” Being completely honest, Aelin could remember the kiss as if it was yesterday. Could still feel his hard body pressed against hers and the fading taste of alcohol on his lips. 

“Bullshit,” a voice scoffed from behind her. Aelin whirled to face the matching turquoise eyes and she arched a brow, causing him to visibly swallow. 

“Excuse you? As far as I recall, I don’t remember you being there.”

Her son shook his head, plopping down on the open area of the couch beside her and taking her feet into his lap. “I didn’t need to be,” he shrugged. “You and Dad tell the story often enough. Everyone knows that you-”

He was cut off as Eliora’s hand slapped over his mouth. “No spoiling, Sammy! I wanna hear the story!” Aelin laughed at her six-year-old and pulled her onto her lap, kissing her cheek as she did so. She gazed at Eliora for a moment; she truly was a beautiful child, even if Aelin was a little bias. 

“That’s right, Eliora,” Aelin grinned at her daughter. “And what did we say about spoiling?”

“Don’t do it,” she replied definitively with a firm shake of her head. Aelin couldn’t help but squeeze Eliora a bit tighter as she opened her mouth to continue the story. Her mouth closed as another body entered the living room. 

“What are we doing?” Nehemia asked, coming to sit by her twin on the couch. Shoulder to shoulder, Aelin’s eyes stared back at her. Sam rolled his eyes.

“Mama’s telling me a love story,” Eliora gushed to her sister, her green eyes alight with childlike excitement. “The greatest of all time!” 

Nehemia gazed at Eliora with pure love, even as she leaned over to whisper something in her brother’s ear. Aelin was just able to hear, “She’s telling it again, huh?” 

“I told you we should have gone to Aunt Lys’s house,” was her son’s muttered response. Nehemia snorted, leaning back over the couch until she was eye to eye with Eliora. 

“Greatest of all time, huh? Must be a good one.” Her eyes twinkled with a mischievous glint Aelin could only credit to herself. 

“It is,” Aelin finally cut in. “And if you would stop interrupting, I would be able to finish it.” 

The sixteen year-olds rolled their eyes, gazing at one another in a silent language only they could understand. But Aelin didn’t need to hear their dialogue to understand that they had heard the story enough times. But Aelin couldn’t help it. She just loved telling it. Gazing at the sparkling emerald on her finger, Aelin didn’t think she would ever get sick of telling it.

“So, as I was saying.” She bounced Eliora playfully in her lap until she giggled. “He kissed me and-” 

“Aelin Galathynius Whitethorn, you better not be telling my daughter that I kissed you at that party!” Aelin had been so absorbed in her kids that she had barely registered her hulking husband walking into the room. He stood at the door, arms crossed in front of his body as he glared at her, emerald eyes meeting turquoise in a clash of passion. Rowan was still in his work clothes, clearly having just arrived, and Aelin was really trying not to drool at how good he looked with his hair ruffled and his tie undone around his neck.

She threw up her hands with an exasperated sigh.

“Gods, what does a girl have to do to finish a story around here?” 

The floor of their living room creaked as Rowan came to sit beside Aelin and Sam on the couch, his gaze never leaving hers. Rowan leaned forward, catching Aelin’s lips with his for a quick kiss before settling back down on the couch. Nehemia immediately rested her head on her father’s shoulder and was rewarded with a warm kiss to the top of her head. 

Aelin gazed at them with fondness, love filling her heart. Until her husband’s gaze locked with her own once more, and Aelin smirked. 

“You cannot keep telling people that,” Rowan shook his head before turning to their youngest, taking her from Aelin’s lap and shooting his wife an exasperated look. “Eliora, do you remember what Mama and I told you about lying?”

From across from her, Aelin watched Sam snort. He swallowed as his gaze met hers, smile dropping. 

Eliora’s tiny eyebrows scrunched up at the top of her head, the look identical to one Aelin constantly saw on Rowan’s face. Finally, she shook her head, gazing up at her father. “It’s… wrong?”

“That’s right,” Rowan smiled down at her. “And we don’t do it. Even if Mama does.” He looked at the gape on his wife’s face before looking down at their daughter once more. “Especially if Mama does.” Aelin stuck her tongue out to her husband, who finally cracked a smile at her. This one sent warmth all the way down to her toes.

“Does this mean Mama can’t finish the story?” Eliora asked, her voice turning sad as she gazed between her family. Rowan laughed, bouncing her up and down before looking at the twins and back at Aelin, an unmistakable look of triumph in his eyes. 

“Oh, no no no,” he replied, grinning. “Daddy’s here now. And I’m gonna tell you what really happened. I didn’t want to be at that party, to begin with...” 

Aelin didn’t need him to, even if their kids did. She remembered everything about that night. Everything about the days and weeks following she didn’t think she would ever forget them until the day she died. It wasn’t every day you kissed the love of your life at a shitty fraternity rager.

