#embers and caffeine

[chromoluminary]

very tired of always feeling tired tbh

[faydingrain]

Also, yo I swear I am working on Embers. There has just been...a lot going on. I'm trying to market my book and work on stuff for that too, but also, I've been in two different, extremely toxic work environments over the past 4-5 months that has been taking a toll on my mental health finally. And despite the most recent bullshit I've had to wade through, I did just get straight-up fired from my job this week, and I've barely gotten out of bed because all of this has finally come crashing down on me.

So like...I swear the next chapter is coming. It just might be a little longer until it's posted.

[embers-burning-bright]

overcaffinated today for the first time in months, years even lol. whoops

[pretzel-box]

Heya! It’s me again, so I was playing pressure with a friend to yap about the lore going on there and showed them that you can die to Sebastian and was reading my death file when I saw that the recover or rescue team came by to pick up our bodies (my friend died as well to get the badge LOL) So being a person who runs on caffeine and 4 hours of sleep, How about a Experiment reader (Anytype of monster and gender) gets caught by the recovery team, gets experimented on again so they’re pretty much brainwashed to take out Sebastian and/or get the crystal? Angst ending or Fluff ending is fine! You might be hearing me yap about the lore LOL

🍀

Tags: GN!reader, mentions of experiments and drugs, Reader is brainwashed against their will.

Words: 1,1k

The facility's cold walls pressed in on you, the sterile air thick with the metallic scent of blood and chemicals. Your last memory before this suffocating darkness was of Sebastian. His face, twisted with anger—or was it sorrow?—was the last thing you saw before everything went black and your mind shut off completely.

But now, your body aches. Something had changed, yet you failed to pinpoint it directly. Based on your view, you were in a pristine lab again, hooked up to machines, wires connected to your arms and chest, pumping something into you—something that made your mind foggy and distant, as if it didn’t belong to you anymore. The recovery team had found you, and instead of rescuing you, they brought you back into the nightmare you had once escaped as if your life was a tape that ran on repeat. It all felt so sickening familiar and at the same time so strangely because of the mysterious medication they gave you.

You tried to focus, but your thoughts slipped like clear water through your fingers. Every time you tried to grasp at a memory, it flickered out of reach. A dull pain echoed in your skull, reminding you that they had been tinkering with your mind—reshaping it, rewiring it. Urbanshade was doing what they did best: using you, turning you into something else. Something that isn't supposed to exist.

They had injected you with something, a serum meant to restrict your personality, to make you loyal, silent, more compliant. But the worst part wasn’t that type of change—it was the mental fog they forced upon you. They weren’t just changing a piece of your personality. They were changing your mind. Slowly, you could feel yourself slipping away, the edges of your personality dissolving into something more mechanical, more obedient. You were becoming their weapon, molded for a single purpose.

And that purpose? Sebastian.

“Target: Sebastian Solace. Mission: Retrieve the crystal. Kill on sight.” The robotic voice from the intercom echoed in your mind, a constant reminder of your new objective. It wasn’t you, but it felt like it was. The brainwashing had worked, at least partially. You wanted to resist, but every time you tried, pain shot through your head, and the objective reasserted itself like a brick wall blocking your escape.

They had turned you into a weapon to take him down.

Days, maybe weeks, passed as you walked through the hallways of the blackside, sharpening your new instincts, your new state of mind. Each mission drilled into your mind left you more detached, more focused. Every muscle in your body responded to their commands, every thought sharpened to fulfill the one goal: track Sebastian, retrieve the crystal. It was all you knew anymore.

But deep down, something still clung to life inside you, like a flickering ember of who you used to be. The memories of Sebastian—his voice, his calm determination, and the fleeting moments of connection you shared before it all went wrong. You weren’t sure if it was guilt or something else, but it kept gnawing at the corners of your brain, threatening to tear down the programming.

And then, finally, the day came. You met again.

The facility’s doors slid open, and you stepped out, breathing in the fresh, crisp air that felt almost foreign now. The world outside had moved on while you were trapped in Urbanshade’s clutches, but for you, time had frozen. Your eyes scanned the horizon, senses on high alert as you tried to track Sebastian down as best as you could without any helping tools. He wasn’t far. The crystal wasn’t far.

Your body moved like a predator, silent and swift through the shadows as you made your way to his hideout that served as a small shop. Urbanshade’s command echoed louder with every step: Kill on sight. The words pulsed like a heartbeat in your skull, tightening their grip on your mind.

And there he was—Sebastian. His tall, lean figure stood in the dim light of the facility’s lower levels, his back turned to you. He didn’t see you yet. You could feel the crystal’s energy pulsing from somewhere nearby as well, drawing you in like a beacon.

Your muscles tensed, ready to strike.

But then, something in you cracked. That flicker of memory, the ember of who you once were, flared up. Images flashed before your eyes—Sebastian smirking at you in some shared moment, his voice calming the chaos around you, his hand brushing yours in quiet moments that neither of you acknowledged aloud. The mission screamed in your head, demanding you act, but your heart thudded louder, pushing back. You fought the control, teeth gritted, hands shaking.

“Don’t do this.” It wasn’t your voice, but it was a part of you. The real you.

Sebastian turned, his eyes locking onto yours in an instant. For a moment, surprise flickered across his face, quickly replaced by something darker—recognition. He knew what you were here for.

“Of course,” he muttered, his voice cold, though his eyes softened for a split second as they traced your form. “They got you, too.”

You stood frozen, torn between your orders and the memories fighting to resurface. The sharp edge of the mission still lingered in your mind, urging you to finish it.

But the way he looked at you—so familiar, so human—made it hard to move. This was Sebastian. Not just the target, not just the mission. He was something else to you, something more. And Urbanshade couldn’t take that away, not completely.

“Are you really gonna go through with it?” His voice broke through your haze, slicing through the confusion in your mind. “After everything?”

Your hands trembled. You were so close. The crystal was there. The mission screamed for completion.

But you dropped your weapon.

Sebastian didn’t move, didn’t rush to you, just watched as you struggled, the conflict playing out on your face. For a moment, you were sure the pain would split your mind in two, the commands so deeply embedded that disobeying felt like tearing yourself apart.

Finally, you spoke, your voice strained. “I… I can’t.”

Sebastian’s eyes softened, though his posture remained guarded. “Then don’t.”

There was a silence, heavy with tension and something unspoken. You had disobeyed. You had failed the mission, but it didn’t feel like failure. It felt like freedom, even if just for a moment.

The pain in your head began to recede, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, you felt like yourself again.

But you knew it wouldn’t last. They would come for you. They would fix you, break you down, rebuild you into their weapon again.

Sebastian seemed to sense it too. He stepped closer, his hand brushing yours for the briefest moment. “We’ll figure this out,” he said, voice low. “But we have to go.”

You nodded, though a part of you knew there might not be a way out. But for now, you had one thing—Sebastian—and that was enough.

As you turned to leave, a weight lifted from your chest.

[riaki]

a spritz of peppermint | megumi fushiguro x reader

pt.6 of christmas event! cw: petnames i think idk, not proofread, there’s probably other stuff i’m missing but wtv happy birthday the prettiest king pls come back the food is cold

today is a very special day.

megumi notices that you rise early— mostly because when he wakes up in the morning, rubbing his sleep-heavy eyes groggily with a groan, he notices you’re not there. he rolls over, and smacks his face into cold sheets, devoid of your heat.

it pisses him off. so he starts his special day out as a grouch.

when he eventually crawls out of bed and makes his way into the kitchen after pulling on some sweats, though— he stops just short of the threshold to that sweet smelling cozy haven you love to spend your time in. the scent of pine needles and fresh chocolate orange wafts across the space, warm and welcoming and awfully wintery. he’s impartial to the cold— but he likes seeing your nose get red, so he guesses that’s one point positive.

“megumi?” your soft voice drifts across the open space, and the frost around his grumpy heart melts just a little; a crack in the frozen surface of the lake.

he reluctantly emerges from the shadow of the hallway, past the bundle of mistletoe hanging from the ceiling. the thought causes a memory to flash across his mind— your sweet smile and your prettier laugh; a distinct feeling of fuzzy warmth like a knitted sweater spreading across his cheeks when you pulled him close by the sleeve of his shirt and leaned in—

he shakes his head, trying to dash the stray thought. he’s supposed to be mad. it has no right to be there.

“why’d you get up so early?” he sighs heavily as he joins you at your side, scratching the back of his neck and running a hand through his unruly hair. you smiled sheepishly, turning to face him and you wrap your arms around his middle, squeezing lightly as a silent apology. he takes it with a grumble, snaking his arms around your waist and resting his face in your hair to bask in the scent of home before pulling away.

“it’s a secret.” you grinned, and he glares down at you, clicking his teeth in annoyance. you just laugh like the angel you are, leaving no room for guilt. you’re wearing one of his sweaters; you smell like him, and he supposes it makes up for the way you ditched him this morning.

“i expect compensation.” he grumbles, leaning against the counter as he watches you move about the kitchen, pale winter sunlight painting you like an ethereal dancer beneath the surface of misty lake water, crystal clear in your beauty. it’s mesmerizing.

you laughed, and his teeth dig into his bottom lip. “what, missed me? were you feeling lonely, gumi?” you smiled.

he just shoots you a piercing glare, the color of icicles in his eyes, but the warmth of your grin melts it away. you spend the next few moments in a comfortable silence, preparing a french toast topped with sweet berries and powdered sugar that looks so soft megumi could probably sink into it, until your lovely voice breaks the crisp morning silence.

“want black coffee?”

…

that’s weird. he never hesitates. and you know he takes his coffee black; of course you do. not because he wants to look cool, or look suave in another person’s eyes… well, except for you, of course. but not in the area of caffeine doses. and to be perfectly clear, all he needs is a dose of you to get him going.

he clears his throat. “can you make me hot chocolate?”

you pause, and he almost wants to bite his tongue off. why is he so embarrassed? but you just chuckle, like morning bird song across fresh dew on the grass.

“switching it up, huh? that’s cute.” you hum, and his face burns hot like embers in a brick fireplace. he coughs, throat scratchy like the pricks of a pinecone— but you make no note of it, simply going about your day.

he’s content to watch as you fish around in the rum-colored cabinets, pulling out a crinkly bag of cocoa powder. you put him on milk microwaving duty and he busies himself, lithe pale fingers unscrewing the carton of milk and pouring it into his favorite little painted dog mug. you were the one who’d made it; that silly little ceramics class you insisted on taking clearly didn’t help you too much in the way of smoothing down the bumps and blotches on the mug, but it holds your fingerprint, so he might as well memorize the shape of your hands when you’re not there.

megumi’s snapped back to reality when you grab a candy cane from the mini tree you decorated together sitting on the kitchen counter, smashing it up in the wrappings to mix the pepperminty dust with the cocoa powder. he eyes the pile of holiday drug warily as he brings the steaming mug over, placing it before you and leaning against the counter again to watch you work your mystery magic.

“that looks like brown cocai—”

“shh, megumi. keep your pretty mouth shut, please.”

he’s about to butt in again, lips parted before he presses them together irritatedly and resigns to sulk in silence.

you pour the hot chocolate mix into the milk, swishing it together as it forms a pretty spiral of cocoa; the color of dark chai and chocolate tart. he’s content to watch in silence, humming some christmas carol he’d overheard you listening to one gray afternoon— until he realizes you’re opening a bag of those sickeningly sweet and fluffy marshmallows he’d bought you on a whim. he only did it because his mentor told him they made the best gifts, but he’s beginning to realize it was the sweet tooth talking.

“hey— wait… are you going to put those in there, pretty?” he asks, putting a gentle hand on your wrist to stop you from vigorously emptying the bag into his poor victimized hot chocolate mug.

you glance up at him and flash a toothy grin, giving him one of those looks that makes his heart skip a beat. “trust me, gumi! you’re gonna love it.” you laughed, shrugging his hand off, and his lips curve downward. less because of the marshmallows that are toppling into his mug with a splash and more so because you freed yourself from his grasp.

obviously, you notice— your eyebrows knit together, a pinch of guilt weighing upon them like the snow on the streets outside. but it’s wiped away as quickly as it comes; before he knows it, you’re walking away with a bounce in your step, disappearing behind the counter before re-emerging with something behind your back.

“don’t look so sad, gumi. here,” you say, the cadence of your voice as soft and playful as he ever remembers it being when you pull a bunch of roses from behind your back. the bouquet is small and there’s dirt clinging to the stems— but his heart melts at the thought that you hand-picked them, prickly thorns and all, for him. “happy birthday,” you whispered, and his walls break.

“you’re not so different from them, you know.” you hummed, smiling as he takes them from you and gives you an inquisitive, quiet look. “you might be a little prickly on the outside, but you’re just as beautiful. you just have to look a little past the thorns.”

he feels his face flush; at this point, it’s probably as red as the stray candy cane shavings melting in his mug and the vibrant petals of the roses. he splutters and mumbles something annoyed under his breath, but he’s sure you can hear the undercurrent of fondness and affection weaves into each syllable like the beats of his heart, where you’re so close to. megumi thinks you might’ve just cut him open and made a home in his ribcage.

the bunch of handpicked roses for his special day sit on the marble counter dusted with cocoa powder and candy cane shavings, marshmallows bobbing at the surface of his hot chocolate like apples in a bucket as he wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you in to press his lips insistently to yours, slow and tender like the way he always loves you. his hands curl around your sides, as if to ground you there; freeze the time in this bubble of warmth, forgetting the chill outside to warm his hands on your skin. you’re so little in his arms; he wants to hold you and never let you go, to keep you under his tree and have you make hot chocolate for him instead of black coffee every morning he wakes up, because it’s fine if you’re not there in bed— as long as you’re waiting for him with open arms elsewhere.

and when he kisses you, he realizes he might not need his hot cocoa to warm his stomach— your lips are as soft and pillowy sweet as the marshmallows melting in his mug, filled with steaming hot cocoa and all the love he could ever wrap his heart in this cozy winter; his christmas gift to you.

he’s grateful today is a special day, if only because of you and his sweet little painted dog mug filled with your heartwarming love.

stop this was so close to being late my (riaki) stuff. don’t repost and/or plagiarize !

[lincolndjarin]

Best Kept Secret

chapter fifteen : two tea parties (RE-UPLOAD)

ao3 link ✿ series masterlist ✩ main masterlist ✧

pairing : bodyguard!Din Djarin x afab!princess!reader

rating : 18+ mdni

word count : 5.4k

summary : reader and din have a tea party, just not with each other

warnings, etc. : language, angst

A/N : i had to change accounts so this is a re-upload of my ongoing fic bks!!

“What did you do to her?”

Her voice breaks through his sleepy haze as he sits up properly. 

“Excuse me?” He can’t seem to remember her name as he struggles to his feet. She pokes a finger into his chest, for someone staring down a bounty hunter she sure seemed to have a lot of confidence in her ability to intimidate him.

“The princess. What did you do to her? She’s got bruises, she’s hardly eating, and she’s all melancholy in there. And I think you’ve got something to do with it.” 

Shit, shit, shit.

He has several responses forming in his mind right now, all of which would make him appear guiltless. Then his stupidly tired brain decides he’s taking too long so instead he blurts out the first words to force their way out.  

“I didn’t mean to hurt her.” 

He couldn’t be more of an idiot.

The woman grabs his arm and starts dragging him away from your door. He could easily resist but he’s so embarrassed by his own fuck up he doesn’t bother as she pulls him towards an unfamiliar part of the castle, descending staircase after staircase until they reach the servants quarters and she shoves him into a room. It’s about the size of the cabin, a small kitchen in one corner, a sofa in the other, a fireplace with small burning embers dimly illuminating the stone walls, and a twin bed in the back. He recognizes the girl currently snoring softly under the blankets as your other servant. 

“Sit.” The Togruta girl snaps at him, pointing at the wooden table. 

Of course this is where he decides to finally take a stand and he crosses his arms, staring at her. 

Doesn’t last for long as she starts setting things up at the stove.

“Sit or I’m not giving you any caf.” She doesn’t bother turning around and he doesn’t bother resisting further at the promise of caffeine as he sits at the table.

He doesn’t speak as she puts a pot on the stove to boil. He feels a bit like a child who’s about to be scolded. For several minutes the only sounds are the other girl's soft snores and the crackle of the fire as he tries to keep his eyes open. 

He must have fallen asleep for a second because he jolts upright as she slams a mug down in front of him. 

“Drink. You look like shit.” 

“You have no idea what I look like.” He mutters as his hand grips the mug. 

“I do. You look like shit and you look like you haven’t slept in days. Drink.”

She says as she walks over to the bed, facing the wall and blocking his view of the other girl. “Be quick about it.” She takes a sip from her own mug. “Tell me when you’re done.”

In any other scenario he would refuse, or at the very least protest but he hasn’t had caf in a long time, he misses the bitter taste, and he should probably have his wits about him for the conversation they’re about to have. So he releases the airlock and lifts his helmet, quickly swallowing down the mug. 

The fact that he’s a little intimidated by the woman has nothing to do with his sudden obedience. At least that’s what he tells himself as he locks his helmet back in place. 

“I’m finished.” He can feel the familiar buzz of the caffeine as it flows through his system as he temporarily gets to feel a bit more conscious. 

“Good.” She turns and walks over, taking a seat across from him as she stares at him expectantly. 

His hands get clammy and he can feel his palms sticking to the insides of his gloves. 

This must be what his bounties feel like when he interrogates them. 

“What did you do to her?” She finally breaks the silence, continuing to glare at him. 

That’s a good question. 

He had loved you. 

There isn’t a doubt in his mind about that. 

He had been limited to only showing it to you physically, and when you had shown him a glimmer of something outside of that realm he had turned that love into something ugly. 