~~

Rowan sat in the kitchen nursing his long since warmed beer. Shitty rap music blared through the speakers around him and it was then that he decided he was better off going back to his dorms before he did something he would regret. 

It had been an hour since the kiss. An hour until he had finally gotten to understand what the hype of kissing Aelin Galathynius was. She was a lot of things- but a bad kisser wasn’t one of them. Rowan had sworn to every god imaginable he could handle a kiss with the infuriating blonde. It was just a kiss, right? Just a game.

But her lips had touched his and Rowan knew something was very very different. He hadn’t been able to get the smell of lemon and verbatim out of his senses for the past hour and it was unlikely that he would stop imagining the kiss any time soon.

But it was just a kiss. He didn’t like Aelin Galathynius. 

She was annoying, and loud, obnoxious, and rude, and she lived to annoy him.

So why couldn’t he stop thinking of her? Even before the party, after their failed project, he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about those damn turquoise eyes. 

It wasn’t that he hated everything about her. No- he had noticed the kind voice she would take when talking to Lysandra’s little sister. And he would be a fool not to notice the special smile that lit up her face when she would play with her dog or talk about literature. No, he didn’t hate her. But whatever he did feel was proving to be extremely problematic. Because there was no way she felt the same way. 

Yes- it was definitely time to go home. 

Making his way out from behind the kitchen counter, Rowan made to leave the kitchen just as the door went flying open. The sound of laughter rang through the door and Rowan stared at the exact person he was hoping to be done with for the night.

“Not likely, Moonbeam,” she was saying with a shake of her head, even though a spark glimmered in her blue eyes. Rowan had to consciously check himself from staring for too long as Aelin realized who was standing in front of her.

Her hand flew to her chest with wide eyes. “Jesus, Rowan, you scared me!” 

Rowan thought it was the first time she had ever said his name. He quite liked the sound of it from her lips. 

He was staring again. Full-blown staring at the woman in front of him as he contemplated what to say or do. He was coming up blank. Every thought in his mind seemed to be screaming at him at once. Some saying to run- to flee and never come into contact with her again, others saying to grab her and kiss her. All of them agreed she looked breathtaking in front of him. Like a golden angle.

“Ditto, Galathynius,” he managed out, earning a frown from Aelin. The action brought his gaze to her lips and he quickly looked away. Aelin seemed to have changed as well. Gone was the snarky woman who had spilled her beer all over him, replaced with a beautiful woman who he might’ve been friends with in another life. 

“Hey, can we-” 

“You know you may want to switch to a different conditioner,” he cut her off, saying the first thing he could think of to leave the conversation. “Your hair’s a little dry.” 

Aelin gaped at him, her once lidded eyes turning cold and hard as she scoffed, shoving past him further into the kitchen. “Charming as ever, Whitethorn,” she sniped. “Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.” 

~~

Eliora clapped from her place on her father’s lap.

“It was true love’s kiss!” she cried, earning a laugh from her siblings and parents. It had definitely been something, that was for sure.

“I don’t know…” Aelin mused. “I thought true love’s kiss was reserved for princes, the bravest of them all.” Eliora frowned, as did the twins as their gazes switched to their father. 

“I am brave!” Rowan squawked, eyes narrowing. “What are you talking about, Aelin?”

“Why, my dear husband,” Aelin placed her hand on her chest, pretending to be affronted. “It seems you’ve forgotten what happened afterward.” Realization dawned on Rowan’s face before retreating back into a frown. He seemed to hold Eliora tighter as he glared at his wife. 

“I haven’t forgotten anything,” he muttered, voice low.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Sam interrupted his parents from his side of the couch. “What do you mean what happened afterward?” This was a part of the story that neither one of their teenagers had heard before. Whether they were too young to understand it, or it had never come up, the twins were now fully invested in the story. 

“Yeah,” Nehemia joined in. “You guys got together after the kiss at the party. That was it, right?” At their parents’ silence, the twins looked at each other before bolting upright in their seats. 

“Right?” they asked in unison. 

Rowan sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose between two fingers. It seemed it was time for a sequel to their family tale. 

~~

Rowan was sure there should be a ditch where his feet had paced through the grass in front of Aelin’s dorm. Cursing to whatever gods there were, Rowan forced his feet to stop moving. How was he supposed to apologize to Aelin if he couldn’t even stop pacing from the nervousness of just thinking about it?

It hadn’t taken long after Rowan had left the party for him to realize what an idiotic prick he had been. He had been tempted to drive over to her dorm right then and there and grovel for her forgiveness. But ultimately he had decided against it, choosing instead in favor of avoiding a hangover. 

But he was sober now, and an apology was necessary. More than necessary. 

He had apologized to people before. He had begged his professors for extensions and apologized after a falling out with an old friend. But he had never planned on asking out any of the people he had been apologizing to. Two days and Rowan had refused to talk about the kiss with anyone. To be honest, he had tried to forget about it himself.

But it seemed it was destined to never leave his mind for the rest of his existence. And as he played the kiss back in his mind, he couldn’t say he minded it. It had been a rude awakening to realize he may have had feelings for Aelin Galathynius. To go from loathing the girl in his chemistry class to suddenly picturing her face everywhere was a big change, and Rowan didn’t know what to do about it. 

Rowan wasn’t stupid. Aelin Galathynius was a beautiful person. Gorgeous looks aside, the woman had a pure heart of fire and gold. Of course, he had noticed this in sullen silence, but that wasn’t the point. He could acknowledge her wicked intelligence and her need to fight for something that was important to her. And he knew that she loved unconditionally. 

Whether he liked it or not, he had kissed Aelin back, and that had been all him. 

He wanted to do it again. 

“Fleetfoot, slow down! Hang on a second Lys- Fleetfoot, no!” Rowan whipped around as he heard Aelin’s voice come from behind him. Sure enough, the golden beauty walked along the sidewalk to her dorm, dog leash in hand. 

She was dressed in a university sweatshirt and leggings that showed off the curve of her legs, so much so that Rowan was forced to look away. Her phone was between her ear and shoulder as she spoke with who Rowan assumed to be Lysandra. He held back a smile as the massive golden retriever yanked her along the road, apparently following a particularly interesting squirrel. 

“I’m telling you, Lys,” she was saying as she came closer, clearly still not seeing him. “It’s not li-” Her feet came to a sudden stop and Rowan’s head snapped up to see her gaze was already on his, eyes wide. Aelin opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Rowan couldn’t find he had anything to say either. Her golden hair ran down her back and Rowan found himself fighting the urge to twirl a strand of it around his finger. She really was breathtaking. 

“Lys, I’ll call you back,” she said, eyes not leaving his as she took the phone from her shoulder and ended the call. “Rowan? What are you doing here?” 

It was his turn to struggle for words. How would he even bring it up? A week ago the two were on nothing more than insulting terms. She had infuriated him- had tried every nerve in his body and every bit of anger he had. But now… 

Aelin’s brows were raised in anticipation. Are you going to answer?

Rowan coughed, finally thrown out of his reverie. Who was he kidding? Aelin didn’t want to go on a date with him? Aelin didn’t want to go anywhere with him. And he couldn’t blame her. Rowan had been nothing but a prick to her since the moment they had met, and it was truly coming back to bite him in the ass. 

“Uh, Aedion told me he left something in Lys’s room.” The lie rolled off of his tongue easily enough, yet he hoped Aelin would be able to see through it. It seemed that she didn’t.

“Oh,” she said, understanding and almost shame clouding her words. “Right. What is it? Do you wanna come inside to find it?” Aelin’s dog sat obediently at her heels, looking between the two college kids in silent wonder. 

Yeah, dude, Rowan wanted to say. I don’ know what’s happening either.

“No,” he shook his head. “It’s Aedion’s problem. I just thought I could find it before class started but I think it’s too late. He’ll come around later for it.” 

“Right,” Aelin said doubtfully, crossing her arms in front of her body and looking at him.

“Right,” Rowan repeated back to her, causing Aelin to raise another brow. He wanted to push it back down. “Well, I’m gonna go- get to… class. So- bye Aelin.” He was gone before she could say anything else, giving her his back and practically sprinting back toward his side of campus. 

Rowan Whitethorn was an idiot. He knew it. But one look from Aelin and the cold fear that had rushed through his body had him wanting to curl up into a ball and never speak to her again. But he had to. Rowan would have to talk to her again if he was going to find out who was truly behind those stunning blue eyes.

But even at the thought of speaking to her again-

~~

“Hold on, hold on, I know where this is going,” Nehemia interrupted her father before he could continue his sentence. “You avoided her didn’t you?” As Rowan’s cheeks flamed, Sam sat upright in his seat, a shit-eating grin on his face. 

“No way. You avoided her?” Aelin cackled as Rowan grumbled something under his breath, earning herself another glare. Nonetheless, Aelin tucked herself under her husband’s arm, reaching up to plant a kiss on his cheek. He seemed to soften at the touch, green eyes meeting hers in a look so full of love Aelin thought she might explode. 

“Well, what is it, old man?” Sam prompted. Rowan scowled at his son and daughter, both of who looked ready to pass out from restrained laughter. 

“Only for a couple of weeks,” he muttered lowly. 

“A COUPLE OF WEEKS?” Sam exploded, his laughter finally ringing out through the house as he fell back into the couch, holding his stomach. Nehemia glared at her brother and poked him in the stomach. It didn’t seem to matter as Sam sat up, still grinning. “And you call me a coward for not asking Asterin Havilliard out.” 

“You are a coward for not asking Asterin Havilliard out,” Rowan shook his head, running a hand down his face. Nehemia nodded, offering her father a high five which he quickly returned. She was such a daddy’s girl. 

“It’s true honey,” Aelin cut in, even as her son glared at her. “Dorian knows she likes you.”