And now, mere days later he has to wonder if he made the wrong choice. 

He can’t exactly backtrack. He said terrible things to you. His own words from that night echo around in his helmet, taunting him. 

What did he do to you?

He was starting to get a little worried that he might have broken you.

You had spent all day scribbling in the library like a woman possessed. Truly that could have nothing to do with him though, he’s certain he couldn’t have possibly meant that much to you. Enough to drive you mad.

The Togruta girl snaps her fingers in front of the helmet.

“Hey, shiny, snap out of it. I know you had something to do with it so start talking.” 

Okay, maybe he did have something to do with it. 

No, what does she know about what had happened between the two of you? Well apparently she has wickedly good intuition, and he did basically already confess. 

“I’m not sure.” He wishes his voice didn’t tremble slightly but he can’t help it. 

“You aren’t sure…?” She grumbles as she finishes her mug. “Why don’t you start at the beginning. Tell me what happened.” 

And there’s no rational reason to. 

Or at the very least, there’s no rational reason to tell her the truth. 

And maybe it’s because he’s so tired. 

Or maybe it’s because this girl reminds him of someone he once knew, before he took this job.

But he tells her.

He leaves out a lot of the gorey details but he gives her the gist, she sits quietly the entire time as he whispers the things that transpired. And when he’s done he expects her to maybe tell him he did the right thing by ending it, or offer him words of comfort for what’s happened but instead she squints her eyes as she stares him down.

“You’re an idiot.” She says matter of factly as she leans back in her chair. 

“I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me. You are dumb as shit.”

“I did what needed to be done. Things were getting out of hand.”

She scoffs.

“Out of hand? So you’re allowed to do nice things for her like buy her jewelry, and take her on little dates in the garden, but she isn’t allowed to do them for you? Seems pretty stupid to me. And your game is dumb, if you want to know things about her all you have to do is ask, the poor girl would talk to the walls if they’d talk back.” She takes the pot and pours herself another mug of caf, filling his as well. He doesn’t touch it. “And you say you don’t like her rules but it sounds to me like you’re the one who needed them, she didn’t break any rules you didn’t break first.” 

He crosses his arms in front of him, ready to retort but every response dies on his tongue.

She’s right. 

And he doesn’t want to have to ask her for advice but there’s no one else to ask.

“So what do I do? How do I fix this?” 

She chokes a bit on her caf.

“Fix it? Oh hon, you’ve done a lot of damage in a short amount of time.” 

If she could see through the steel she’d see the way his ears tinged pink in embarrassment. 

“So I shouldn’t do anything?” Even he knows he sounds way too sullen. 

She sighs and contemplates for a moment. 

“Look… normally I’d say yes. But I can’t deny that she seemed happier on days when things were okay with the two of you.”

“So what should I do?” He leans forward a bit in his seat. 

“I’d start with an apology, and you better make it good, especially after what you’ve put her through.” 

“Okay. Tomorrow I will try that.” 

He does, try, that is. The most he gets out is static, a crackle of his modulator before he shuts right up. He’s pretty sure you notice. 

“And then, no more lies. No more beating around the bush. If you’re going to put her through this again you need to be certain and you need to be honest. No more pretending it’s just physical, you tell her exactly what you want and exactly how you feel.”

He also tried that. After Kodo had struck you he had pulled together all of his resolve and told himself that he would just spit it out. Instead he had accidentally insulted you and threatened your husband. 

“Okay, I can do that. Umm… What about Kodo?” She takes another sip as he speaks.

“What about him?” 

“Should I not take into account the fact that she’s married?” 

She laughs, a genuine chuckle. 

“Have you seen them together? She looks at him like he’s some mud that she’s accidentally stepped in. Look, if they were happy together, or if I ever thought they could work it out then I might tell you to back off but trust me, those two will never make it work. He’s a pathetic excuse for a man.”

He’s a bit taken aback by her words. 

“Now go. I’m gonna get some shut-eye, I’d tell you to do the same but I know you won’t.” 

He stands, nodding at her. 

“And take the caf. You need it more than I do, if you’re gonna insist on not sleeping.” She sets hers down as she stretches her arms above her head. He takes his mug gratefully in his hands. 

“...Thank you.” 

She only nods in response, he opens the door of her quarters.

“Mandalorian.” 

His hand is on the doorknob as he turns to look back at the woman. 

“Don’t play with her. Either leave her alone or put in the effort.”

He hesitates for a moment before he leaves. 

✩

When your eyes flutter open the first thing you think is that your face should be hurting, your lip should be much more swollen. 

But when your fingers poke at your lip you find it to be mostly healed. 

You stand and leave the closet, walking over to the mirror and inspecting your wounds. There’s no trace of the red welt you would have thought you’d have. The only trace of the incident is a faint pink and white line through your lip. 

Finding the vial on the bed you carefully walk over to the mirror and apply another layer to the mark as Elaine and Lysa knock once as a warning before stepping into the room. You set the tube down on the vanity. 

It’s another hazy morning. 

They really are all blending together when you don’t have things to do. 

You’re dressed in a lacy orange gown. It’s flowy and cool, it seems like it would be perfect for a day in the gardens. Before you even realize what you’re doing you turn to Elaine. 

“Would you like to have tea with me today?” You have no idea what inspires you to ask such a question and you’re sure she’ll say no. That she’ll tell you it isn’t proper for a servant to do such a thing with you but instead she nods.

“That would be lovely, my lady. Where would you like to have it?” She wipes her hands on the front of her dress as she gives you a patient smile. 

“How about the gardens? There’s that gazebo by the water we could sit at.”

✩

You have no idea when she instructed someone to set it up but as the two of you walk towards the gardens there is miraculously already a table with chairs set up inside. A tray of tea steaming in the center of it all. 

You walk in silence, in all honestly it would probably be a comfortable silence if it weren’t for the looming presence of the Mandalorian behind you. Once the two of you step into the wooden structure, taking your seats you clear your throat, awkwardly, seeing him standing beside you in your peripherals. 

Elaine stares at him and the both of you sit, looking at each other uncomfortably until you finally turn and speak to him. 

“Can we have some privacy?” You shoot him a look as you say it and he takes a single, theatrical step back. 

Jackass. 

You’re about to just give up, he’s never wavered previously, why would he start now? But Elaine speaks up.

“I believe she asked for privacy.” 

You lean over towards her to tell her it’s useless, there’s no sense in arguing with him but your eyes go wide as he begins to walk away. You turn to stare at Elaine like she just performed an act of god. 

As the Mandalorian starts walking along the edge of the water you can’t seem to pick your jaw up off the floor, you have more questions than ever for her but none of them seem to flow, so she speaks first. 

“Do you want to talk about what happened at dinner last night?” She’s pouring tea into the mugs, mixing a generous amount of sugar and cream into yours. 

“You heard about that?” The nearly invisible mark on your face stings at the memory.

“Servants talk, I’m afraid it was inevitable that I would hear of it. Do you want to tell me what happened?” She hands you the mug and you take it in both your hands. 

She doesn’t ask if you’re okay. 

Like she knows you couldn’t possibly be. 

“Not really. There isn’t much to talk about, it all happened really fast.” You take a sip, it’s sweet just like the caf she makes you, it warms your tongue and puts you at ease. 

She hums softly, sipping her own, much darker tea. 

“He’s always had a temper that one, the king and queen did not keep a close enough eye on him growing up, and when no one ever says no it’s easy to quickly become a little monster.” She frowns as she speaks and you have to fight to keep the surprised look off your face, the servants never spoke ill of him.

You know this is probably a dangerous conversation but at this point you’re so lonely and things can’t possibly get worse. 

“Honestly, I’m just surprised it didn’t happen sooner. I knew with his pattern of behavior it was inevitable.” You mutter.

She has a breathy sad laugh. 

“Smart girl.” She raises her cup towards Mando. He looks like a kid being left out of a game on the playground as he kicks a stone into the lake. “He seems more upset about it than you.” She raises her eyebrows, now you’re really treading dangerous waters. 

“Mando? He doesn’t care, I think he just doesn’t want me getting banged up because it makes him look like he’s bad at his job.” Deep down you know that isn’t the case.

“Really? So he wasn’t the one who tore that book in half that I found in the hallway this morning?” She takes another sip as she stares at him out across the water, you choke on your tea.

“In half?” Your voice is a shocked whisper. It had been by no means a short book. It had been a hardcover, thick encyclopedia. 

“In half. Took Leo quite some time to pick up all that shredded paper.” She chuckles. Setting down her mug as she stares at you with an intensity you weren’t prepared for. 

She takes a deep breath that has you nervously tapping your nails against your cup. 

“I know that it’s hard, being in your position, to find people to confide in. But if you ever need to talk about something that’s bothering you, I am available, my lady. And I can be extremely discreet.” She folds her hands in her lap as you stare down at them. Unable to meet her gaze. 

What a breath of fresh air it would be, to have a friend, with no other complicated feelings. But you can’t just tell her what you’ve done. 