“The world knows she likes him,” Nehemia said, exasperated. “Now get back to the story. Mom,” she turned to Aelin. “Did you know Dad was lying about having places to be?”

Aelin snorted, running her hand through the hair at the nape of Rowan’s neck which seemed to be even redder than it had been moments before. “Of course I did. His excuse was that he had to go to class. It was Sunday.” 

It was Nehemia’s turn to crackle now and Rowan looked downright offended. It wasn’t often that his oldest daughter wasn’t on his side. Aelin leaned into Rowan’s shoulder, delight running through her body as he placed a chaste kiss on her temple. 

“You’ll pay for this,” he mumbled into her hair. 

Her eyes said it all. I’m looking forward to it, Buzzard. 

“What happened? What happened?” Eliora’s voice dragged Aelin back to the present. She was sure her youngest had no idea what was going on at this point in the story, but Rowan continued nonetheless. 

~~

It was three weeks before he saw her again. Three weeks of avoided group hangouts and staying in his dorm room during parties. Three weeks of taking a longer route than normal to all of his classes, and three weeks of wishing he could speak to the girl he couldn’t get out of his head. 

Rowan was sitting at a picnic table in the middle of one of the university quads, textbook open and highlighter in hand. He hadn’t actually understood any bit of what he had read, but at least it looked like he was doing something. And it seemed to be working pretty well for his other problem.

“Fleetfoot, get back here!” Or not. 

Rowan tried not to draw attention to himself as Aelin ran past his table, after the massive bundle of golden fur that was running away from her. He watched as she chased her dog around the quad, finally giving up as she layed on the ground, arms splayed wide. It wasn’t long before Fleetfoot was back and licking her face. 

He felt Aelin’s laugh all the way to his heart.

~~

“Ten bucks says he grows a pair and asks her out.” Sam had long since abandoned his spot on the couch in favor of sitting on the ground to watch his father intently as he told the story. He had muttered the words to his sister, whose feet were right by his head. She too was looking at her father intently.

“Twenty says he keeps ignoring her until happenstance pushes them together.” 

Rowan rolled his eyes at his children, even though the spark in his green eyes showed he was more than amused. “Your mother was right. It is impossible to finish a story in this house.” 

“Gods,” Sam said, shaking his head. “I can’t believe my dad was such a pus-”

“Let’s see how fast I can ground you,” Rowan cut him off with a stern look to the child in his arms who seemed to be on the verge of sleep. Sam smiled sheepishly.

“My bad.” 

“Will you shut up so he can finish the story?” Nehemia glared at her brother. 

~~

“Alright,” Aedion slammed his hand down on Rowan’s helmet, sending a large clattering sound through his head. Rowan scowled at his best friend, shoving him away. “What the fuck is going on between you and my cousin?” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Rowan turned back to his bag, shrugging off his helmet and shoving it into the massive pack before taking a sip of his water bottle, all while ignoring Aedion and those eyes that reminded him so much of the ones he truly wanted to see. 

“Don’t bullshit me, Rowan,” Aedion snapped at him, forcing Rowan to face him. “The two of you have been skirting around each other for the past three weeks and Aelin won’t even come to parties with us anymore so what. Happened.” 

Rowan stopped. Aelin hadn’t been going to parties? Had she been avoiding him as much as he had been avoiding her? He looked at his best friend and shrugged. 

“We kissed. During spin the bottle.” 

Aedion looked at him for what seemed like minutes before bursting into uncanny laughter. 

“Damn,” he wheezed out. “That’s it? Well, it’s about time.” 

“Excuse me?” Rowan growled, and Aedion stopped laughing. 

“You know what I mean, man. It’s about time. All those years when you two would look at each other and glance away before the other noticed. Or when you defend each other when the 

other isn’t there- yep, don’t think I didn’t notice that. I think we can all agree that it’s about time.” 

Rowan shook his head, incredulous. Other people had noticed that?

“No, Aedion,” he sighed. “Aelin hates me. She wants nothing to do with me.” Aedion stared at him again before, shaking his head.

“Ro, man, you are such an idiot sometimes.” 

“You know, Aedion. Saying cryptic shit and expecting other people to understand you doesn’t help anyone,” Rowan snapped, his patience thinning. Turning back to Aedion, he found his eyes glued on something behind him. 

Rowan’s heart stopped. There was no way.

But sure enough, Rowan turned around to meet the gaze of a gaping Aelin Galathynius. She held a tennis ball in one hand and Fleetfoot circled the ground at her feet. Clearly, the dog had chased the ball into their field and her owner had eventually followed. At the worst timing imaginable. 

“Aelin-” Rowan started, but she was already gone, whirling around and sprinting out of the stadium, the golden retriever at her heels. He didn’t think before following after her. “Aelin, wait!” he called after her, forcing his legs to go faster.

It turned out that Aelin Galathynius was quite fast when she wanted to be, and Rowan only caught up to her when she was standing in front of her dorm building. She didn’t need to turn around for Rowan to know she was fuming. 

“Gods, what do you want, Rowan?” she glared at him, her voice ice. “Haven’t you already proven your point?” Rowan wanted to grab her and shake her.

“Proven my- what? Aelin I-” 

“Look you made yourself very clear at the party, alright?” she snapped, turning away from him. But Rowan’s arm shot out, catching hers before she could leave and forcing her to look at him. “I get that Aedion can be nosy at times but you were so out of line, Whitethorn.” 

The confused look on his face must have been painfully obvious. Aelin rolled her eyes. “Look, if it was just an act to shut Aedion up, I-” 

Rowan kissed her.

This woman. This annoying, infuriating, intelligent, beautiful woman. She was absolutely astounding. And she thought he somehow hadn’t noticed that. 

Rowan wanted to remember the feeling of her lips on his for the rest of his life. Wanted to bottle the sound of the small gasp she released before melting into the kiss. He wanted to mold their bodies together until there was no room left. Rowan wanted to feel her soft hair between his fingers and the feeling of her hands in his hair until the day he died. He never wanted to let her go. 

This time when the two pulled back, Rowan kept her close to his body with an arm around her waist. Her arms were still around his neck and Aelin gazed at him through wide eyes. Before she could say anything, Rowan kissed her again, this time lingering. She kissed his smile with her own.

“It was never an act.”

~~

“Well it seems to me that Fleetfoot is the true heroine of the story,” Nehemia grinned, petting the head of her own puppy that sat at her feet next to Sam. “Without her, you two would never have met again. Oh, and I won, by the way Sammy. Pay up.”

“That’s my girl,” Rowan grinned, pride shone over his face at his daughter’s antics regardless of her win being at his expense. Sam practically growled as he handed his sister a twenty-dollar bill. 

“Oh, don’t be sad, Sammy,” Aelin comforted her son, holding her arms out until he rolled his eyes and walked over to give her a hug. “Ask out Asterin and your kids won’t do the same thing to you,” she whispered, earning a dark red blush on her son’s cheeks.

She shared a knowing look with Rowan, unable to resist reaching up and kissing his lips once more. Rowan returned it in kind, grinning when she nipped playfully at his bottom lip. 

“Boo!” Nehemia called from her spot on the couch as Sam yelled, “Get a room!” 

Aelin turned to Rowan once more, unsurprised to see his gaze already on her. “Remind me why we keep them?” Rowan’s laugh rang out loud as he pulled Aelin close to his body. Her head landed on his shoulder and she sighed in content.

“Because we’re cute,” Nehemia supplied. “At least, one of us is.” She gazed at her little sister who had long since fallen asleep on her father’s lap. 

It seemed that their entire reason for telling the story had fallen asleep long before her father had finished telling it. There was no doubt that Eliora wouldn’t remember any bit of the story when she woke up. 

“She’s too young to understand the story yet,” Nehemia said, brushing back a piece of her little sister’s hair with astounding gentleness. 

“So what do we tell her when she’s old enough?” Aelin asked, cherishing the kiss that Rowan placed on her head and unable to contain the insurmountable love in her heart as her kids responded. 

“Oh, Mom’s version, for sure. It’s way better.”

~~

taglist:

@story-scribbler​

@rowaelinismyotp​

@live-the-fangirl-life​

@claralady

@surielandiareendgame​

[fruitcoops]

Two of A Kind

I’ve been focusing on asks a lot lately because of everyone’s awesome ideas, but I saw a Cut video that was similar to this and just couldn’t resist. Hope you enjoy! Sweater Weather credit goes to @lumosinlove!

TW for mentions of sex and endless simping!

“Are you ready?” Marlene asks behind the camera. Kasey sits alone on a stool in the middle of the room, drumming his fingers on his knees.

“Yep. What am I doing again?”

The video cuts, revealing the same room, this time with James Potter on the stool. “You’re going to be answering a few questions,” Marlene explains. “And then we’re also going to be interviewing your wife and comparing your answers.”

“Oh, God,” James laughs. “Okay, hit me with your best shot.”

A title card appears on the screen. First Question: What was your first date?

Remus thinks for a moment. “Like, our first official date, or something that was definitely a date but we were both too dumb to notice?”

“Kasey took me to an ice rink,” Natalie says. She is inexplicably sitting on a folding chair rather than the stool. “We spent about three hours there, drinking cocoa and talking. It was a ton of fun!”

“Ice skating.” Kasey grins. “She told me she could skate, but she had never stepped on the ice in her life.”

“It was at Sid’s.” Sirius smiles to himself. “We had been together for about three months at that point.”

“Remus asked us to define ‘first date’,” Marlene says, sounding amused.

“Is there a different definition that I’m not aware of? We hung out at Sid’s a bunch before we actually got together, but those didn’t qualify as dates.” He pauses. “Looking back, they kind of were dates. We just didn’t know it.”