“I am not blind, princess. It’s my job to make sure you’re okay. And I know for a fact that you were doing more than okay for a few days and in an instant I saw all of that disappear.” She tilts her head down so she’s in your eyeline and you’re sure your face has a look of guilt on it. 

If it was just your life on the line you’d probably tell her everything. Just to get it out. But it’s not just your life, it’s his. You shudder as you imagine the things Kodo would do to him if he found out. 

But you could twist the truth. 

Tell her harmless details and maybe still find some comfort.

“He had been my friend. Briefly.” Your words are careful and deliberate. 

She nods, picking up her glass once more. Staying silent as an invitation for you to keep going. 

“At least… I thought he was my friend. Now I sort of think he might have just been messing with me.” You’re still being cautious with every detail you reveal. Keeping it simple and innocent. “And I guess he got bored. It’s confusing, I can’t keep up with him, it makes my head spin because he keeps changing.”

“Changing?”

She picks up the teapot, refilling your mugs. 

“It’s… hard to explain. It’s like, he’s a different person everyday. Some days he can’t stand me and some days he-“ You manage to catch yourself before you go one step too far. “Some days he cares for me. I’m starting to wonder if he just enjoys making me miserable.” You pour another spoonful of sugar into your mug. 

“I think he cares for you very much.” She says it so matter of factly that you almost roll your eyes at the notion.

“I doubt that. If that is the case he has a really fucked up way of showing it.”

“Look at him.” She nods out towards the lake and when you turn he’s crouched down next to the edge of the water. 

He’s deadly still for a moment and then he slowly reaches down and scoops something up from the surface of the water. Holding it close to his helmet as he stands. Completely focused on whatever is in his hand. 

He looks strangely domesticated. 

You watch as what you now realize is a frog, jumps out of his hand back into the lake. 

He stares at his empty palm for a long time. 

“He looks like a lost puppy without you. I have to wonder what he was doing before he took this job because it seems like he doesn't know what to do with himself when he isn’t wagging his tail and trailing behind you.” She chuckles and you can’t help but laugh softly with her. 

It feels good to laugh. 

It feels less good to blurt out your next question. 

“Have you ever, umm… talked to him?” You don’t want to ask it, it feels so childish but you can’t help it as you turn back to face her, hoping there isn’t any lingering jealousy in your tone. 

“A little bit. Enough to know that I’m right, he does care for you.” 

You cough awkwardly. 

“What did he say?”

You catch her smirk right before she takes another sip. 

“Mostly he seemed to have a lot of excuses. But I think his real issue is just that he’s scared.”

Huh. 

It’s difficult to picture him scared of anything. 

“Scared?”

“I think this is a conversation you should be having with him.”

“But he won’t talk to me, the first time he’s spoken to me all week was only because of what Kodo did.”

“It isn’t my place to tell you how to deal with him. I just know that you seemed happier when things were good between the two of you.” 

It’s quiet for a few minutes as the two if you drink and you come to terms with her words. She speaks first.

“He doesn’t sleep either.” 

“What?”

“The Mandalorian. He isn’t sleeping. He just sits in front of your door all night.”

You had suspected that to be the case but the confirmation makes your heart skip a beat. 

“He just sits there? What is he doing?”

“I only see him there in passing, I do a lot of my errands at night, I’m more productive when I’m the only one roaming the castle. It seems like he’s just waiting for you.” 

You frown. 

“Waiting for me to do what?”

She laughs. 

“He’s just waiting for you.”

There’s that ache in your chest. She leans forward to give you a sympathetic look, your pain must show on your face. 

“How about we talk about something else for a bit?” Her voice is soft and comforting as you nod. 

“What about you, do you have a special someone?” You laugh for a moment until you realize your slip up and the color drains from your face. “Like, a friend.”

Real smooth, dummy. 

She doesn’t seem fazed though as she grins. 

“Yeah, I’ve got a special friend.” She laughs to herself and you relax a bit. She looks towards the lake and back at you before raising her eyebrows. He’s walking back over as she changes the subject. “What are you planning on wearing tomorrow?”

You can’t help but laugh. 

“How should I know? You and Lysa always pick for me.” She rolls her eyes at your response. 

“I meant to the ball.”

The confusion must be apparent on your face because she sighs. 

“Of course no one told you. Maker, is anyone else in the castle capable of treating you like a person other than me?” She pinches the bridge of her nose. “Kodo’s birthday is tomorrow. He makes a big deal of it every year, it’s a huge party, you of course will be expected to attend.”

You don’t bother stifling your groan.

“And I absolutely have to go to this?” 

She pats your knee as she leans back in her chair, eyeing the Mandalorian up and down as he walks into the gazebo, standing on the opposite side of it, away from the two of you. 

“I’m afraid you do, but don’t fret, he’s always so preoccupied during this thing that you won’t have to worry about staying for long. You’ll just need to make an appearance as his wife for a bit and you should be able to leave after a few hours if you'd like. It tends to get a bit rowdy as the night goes on so I suggest getting out once the opportunity presents itself.” 

You nod, this must be is what it feels like to have a friend. 

It makes you realize that you and the Mandalorian had never really been friends, that was completely different than what this was. With him there was always something more there, something demanding your attention that you always managed to ignore. With Elaine it’s easy to just talk without any other feelings lingering in the air. 

“I suppose I will wear whatever you decide is best.” You give her a grin.

“If that is what you wish.”

“But not blue.” She raises an eyebrow as you say that but she’s smirking.

“Excellent choice.”

Your eyes dart over to the Mandalorian, he’s facing away from the two of you, giving you a false sense of privacy as you look back to Elaine. 

“And not green.” 

“As you wish, my lady.” 

You don’t talk about much else of importance after that. She tells you that she wants to make dresses someday, and you tell her about some of the romance novels you’ve read. 

The Mandalorian stays in the gazebo, a reminder to keep things light. 

She tells you that Lysa is a rather talented piano player, and that Leodall dreams of one day becoming a lord or a duke. It’s nice, casual. You want to do it again at some point and when you tell her that, she happily agrees. 

Eventually she walks you back to the castle, he walks behind the two of you, always just out of reach until you make it back inside.

You can’t help it.

You hug her.

Mumbling a thank you, because you feel worlds better after having a conversation with someone with no tensions and no ulterior motives. 

She departs and you walk to the library, reading another cheesy romance novel at your drawing table until the sun has set. 

He still doesn’t speak, every so often he’ll pace the length of the room at one point you’re pretty sure he trips over nothing. How odd. You return to your quarters as always, ready to turn in for the night.

✩

Except you can’t.

You pace back and forth throughout your room. Your bare feet shuffling across the cool wood floors. 

He’s ruining your sleep again. 

Because now you can’t close your eyes without thinking about how he’s out there, waiting for you. 

You had wanted comfort and maybe even closure from Elaine but instead you’re more confused than ever. 

He wants you, he doesn’t want you, he hates you, he’s willing to die for you. None of it makes sense and he’s out there. 

Your chest hurts thinking about him all alone out there every night. Even if he hates you, and doesn’t want you. 

You’d feel better if he was at least sleeping out there. But no, he’s awake and aware and always there. 

Is he listening in? Has he turned up the helmet to listen to the soft patter of your footsteps? Why would he be doing that? He’s supposed to not care about you, to not want you. But according to Elaine that isn’t the case? Every single hour he gets more and more confusing, you want to scream at him. You want to punch him in his stupid Beskar face. (Mostly because you know it wouldn’t really hurt him all that bad.) You want to demand answers, demand he leave you alone, or demand he take it all back.

Could you forgive him?

You’re pretty sure you want to forgive him.

You just aren’t sure if you can. 

That is, of course, if he ever apologizes. 

Does he want to apologize?

Why would he have said all those things in the first place if he didn’t mean them?

You don’t remember opening the door. But right now you’re staring down at him and he’s staring up at you, so you must have at one point. He’s sitting with his legs out in front of him as you take a step back, leaving the door open. 

A silent invitation in. 

You’re worried for a moment that he isn’t going to accept it but he slowly gets to his feet. Stretching his arms back a bit with a groan as he takes a step in. 

You hadn’t seen it before but now you don’t know how you didn't realize how exhausted he looks. You don’t even know how he’s still standing as he stumbles into the room as you close the door, clicking the lock shut. 

His shoulders are slumped forward, his usual imposing posture is completely gone and his helmet keeps tilting downwards before jolting back up, like he’s barely keeping his eyes open. 

It’s torture, never being able to stay angry at him. 

You had no plan when you’d let him in. Maybe yell at him, demand answers, demand he free you of this curse that is wanting to be his. 

But you can’t do that. Not when he’s looking around like he doesn’t even know where he is. Maker, when was the last time he slept? 

Reaching forward you take his hand, leading him over to the bed and sitting him down. 

“Mando?” You say it like you’re speaking to a lost child who can’t find their parents. 