The video transitions to Lily and James, whose interviews are lined up side-by-side. “Lily took me to get ice cream after we went for a walk in the park,” James answers with a bright smile.

Lily laughs. “Our first date was a disaster. It was twenty-five degrees outside and we got ice cream. I think our brain freezes lasted about three straight minutes, but I had a great time.”

Second Question: When and where was your first kiss?

“Our first kiss happened on our first date,” Natalie says. “Kase caught me when I fell over and I just leaned right in.”

Kasey’s dopey smile makes his eyes crinkle. “At the ice rink. It felt like something out of a movie.”

Lily frowns in thought. “Oh, god, maybe our sixth date? He dropped me off at my apartment and kissed me goodnight.”

“I pulled a move straight from a John Hughes movie.” James grins and stretches his arms out. “Walked her to the door and everything. It was perfect.”

“Pascal Dumais’ basement,” Sirius says with a light laugh. “Which is a surprisingly romantic place.”

“It happened right after Sirius’ birthday party, which I was tricked into attending.” Remus gives the camera a mock-serious look. “Always be suspicious of Pascal Dumais. Always.”

Third Question: Who said ‘I love you’ first, and what was your reaction?

Sirius bites his lip. “I said it first, but only by two seconds. It was a long time coming, to be honest.”

“Sirius said it first.” Remus smiles at the memory. “We were both kind of wrecks at the time, but it was…amazing. I think I just cried harder and kissed him.”

Lily rolls her eyes fondly. “James said it first. We were both super drunk and he just blurted it out in the middle of the club.”

“She ran away!” James practically shouts as the video cuts to him. “I told her I loved her, she gave me this shocked look, and then disappeared! I get a text an hour later saying she caught a cab and went home, and she signs it with ‘love, Lily’. What the fuck was I supposed to do with that?”

Natalie coughs slightly. “Um, I don’t remember who said it first.”

Kasey grins at the camera. “Natalie said she didn’t remember,” Marlene calls.

“Oh, she remembers.”

Fourth Question: How’s your sex life? Anything you can do differently?

Sirius, who was taking a sip of water, chokes. “Excuse me?”

Remus is dead silent for a second, blinking at the camera in shock. “It’s, uh, good.”

“If we gave you some alcohol, would your answer change?” Marlene asks.

“Probably. Does anyone else feel like they’re suddenly in danger?”

“What sex life?” James snorts. “We have a baby. There is no time or energy for anything anymore.”

Lily raises an eyebrow. “You think I want him anywhere near me after I just shoved a baby out of my crotch?”

“It’s damn good.” Natalie winks, uncapping her own waterbottle. “Pro tip for anyone looking for a hockey boyfriend: go for the goalies. They’re flexible.”

Kasey is laughing into his hands when his interview appears. “She said that?” he manages. “Oh, Christ.”

Fifth Question: Do you dirty talk?

“Yes.” Kasey and Natalie say at the same time. James winks, and Lily shrugs with a sly smile.

Remus gives the camera crew a disbelieving look. “Are all the questions like this? Were we lulled into a false sense of security?”

“Answer the question, Loops!”

Remus sighs deeply. “On occasion, yes. I’m going to regret saying that.”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Sirius says, narrowing his eyes as he sets his water down.

Sixth Question: How well do you sleep?

“Not bad,” Remus says. “Better than I used to, that’s for sure.”

“I don’t sleep,” Lily scoffs. James just looks at the camera and wordlessly gestures to the shadows under his eyes.

“Pretty well,” Natalie muses, slinging one arm around the back of her folding chair.

Sirius nods. “I’d say I sleep well most nights. It’s more comfortable with another person, which was surprising.”

Seventh Question: Why do you feel obligated to share a bed?

“Obligated?” Sirius and Remus say with matching tones of incredulity.

Lily’s smile becomes softer. “I really like sharing a bed. It makes me feel safe.”

“Oh, I love sleeping next to Lily.” James’ gaze turns dreamy. “She smells nice, she’s so warm, and sharing a bed makes childcare much easier when the other person is within reach.”

“You can’t tell her I said this, okay?” Kasey looks around at the camera crew before answering, and his cheeks turn light pink. “Nat’s side of the bed faces east, so if I get up for practice and the sun is rising, she glows a little bit. I dunno, I like it.”

“Kasey is really warm and cuddly.” Natalie says after a moment of thought. “He’s like my own personal heater and I’m never cold if he’s there. Don’t tell him I said that.”

Remus bites his lip before speaking. “I’m not much of a cuddler, but I sleep better next to Sirius than I ever have before. It’s incredible.”

Sirius cocks his head to the side with a smile. “Hmm. Having someone there to hold, especially someone I care about so much, is the best feeling. If I ever wake up in the middle of the night, he’s just…always there.” He half-shrugs. “It’s sappy, but it’s true.”