He hums softly in response, the helmet tilting up to look at you as you give his hand a gentle squeeze. 

“You’re gonna sleep here. The door is locked so you don’t have to worry about anyone taking off your helmet, okay?”

He nods and your heart stops as his hand comes up to your face. His thumb brushes over the nearly completely faded line on your lip. 

“M’sorry… ner sarad’ika. Bid ni ceta.” His voice is a warm sleepy drawl and you have to close your eyes so he doesn’t see the pained look you have when he starts speaking in that soft tone, the gentle one you feel like you haven’t heard in ages, the one that’s just for you. You can’t help but wonder if he’ll remember any of this tomorrow. 

“Don’t be sorry. You didn’t do this, remember? It was Kodo, not you.” You gingerly pull his hand from your face as you hold his arms, laying him down against the mattress. 

You shouldn’t, not when he’s clearly so vulnerable but you can’t help yourself as you run your knuckles against the cold steel of his helmet, trying to soothe him. 

“That’s not what I’m sorry about mesh’la.” His hands reach forward, asking for you, and you have to use all of your self control to not give in and just hold him. You settle for giving him your hands as you nod. 

You need this to end. It’s too much and you know it’ll be gone in the morning. Once he gets some sleep he’ll be gone again. Standing behind you, your shadow. Not like right now, where he’s in front of you, and needs you. You can’t lose this again, you won’t be able to take it so you start to walk away but he pulls you down so you’re sitting next to him and he’s so gentle about it. He’s so out of it right now, he should be in his default state right now, he’s a trained killer, he should naturally be rough and aggressive with you, but he isn’t. 

Even in this condition he makes a conscious choice to handle you like you might crumble to pieces if he isn’t careful. 

At this point you might. 

“I need to go to bed, Mando. I’ll be in the closet, right there if you need me.” 

His grip on your hands tightens ever so slightly. 

“Y’know that m’sorry, right? I need to know that you know.” His voice cracks on the last word and his voice is laced with a desperation you’ve never heard from him before. You even hear a little sniffle through the modulator.

Maker he must really be sleep deprived. 

It feels like drowning. He’s taking you out into open waters with these words and in the morning he’ll be gone and you’ll be left without a life jacket. 

“I know Mando.” His grip loosens enough for you to stand up. Your voice is strained. “I promise, I know, but I need you to get some sleep now, can you do that for me?”

He hesitates. Like he’s trying to make sure you understand. 

“Okay, sarad’ika.”

He nods as he releases your hands, his shoulders relax and he’s asleep in minutes. Once you’ve certain he’s out cold you go back to the closet, leaving the door cracked in case he needs something as you curl up in your blankets. 

Your hands fish around in the sheets and pillows until you find the book, pulling it out you open it and let the necklace he had given you fall out. Cradling it in your hands you trace the small charm with your fingers. 

Sarad’ika. 

He can’t do that to you. 

He can’t just call you that again after what he did. 

Bodyguard, rival, friend, protector, confidant, lover, nothing. 

He decided he wanted to be nothing. So why should he get to say sweet things in Mando’a to you with no repercussions? 

It makes your blood boil as you shove the necklace into one of the pillow cases, getting ready to go back out there and give him a piece of your mind but as you’re about to stand and pull yourself together you can hear rumbling, static snores from the other room.

And you can’t help but crack a smile. 

He sounds like a fucking Wookiee when he snores. 

Something about it makes you lay back down.

Like it reminds you that under all that perfect metal he is still only a man. 

He needs sleep.

So do you. 

Being angry with him can wait until tomorrow. 

I am no longer doing taglists so follow @lincolndjarinnotifs and turn on notifications to be notified when new chapters are posted !!

[siltyriver]

Justice is Swift (Vengeance is Sweet) — Ch.3 Memes/Shitposts

master post || <- ch.2 memes || ch.3

Danny: Wow this coffee is so good I hope nothing happens to it…

Jason, spilling Danny’s coffee all over his shirt: Oh no, I think you need to take that off. Right now ;)

Tim: Can you guys fucking STOP and flirt like NORMAL PEOPLE?

Bernard, secretly filming: No, don’t listen to him, keep going.

-

Danny, sleep deprived and in desperate need of caffeine: *catches a glimpse of Jason*

Danny, blinking: God?

Jason, absolutely smitten: Not quite, sweetie :’)

Danny: Oh, good, I thought I died again for a second

Jason: HUH?

-

Danny: Oh I think that barista gave me her number by accident lol it’s clearly meant for you

Jason, taking off his shirt: He’s so fucking stupid I must have him

-

Danny: lol yeah Amity is Super Haunted

Tim, full conspiracy board mode: Why the fuck have I never heard of Amity before?

-

Danny: Okay time to lay low and be completely normal. No Phantom, no problem :)

Also Danny the second Amity is brought up, no self control in sight and ready to spill everything: So ghosts are actually real and there’s this one really cool one named Phantom who’s basically my best friend —

-

Danny, telling a story and casually mentioning ghosts like it’s nothing bc he’s used to no one in Amity Park batting an eye at the paranormal: — and then Skulker came around and threatened to ‘mount my pelt’, which after the hundredth time hearing is just kind of like, ‘yeah, whatever dude we get it, can I just buy my ice cream now?’ like he’s a serious vibe killer y’know but his girlfriend Ember is pretty cool when she’s not mind controlling people with her music an—

Any Gothamite he speaks to thinking he’s insane: Yo, what the fuck?

Danny, confused: What? You’ve never seen a ghost? Weird :/

-

Danny, resigned to collecting strays: Whatchya got there, Ellie?

Ellie, holding a smoothie and two feral kittens: Uh, a smoothie.

-

Jason: Get me a notepad.

Tim: Are you going to just draw a dick like last time?

Jason: … No.

Tim: You hesitated.

[karvakera]

I have a type

characters are gojo satoru (a shocker!) and pitch black hen from the ember knight

extra doodles I did while high on caffeine at 2am:

[luckbealincoln]

Best Kept Secret

chapter fifteen : two tea parties

THIS SERIES HAS BEEN MOVED AND RE-UPLOADED TO ANOTHER ACCOUNT. WHICH CAN BE FOUND HERE. THIS POST STILL EXISTS AS AN ARCHIVE BUT THIS ACCOUNT IS NO LONGER ACTIVE!!

pairing : bodyguard!Din Djarin x afab!princess!reader

rating : 18+ mdni

word count : 5.4k

summary : reader and din have a tea party, just not with each other

warnings, etc. : language, angst

“What did you do to her?”

Her voice breaks through his sleepy haze as he sits up properly. 

“Excuse me?” He can’t seem to remember her name as he struggles to his feet. She pokes a finger into his chest, for someone staring down a bounty hunter she sure seemed to have a lot of confidence in her ability to intimidate him.

“The princess. What did you do to her? She’s got bruises, she’s hardly eating, and she’s all melancholy in there. And I think you’ve got something to do with it.” 

Shit, shit, shit.

He has several responses forming in his mind right now, all of which would make him appear guiltless. Then his stupidly tired brain decides he’s taking too long so instead he blurts out the first words to force their way out.  

“I didn’t mean to hurt her.” 

He couldn’t be more of an idiot.

The woman grabs his arm and starts dragging him away from your door. He could easily resist but he’s so embarrassed by his own fuck up he doesn’t bother as she pulls him towards an unfamiliar part of the castle, descending staircase after staircase until they reach the servants quarters and she shoves him into a room. It’s about the size of the cabin, a small kitchen in one corner, a sofa in the other, a fireplace with small burning embers dimly illuminating the stone walls, and a twin bed in the back. He recognizes the girl currently snoring softly under the blankets as your other servant. 

“Sit.” The Togruta girl snaps at him, pointing at the wooden table. 

Of course this is where he decides to finally take a stand and he crosses his arms, staring at her. 

Doesn’t last for long as she starts setting things up at the stove.

“Sit or I’m not giving you any caf.” She doesn’t bother turning around and he doesn’t bother resisting further at the promise of caffeine as he sits at the table.

He doesn’t speak as she puts a pot on the stove to boil. He feels a bit like a child who’s about to be scolded. For several minutes the only sounds are the other girl's soft snores and the crackle of the fire as he tries to keep his eyes open. 

He must have fallen asleep for a second because he jolts upright as she slams a mug down in front of him. 

“Drink. You look like shit.” 

“You have no idea what I look like.” He mutters as his hand grips the mug. 

“I do. You look like shit and you look like you haven’t slept in days. Drink.”

She says as she walks over to the bed, facing the wall and blocking his view of the other girl. “Be quick about it.” She takes a sip from her own mug. “Tell me when you’re done.”

In any other scenario he would refuse, or at the very least protest but he hasn’t had caf in a long time, he misses the bitter taste, and he should probably have his wits about him for the conversation they’re about to have. So he releases the airlock and lifts his helmet, quickly swallowing down the mug. 

The fact that he’s a little intimidated by the woman has nothing to do with his sudden obedience. At least that’s what he tells himself as he locks his helmet back in place. 

“I’m finished.” He can feel the familiar buzz of the caffeine as it flows through his system as he temporarily gets to feel a bit more conscious. 

“Good.” She turns and walks over, taking a seat across from him as she stares at him expectantly. 

His hands get clammy and he can feel his palms sticking to the insides of his gloves. 

This must be what his bounties feel like when he interrogates them. 

“What did you do to her?” She finally breaks the silence, continuing to glare at him. 

That’s a good question. 

He had loved you. 

There isn’t a doubt in his mind about that. 

He had been limited to only showing it to you physically, and when you had shown him a glimmer of something outside of that realm he had turned that love into something ugly. 

And now, mere days later he has to wonder if he made the wrong choice. 

He can’t exactly backtrack. He said terrible things to you. His own words from that night echo around in his helmet, taunting him. 

What did he do to you?

He was starting to get a little worried that he might have broken you.

You had spent all day scribbling in the library like a woman possessed. Truly that could have nothing to do with him though, he’s certain he couldn’t have possibly meant that much to you. Enough to drive you mad.

The Togruta girl snaps her fingers in front of the helmet.

“Hey, shiny, snap out of it. I know you had something to do with it so start talking.” 

Okay, maybe he did have something to do with it. 

No, what does she know about what had happened between the two of you? Well apparently she has wickedly good intuition, and he did basically already confess. 

“I’m not sure.” He wishes his voice didn’t tremble slightly but he can’t help it. 

“You aren’t sure…?” She grumbles as she finishes her mug. “Why don’t you start at the beginning. Tell me what happened.” 

And there’s no rational reason to. 

Or at the very least, there’s no rational reason to tell her the truth. 

And maybe it’s because he’s so tired. 

Or maybe it’s because this girl reminds him of someone he once knew, before he took this job.

But he tells her.

He leaves out a lot of the gorey details but he gives her the gist, she sits quietly the entire time as he whispers the things that transpired. And when he’s done he expects her to maybe tell him he did the right thing by ending it, or offer him words of comfort for what’s happened but instead she squints her eyes as she stares him down.

“You’re an idiot.” She says matter of factly as she leans back in her chair. 

“I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me. You are dumb as shit.”

“I did what needed to be done. Things were getting out of hand.”

She scoffs.

“Out of hand? So you’re allowed to do nice things for her like buy her jewelry, and take her on little dates in the garden, but she isn’t allowed to do them for you? Seems pretty stupid to me. And your game is dumb, if you want to know things about her all you have to do is ask, the poor girl would talk to the walls if they’d talk back.” She takes the pot and pours herself another mug of caf, filling his as well. He doesn’t touch it. “And you say you don’t like her rules but it sounds to me like you’re the one who needed them, she didn’t break any rules you didn’t break first.” 

He crosses his arms in front of him, ready to retort but every response dies on his tongue.

She’s right. 

And he doesn’t want to have to ask her for advice but there’s no one else to ask.

“So what do I do? How do I fix this?” 

She chokes a bit on her caf.

“Fix it? Oh hon, you’ve done a lot of damage in a short amount of time.” 

If she could see through the steel she’d see the way his ears tinged pink in embarrassment. 

“So I shouldn’t do anything?” Even he knows he sounds way too sullen. 

She sighs and contemplates for a moment. 

“Look… normally I’d say yes. But I can’t deny that she seemed happier on days when things were okay with the two of you.”

“So what should I do?” He leans forward a bit in his seat. 

“I’d start with an apology, and you better make it good, especially after what you’ve put her through.” 

“Okay. Tomorrow I will try that.” 

He does, try, that is. The most he gets out is static, a crackle of his modulator before he shuts right up. He’s pretty sure you notice. 

“And then, no more lies. No more beating around the bush. If you’re going to put her through this again you need to be certain and you need to be honest. No more pretending it’s just physical, you tell her exactly what you want and exactly how you feel.”

He also tried that. After Kodo had struck you he had pulled together all of his resolve and told himself that he would just spit it out. Instead he had accidentally insulted you and threatened your husband. 

“Okay, I can do that. Umm… What about Kodo?” She takes another sip as he speaks.

“What about him?” 

“Should I not take into account the fact that she’s married?” 

She laughs, a genuine chuckle. 

“Have you seen them together? She looks at him like he’s some mud that she’s accidentally stepped in. Look, if they were happy together, or if I ever thought they could work it out then I might tell you to back off but trust me, those two will never make it work. He’s a pathetic excuse for a man.”

He’s a bit taken aback by her words. 

“Now go. I’m gonna get some shut-eye, I’d tell you to do the same but I know you won’t.” 

He stands, nodding at her. 

“And take the caf. You need it more than I do, if you’re gonna insist on not sleeping.” She sets hers down as she stretches her arms above her head. He takes his mug gratefully in his hands. 

“...Thank you.” 

She only nods in response, he opens the door of her quarters.

“Mandalorian.” 

His hand is on the doorknob as he turns to look back at the woman. 

“Don’t play with her. Either leave her alone or put in the effort.”

He hesitates for a moment before he leaves. 

✩

When your eyes flutter open the first thing you think is that your face should be hurting, your lip should be much more swollen. 

But when your fingers poke at your lip you find it to be mostly healed. 

You stand and leave the closet, walking over to the mirror and inspecting your wounds. There’s no trace of the red welt you would have thought you’d have. The only trace of the incident is a faint pink and white line through your lip. 

Finding the vial on the bed you carefully walk over to the mirror and apply another layer to the mark as Elaine and Lysa knock once as a warning before stepping into the room. You set the tube down on the vanity. 

It’s another hazy morning. 

They really are all blending together when you don’t have things to do. 

You’re dressed in a lacy orange gown. It’s flowy and cool, it seems like it would be perfect for a day in the gardens. Before you even realize what you’re doing you turn to Elaine. 

“Would you like to have tea with me today?” You have no idea what inspires you to ask such a question and you’re sure she’ll say no. That she’ll tell you it isn’t proper for a servant to do such a thing with you but instead she nods.

“That would be lovely, my lady. Where would you like to have it?” She wipes her hands on the front of her dress as she gives you a patient smile. 

“How about the gardens? There’s that gazebo by the water we could sit at.”

✩

You have no idea when she instructed someone to set it up but as the two of you walk towards the gardens there is miraculously already a table with chairs set up inside. A tray of tea steaming in the center of it all. 

You walk in silence, in all honestly it would probably be a comfortable silence if it weren’t for the looming presence of the Mandalorian behind you. Once the two of you step into the wooden structure, taking your seats you clear your throat, awkwardly, seeing him standing beside you in your peripherals. 

Elaine stares at him and the both of you sit, looking at each other uncomfortably until you finally turn and speak to him. 

“Can we have some privacy?” You shoot him a look as you say it and he takes a single, theatrical step back. 

Jackass. 

You’re about to just give up, he’s never wavered previously, why would he start now? But Elaine speaks up.

“I believe she asked for privacy.” 

You lean over towards her to tell her it’s useless, there’s no sense in arguing with him but your eyes go wide as he begins to walk away. You turn to stare at Elaine like she just performed an act of god. 

As the Mandalorian starts walking along the edge of the water you can’t seem to pick your jaw up off the floor, you have more questions than ever for her but none of them seem to flow, so she speaks first. 

“Do you want to talk about what happened at dinner last night?” She’s pouring tea into the mugs, mixing a generous amount of sugar and cream into yours. 

“You heard about that?” The nearly invisible mark on your face stings at the memory.

“Servants talk, I’m afraid it was inevitable that I would hear of it. Do you want to tell me what happened?” She hands you the mug and you take it in both your hands. 

She doesn’t ask if you’re okay. 

Like she knows you couldn’t possibly be. 

“Not really. There isn’t much to talk about, it all happened really fast.” You take a sip, it’s sweet just like the caf she makes you, it warms your tongue and puts you at ease. 

She hums softly, sipping her own, much darker tea. 

“He’s always had a temper that one, the king and queen did not keep a close enough eye on him growing up, and when no one ever says no it’s easy to quickly become a little monster.” She frowns as she speaks and you have to fight to keep the surprised look off your face, the servants never spoke ill of him.

You know this is probably a dangerous conversation but at this point you’re so lonely and things can’t possibly get worse. 

“Honestly, I’m just surprised it didn’t happen sooner. I knew with his pattern of behavior it was inevitable.” You mutter.

She has a breathy sad laugh. 

“Smart girl.” She raises her cup towards Mando. He looks like a kid being left out of a game on the playground as he kicks a stone into the lake. “He seems more upset about it than you.” She raises her eyebrows, now you’re really treading dangerous waters. 

“Mando? He doesn’t care, I think he just doesn’t want me getting banged up because it makes him look like he’s bad at his job.” Deep down you know that isn’t the case.

“Really? So he wasn’t the one who tore that book in half that I found in the hallway this morning?” She takes another sip as she stares at him out across the water, you choke on your tea.