Eighth Question: Rate your attractiveness on a scale of 1-10

“Eleven,” Lily and Natalie say in unison, as if it’s obvious.

“I’m going with a solid six,” Remus decides after a moment’s deliberation.

“Eight, maybe?” Kasey answers.

Sirius makes a face. “Six? Seven?”

James is mid-laugh when the video cuts to him. “Um, seven. Lily and I have talked about this before and I got in trouble for saying ten, that’s why I’m laughing. Sorry.”

Ninth Question: Rate your partner’s attractiveness on a scale of 1-10

Not a single one hesitates. “Ten.”

“Remus said he was a solid six,” Marlene says as the camera focuses on Sirius.

His eyebrows shoot up. “What? Where is he? Re!”

“What?” a distant voice shouts back.

“You’re a ten!”

“On what scale?”

“Nat said eleven, didn’t she?” Kasey asks with a grin as the clip changes. “I love it when she does that.”

Final Question: What animal is your partner and why? Give three reasons.

Lily gives Marlene a hard look. “Marley, I love you, but what I say right now needs to stay confidential from my husband.”

Sirius laughs quietly. “Oh, he’s going to hate me for this.”

“Lily is a lioness,” James says immediately. “She’s strong, fierce, and unbelievably brave.”

Natalie tilts her head. “Good question. I’m going to go with a bear, since he’s got a big, tough reputation but he’s all soft inside. He’s a pretty solid guy, too, and he likes cold weather.”

“Nat is one of those really colorful birds,” Kasey says. “The ones with big personalities and the pretty feathers.”

“James is a lion.” Lily thinks for a moment longer. “It’s not just that he plays for the Lions, but he really is one of the bravest people I know. He’s protective of his family and cares a lot about keeping everyone together.”

Remus grins at the camera. “Sirius is a dog, and I will happily tell you why. Number one: he loves going for walks. Number two: he is endlessly loyal to the people he cares for. Number three: peanut butter.”

“So, Re is either a cat or a dog, and I really can’t choose.” Sirius’ eyebrows draw together in thought.

“You can choose both if you have reasons,” Marlene calls behind the camera.

“Really? Alright, he’s a dog because he’s friendly, loyal, and brings people trinkets as gifts. Um, I don’t have a legitimate reason for the cat one, but do any of you know that one vine with the cat that’s being dragged around on a leash?”

The camera crew bursts out laughing, and a small picture of the cat appears in the upper left of the screen.

“Anyone who has tried to pick Remus up knows that he looks exactly like that. Goes completely limp, it’s the funniest fucking thing.”

The video cuts to Remus, who raises his eyebrows. “He said what?”

The title card appears and Marlene’s voiceover begins. “Thanks for watching, Lions! Special thanks to Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, James and Lily Potter, Natalie Darcy, and Kasey Winter for being with us today. Like and subscribe for more!”

[zafirosreverie]

I, mistress of the night (Agatha x reader)

a/n: Idea and dialogues taken from "Yo, dueña de la noche" by Pimpinela

Warnings: Dark!Agatha (kind of), cheating mentions, jealously (the bad kind, not the cute kind), angst, murder and hinted suicide. Kind of happy-ish ending? I don't know, you tell me.

Agatha sighed happily when she felt your arms around her as you pulled her closer so that her back pressed against your chest. She felt your tender kiss on her temple and she felt the luckiest woman in the world.

It was not uncommon for her to have nightmares, she had had them since her trial in Salem, and even though she tried for years to get rid of them, they always came back. But you, so tiny, tender, loving and so ... mortal, had been able to fight them in a way that she never could.

Always, every night. You arrived, she slept and in silence you approached her, you took her in your arms and when she felt your body, little by little she woke up and her fear faded away. It was a dance that she had become so used to that she could no longer sleep without you.

She smiled to herself when you whispered the words that she already knew by heart but that always soothed her.

"It’s ok, love, it’s ok. Sleep, it's me, I’m here" you said, with all the love you had for her.

And she believed you.

____________

Until one day she unintentionally discovered that it was all a lie.

Agatha felt her blood boil as she stared out the kitchen window. You told her that you would go to Wanda's house to help her with some things. You didn’t give her more details, but she trusted you, so she just nodded and she kissed you goodbye.

Yet there you were, standing on Wanda's porch, chatting and laughing with her as if you were the only people in the world and nothing else mattered.

The woman squeezed the glass she was holding, while her other hand gripped the sink tightly. She could feel purple creeping into her vision. Wanda took your hand and smiled at you with complicity, before pulling you inside the house and closing the door behind you.

Agatha didn't even feel the pieces of glass in her skin as the glass broke from the pressure.

__________

She didn't want to mistrust you, she really didn't want to. She knew you loved her, you had told her, you had sworn it! But you were so tender and kind, you had so much love to give. Maybe more than she could receive, maybe you loved too much for just one person.