“In half?” Your voice is a shocked whisper. It had been by no means a short book. It had been a hardcover, thick encyclopedia. 

“In half. Took Leo quite some time to pick up all that shredded paper.” She chuckles. Setting down her mug as she stares at you with an intensity you weren’t prepared for. 

She takes a deep breath that has you nervously tapping your nails against your cup. 

“I know that it’s hard, being in your position, to find people to confide in. But if you ever need to talk about something that’s bothering you, I am available, my lady. And I can be extremely discreet.” She folds her hands in her lap as you stare down at them. Unable to meet her gaze. 

What a breath of fresh air it would be, to have a friend, with no other complicated feelings. But you can’t just tell her what you’ve done. 

“I am not blind, princess. It’s my job to make sure you’re okay. And I know for a fact that you were doing more than okay for a few days and in an instant I saw all of that disappear.” She tilts her head down so she’s in your eyeline and you’re sure your face has a look of guilt on it. 

If it was just your life on the line you’d probably tell her everything. Just to get it out. But it’s not just your life, it’s his. You shudder as you imagine the things Kodo would do to him if he found out. 

But you could twist the truth. 

Tell her harmless details and maybe still find some comfort.

“He had been my friend. Briefly.” Your words are careful and deliberate. 

She nods, picking up her glass once more. Staying silent as an invitation for you to keep going. 

“At least… I thought he was my friend. Now I sort of think he might have just been messing with me.” You’re still being cautious with every detail you reveal. Keeping it simple and innocent. “And I guess he got bored. It’s confusing, I can’t keep up with him, it makes my head spin because he keeps changing.”

“Changing?”

She picks up the teapot, refilling your mugs. 

“It’s… hard to explain. It’s like, he’s a different person everyday. Some days he can’t stand me and some days he-“ You manage to catch yourself before you go one step too far. “Some days he cares for me. I’m starting to wonder if he just enjoys making me miserable.” You pour another spoonful of sugar into your mug. 

“I think he cares for you very much.” She says it so matter of factly that you almost roll your eyes at the notion.

“I doubt that. If that is the case he has a really fucked up way of showing it.”

“Look at him.” She nods out towards the lake and when you turn he’s crouched down next to the edge of the water. 

He’s deadly still for a moment and then he slowly reaches down and scoops something up from the surface of the water. Holding it close to his helmet as he stands. Completely focused on whatever is in his hand. 

He looks strangely domesticated. 

You watch as what you now realize is a frog, jumps out of his hand back into the lake. 

He stares at his empty palm for a long time. 

“He looks like a lost puppy without you. I have to wonder what he was doing before he took this job because it seems like he doesn't know what to do with himself when he isn’t wagging his tail and trailing behind you.” She chuckles and you can’t help but laugh softly with her. 

It feels good to laugh. 

It feels less good to blurt out your next question. 

“Have you ever, umm… talked to him?” You don’t want to ask it, it feels so childish but you can’t help it as you turn back to face her, hoping there isn’t any lingering jealousy in your tone. 

“A little bit. Enough to know that I’m right, he does care for you.” 

You cough awkwardly. 

“What did he say?”

You catch her smirk right before she takes another sip. 

“Mostly he seemed to have a lot of excuses. But I think his real issue is just that he’s scared.”

Huh. 

It’s difficult to picture him scared of anything. 

“Scared?”

“I think this is a conversation you should be having with him.”

“But he won’t talk to me, the first time he’s spoken to me all week was only because of what Kodo did.”

“It isn’t my place to tell you how to deal with him. I just know that you seemed happier when things were good between the two of you.” 

It’s quiet for a few minutes as the two if you drink and you come to terms with her words. She speaks first.

“He doesn’t sleep either.” 

“What?”

“The Mandalorian. He isn’t sleeping. He just sits in front of your door all night.”

You had suspected that to be the case but the confirmation makes your heart skip a beat. 

“He just sits there? What is he doing?”

“I only see him there in passing, I do a lot of my errands at night, I’m more productive when I’m the only one roaming the castle. It seems like he’s just waiting for you.” 

You frown. 

“Waiting for me to do what?”

She laughs. 

“He’s just waiting for you.”

There’s that ache in your chest. She leans forward to give you a sympathetic look, your pain must show on your face. 

“How about we talk about something else for a bit?” Her voice is soft and comforting as you nod. 

“What about you, do you have a special someone?” You laugh for a moment until you realize your slip up and the color drains from your face. “Like, a friend.”

Real smooth, dummy. 

She doesn’t seem fazed though as she grins. 

“Yeah, I’ve got a special friend.” She laughs to herself and you relax a bit. She looks towards the lake and back at you before raising her eyebrows. He’s walking back over as she changes the subject. “What are you planning on wearing tomorrow?”

You can’t help but laugh. 

“How should I know? You and Lysa always pick for me.” She rolls her eyes at your response. 

“I meant to the ball.”

The confusion must be apparent on your face because she sighs. 

“Of course no one told you. Maker, is anyone else in the castle capable of treating you like a person other than me?” She pinches the bridge of her nose. “Kodo’s birthday is tomorrow. He makes a big deal of it every year, it’s a huge party, you of course will be expected to attend.”

You don’t bother stifling your groan.

“And I absolutely have to go to this?” 

She pats your knee as she leans back in her chair, eyeing the Mandalorian up and down as he walks into the gazebo, standing on the opposite side of it, away from the two of you. 

“I’m afraid you do, but don’t fret, he’s always so preoccupied during this thing that you won’t have to worry about staying for long. You’ll just need to make an appearance as his wife for a bit and you should be able to leave after a few hours if you'd like. It tends to get a bit rowdy as the night goes on so I suggest getting out once the opportunity presents itself.” 

You nod, this must be is what it feels like to have a friend. 

It makes you realize that you and the Mandalorian had never really been friends, that was completely different than what this was. With him there was always something more there, something demanding your attention that you always managed to ignore. With Elaine it’s easy to just talk without any other feelings lingering in the air. 

“I suppose I will wear whatever you decide is best.” You give her a grin.

“If that is what you wish.”

“But not blue.” She raises an eyebrow as you say that but she’s smirking.

“Excellent choice.”

Your eyes dart over to the Mandalorian, he’s facing away from the two of you, giving you a false sense of privacy as you look back to Elaine. 

“And not green.” 

“As you wish, my lady.” 

You don’t talk about much else of importance after that. She tells you that she wants to make dresses someday, and you tell her about some of the romance novels you’ve read. 

The Mandalorian stays in the gazebo, a reminder to keep things light. 

She tells you that Lysa is a rather talented piano player, and that Leodall dreams of one day becoming a lord or a duke. It’s nice, casual. You want to do it again at some point and when you tell her that, she happily agrees. 

Eventually she walks you back to the castle, he walks behind the two of you, always just out of reach until you make it back inside.

You can’t help it.

You hug her.

Mumbling a thank you, because you feel worlds better after having a conversation with someone with no tensions and no ulterior motives. 

She departs and you walk to the library, reading another cheesy romance novel at your drawing table until the sun has set. 

He still doesn’t speak, every so often he’ll pace the length of the room at one point you’re pretty sure he trips over nothing. How odd. You return to your quarters as always, ready to turn in for the night.

✩

Except you can’t.

You pace back and forth throughout your room. Your bare feet shuffling across the cool wood floors. 

He’s ruining your sleep again. 

Because now you can’t close your eyes without thinking about how he’s out there, waiting for you. 

You had wanted comfort and maybe even closure from Elaine but instead you’re more confused than ever. 

He wants you, he doesn’t want you, he hates you, he’s willing to die for you. None of it makes sense and he’s out there. 

Your chest hurts thinking about him all alone out there every night. Even if he hates you, and doesn’t want you. 

You’d feel better if he was at least sleeping out there. But no, he’s awake and aware and always there. 

Is he listening in? Has he turned up the helmet to listen to the soft patter of your footsteps? Why would he be doing that? He’s supposed to not care about you, to not want you. But according to Elaine that isn’t the case? Every single hour he gets more and more confusing, you want to scream at him. You want to punch him in his stupid Beskar face. (Mostly because you know it wouldn’t really hurt him all that bad.) You want to demand answers, demand he leave you alone, or demand he take it all back.

Could you forgive him?

You’re pretty sure you want to forgive him.

You just aren’t sure if you can. 

That is, of course, if he ever apologizes. 

Does he want to apologize?

Why would he have said all those things in the first place if he didn’t mean them?

You don’t remember opening the door. But right now you’re staring down at him and he’s staring up at you, so you must have at one point. He’s sitting with his legs out in front of him as you take a step back, leaving the door open. 

A silent invitation in. 

You’re worried for a moment that he isn’t going to accept it but he slowly gets to his feet. Stretching his arms back a bit with a groan as he takes a step in. 

You hadn’t seen it before but now you don’t know how you didn't realize how exhausted he looks. You don’t even know how he’s still standing as he stumbles into the room as you close the door, clicking the lock shut. 