__________

Throughout the week, Agatha paid attention to everything you did. In the mornings, you snuggled with her for a while, gave her a kiss on her temple, and then went downstairs to make her breakfast. Then you went with Vision to work, to keep him entertained so she could study Wanda. You would leave Vision at the club with the other men in town and go home, eat with her, give her a quick kiss and say goodbye to go to Wanda's house.

You had told her that it was so that the other witch would not suspect anything, that it would be weird if only one of you became friends with Wanda. But when you came back at night, telling her about your afternoon with the other woman, Agatha couldn't help but wonder if, perhaps, you weren't just friends.

But she didn't tell you anything. Because at night, you always came back to her, hugged her from behind, kissed her and whispered again what she needed to hear so badly.

"It’s ok, love, It’s ok. Sleep, it's me, I’m here"

But then, one night, you came back still smelling like the younger woman's perfume, and that broke Agatha's heart. She had confirmed what she most feared. She was losing you.

Those caresses weren't just hers, nor the words you always said.

She owned the night, but Wanda owned the day.

And all the time you never gave her, all that time you laughed at her. She was the owner of your night, but not of your life.

It was all a lie.

____________

Everything had already changed, although you didn't know it. She tried to forget, but it was useless, she couldn't. So deep and so big was the love that she held for you, that she couldn’t get used to knowing that you were cheating on her.

That night, Agatha went to bed earlier, with a broken heart, her blood boiling and a hard decision that she had to make. Weeks had passed, and each time, it was more obvious what was happening, you were no longer even hiding it.

You went shopping with Wanda, you spent the whole day with her, you came home late, you only left her the breakfast and meals ready, because you didn't even stay to eat with her. And Wanda wasn't subtle either.

While you were at work with Vision, the redhead kept asking about her relationship with you. In another time, she would have dismissed it as normal, something friends were supposed to ask about. But now, she couldn't help but think that she just wanted a better view to make her attack. She wanted to know what you liked, to give you something better. She wanted to know Agatha's mistakes so she could use them against her and finally have you for herself.

But she was wrong if she thought the older woman would give up easily.

____________

Like every night, you came, but this time, Agatha was not sleeping. In silence she was waiting for you, and when you approached to hug her, the witch let the purple smoke slide down the tips of her fingers, she turned around in your arms and gave you a kiss. She felt you smile against her lips and for a moment, she regretted it and hated herself when she felt you gasp and tense in her arms. But it was something she had to do.

She loved you, maybe too much. And she couldn't bear the thought of knowing that you would leave her for someone younger, so she made sure you didn't.

She looked at you with tears rolling down her cheeks, watching your eyes turn purple for a moment before you closed them. Agatha sobbed as she kissed your head. Her hand was still buried in your chest, the magic pulses kept pushing against you, even when your heart was no longer beating.

She ended your life right there.

__________

Agatha pressed against the door of her room. She has been there since that night. She hadn't stopped crying since she turned your body to ashes, nor had she left her room, hugging the pillow that still smelled like you.

And they came looking for her. Wanda and Vision, Geraldine, even Dottie stood on her porch, but she didn't open to anyone, no matter how hard they insisted. The only time she had talked to them, she hadn't even opened the door. She had simply told them that you were gone, that you had fought and broken up, and that she needed time to be alone.

Agatha didn't see the confusion on Wanda's face on the other side of the door.

_________

She no longer saw the difference between a day and a month, she didn’t know if she had killed you a week ago or a year ago, but the woman did know that she preferred the day, no matter what date it was.

The witch feared the nights more than anything, because that was when you would come.

At night when she went to bed, she could still hear you, whispering the same words, with the same love that she remembered.

"It’s ok, love, It’s ok. Sleep, it's me, I’m here"

And she laughed.

Because in the end she unintentionally discovered that you were not lying to her.

__________

On one of Wanda's "visits" (they couldn't really be called visits, not when Agatha didn't even open the door), when the older witch was desperate and her magic was all around the house, she had unintentionally read the redhead’s mind.

She didn't care if Wanda had felt her or not. The only thing that mattered to her was what she had seen.

She saw you, she saw all those visits to the Maximoff house, she saw you asking the redhead for help, help planning something big, something special, something for her. You had spent weeks going back and forth to the neighbors' house, because Wanda was helping you plan how to propose to Agatha.

And she had murdered you.

Those caresses were only hers. It was all the invention of her fantasies. Agatha was the owner of your life but you no longer lived.

So she left. She left to look for you at the same time that she had murdered you, in the night,  to be together like the first day.

The witch dropped to her knees, feeling her magic rush out of her with a powerful explosion.

____________

The people of Westview awoke from both their sleep and Wanda's spell when a powerful blast of purple energy engulfed the entire town.

When the bravest approached the source of the magic, only the burning remains of a house were there, with no trace of the kind Agnes or the dangerous Agatha.

____________

Agatha blinked and turned as she felt a painfully familiar presence behind her. You smiled at her and hugged her, kissing her temple and whispering.

"It’s ok, love, It’s ok. I’m here".