His shoulders are slumped forward, his usual imposing posture is completely gone and his helmet keeps tilting downwards before jolting back up, like he’s barely keeping his eyes open. 

It’s torture, never being able to stay angry at him. 

You had no plan when you’d let him in. Maybe yell at him, demand answers, demand he free you of this curse that is wanting to be his. 

But you can’t do that. Not when he’s looking around like he doesn’t even know where he is. Maker, when was the last time he slept? 

Reaching forward you take his hand, leading him over to the bed and sitting him down. 

“Mando?” You say it like you’re speaking to a lost child who can’t find their parents. 

He hums softly in response, the helmet tilting up to look at you as you give his hand a gentle squeeze. 

“You’re gonna sleep here. The door is locked so you don’t have to worry about anyone taking off your helmet, okay?”

He nods and your heart stops as his hand comes up to your face. His thumb brushes over the nearly completely faded line on your lip. 

“M’sorry… ner sarad’ika. Bid ni ceta.” His voice is a warm sleepy drawl and you have to close your eyes so he doesn’t see the pained look you have when he starts speaking in that soft tone, the gentle one you feel like you haven’t heard in ages, the one that’s just for you. You can’t help but wonder if he’ll remember any of this tomorrow. 

“Don’t be sorry. You didn’t do this, remember? It was Kodo, not you.” You gingerly pull his hand from your face as you hold his arms, laying him down against the mattress. 

You shouldn’t, not when he’s clearly so vulnerable but you can’t help yourself as you run your knuckles against the cold steel of his helmet, trying to soothe him. 

“That’s not what I’m sorry about mesh’la.” His hands reach forward, asking for you, and you have to use all of your self control to not give in and just hold him. You settle for giving him your hands as you nod. 

You need this to end. It’s too much and you know it’ll be gone in the morning. Once he gets some sleep he’ll be gone again. Standing behind you, your shadow. Not like right now, where he’s in front of you, and needs you. You can’t lose this again, you won’t be able to take it so you start to walk away but he pulls you down so you’re sitting next to him and he’s so gentle about it. He’s so out of it right now, he should be in his default state right now, he’s a trained killer, he should naturally be rough and aggressive with you, but he isn’t. 

Even in this condition he makes a conscious choice to handle you like you might crumble to pieces if he isn’t careful. 

At this point you might. 

“I need to go to bed, Mando. I’ll be in the closet, right there if you need me.” 

His grip on your hands tightens ever so slightly. 

“Y’know that m’sorry, right? I need to know that you know.” His voice cracks on the last word and his voice is laced with a desperation you’ve never heard from him before. You even hear a little sniffle through the modulator.

Maker he must really be sleep deprived. 

It feels like drowning. He’s taking you out into open waters with these words and in the morning he’ll be gone and you’ll be left without a life jacket. 

“I know Mando.” His grip loosens enough for you to stand up. Your voice is strained. “I promise, I know, but I need you to get some sleep now, can you do that for me?”

He hesitates. Like he’s trying to make sure you understand. 

“Okay, sarad’ika.”

He nods as he releases your hands, his shoulders relax and he’s asleep in minutes. Once you’ve certain he’s out cold you go back to the closet, leaving the door cracked in case he needs something as you curl up in your blankets. 

Your hands fish around in the sheets and pillows until you find the book, pulling it out you open it and let the necklace he had given you fall out. Cradling it in your hands you trace the small charm with your fingers. 

Sarad’ika. 

He can’t do that to you. 

He can’t just call you that again after what he did. 

Bodyguard, rival, friend, protector, confidant, lover, nothing. 

He decided he wanted to be nothing. So why should he get to say sweet things in Mando’a to you with no repercussions? 

It makes your blood boil as you shove the necklace into one of the pillow cases, getting ready to go back out there and give him a piece of your mind but as you’re about to stand and pull yourself together you can hear rumbling, static snores from the other room.

And you can’t help but crack a smile. 

He sounds like a fucking Wookiee when he snores. 

Something about it makes you lay back down.

Like it reminds you that under all that perfect metal he is still only a man. 

He needs sleep.

So do you. 

Being angry with him can wait until tomorrow. 

tag list : dm or reply to be added!! @stagerightlauren - @dins-riduur-anthe - @littleguy-bendy - @rarachelchel - @laurensnotsparkly -@gerardingurway -@reallyidontcare- @clear-your-mind-and-dream - @estoniacobaltpayne - @buckyandgeraltsupremacy-@cookielovesbook-akie - @diabaroxa - @love-the-abyss - @sasakipsposts - @eclipsedplanet - @fatima-marisa -@somanyminidragons - @dindjarinsmut - @lemonboynsp - @disregardedplant

[cyberball]

snow on the beach

leo valdez x reader / no pronouns used \ not rq

warnings: two swear words i think

summary: reader and leo finally kiss. that's it

genre: fluff obv

notes: cyberball comeback!!!! everyone clap. also i feel compelled to say I wrote a lot of this listening to yes to heaven by lana. also, lots of midnights by taylor references so reply if u have taste u recognize!!

11:43 / 1149 words

10:00 PM

You ran a hairbrush through your hair again. “Amor, your hair looks amazing,” Leo assures you. “What, are you in love with me or something?” You retort, and he looks down at his feet. “The bigger problem is if my hair looks okay,” He says, sliding toward the mirror in your cabin. “Forgot I literally always look amazing,” He finishes, earning a smile and an eye-roll from you. Your sibling swings in the door, reminding you that the campfire is starting. 

You’ve loved Leo for, God, how long? You can’t really remember; it feels like forever. Everything about him is amazing. His honeylike voice, his gorgeous, dizzying smile, the way he always has an arm around your shoulder. 

Which is why, when –upon remembering that he might’ve left a fan running in the bunker– he leaves saying, “Go to the campfire, I’ll be back in a second. I love you,” you freeze for a second, quickly picking yourself back up, but he notices. So he adds, “Tell me how much you love me later,” and runs off. 

You start walking, hoping that the night will mask your unending love for him. It wasn’t out of the ordinary for you both to remind each other you love each other. There’s no point in hiding it because you knew, at any moment, danger could strike. He was your best friend, and you his. It was just that, ever since you started wanting more, every ‘I love you,’ pet name, and each and every touch sent you into overdrive. Now, you weren’t love-crazy or anything, but he made you crazy in love, and you had come to accept it. 

The campfire shined fiercely in the distance. You slide into the seat behind your sister. Leo shows up almost a minute later and shoves some people off the bench so he can sit next to you. You’ve warned him against Chiron’s anger many times but he never listens. He never sees. 

10:30 PM

Campfire whisked away like decaying embers and you spent all of it staring at Leo. How come he doesn’t notice? How come every breath you take isn’t a ragged melody of your adoration toward him? And when you walk with him to the bunker now, how come every step you take doesn’t echo all your feelings and doesn’t send up whirling tornadoes letting him know? Letting him know that you love him?

Bunker 9 couldn’t be reached any quicker. The walk in the woods is dark but you can still see him. He shines so brightly and he doesn't even realize it. 

You walk into the little bedroom he’s made in the bunker. The gods know how many nights you’ve spent here, giggling at his stupid jokes, at his stupidly gorgeous smile, at his sleepy voice. 

You’re fixing up the collar of his shirt as he rambles on about the project he’s working on. 

He sees you in the mirror, reflecting back his love for you if he squints. Your eyes are focused on his face, so his gaze quickly darts away. He realizes the attention you’re paying to him, including the way he’s gone silent. He turns around to look at you; he takes up that chance any time he can. He swears it’s either caffeine pumping through his veins or his love for you. You look at him like whatever bullshit he’s talking about is actually important, that he’s actually important. 

“Amor, what’s the point in fixing my shirt?” He says, looking right into your eyes. He sees the morning star in them, burning brighter than the sun. You have this way about you where it seems like everything you touch glows. He hasn’t had someone who genuinely is interested in him and what he has to say since his mother. But, even then, as he sends up a prayer and leans in, he fails to believe you’d love him back. 

If he didn’t believe in your reciprocal of his love, how come he risked putting your friendship on the line? Maybe he finally saw the sparkle in your eyes whenever you thought of him. He takes a deep breath and connects your lips. 

You’re stuck, flying in a dream. His lips leave behind pocketfuls of starlight and shoot up straight up to your heart, illuminating you. You kiss him back strategically; not too intense, but with the right amount of pressure that barely mirrors the pressure he exerted on your heart. And his warmth is a blanket; it spreads to you and covers you. When he pulls away, you know. It’s like snow on the beach, the realization that he must adore you back. There’s no other explanation for how he looks at you.

“God, can you say something?” 

“I don’t wanna jinx it,” He replies. 

“Not the time to be romantic, Lee,” you say, and he scoffs. “What, you kissing me back for the first time isn’t a good time to be romantic?” 

“‘Kissing me back for the first time,’ implies you have tried before and I just didn’t do it back,” you say, unable to meet his eyes. This was all you dreamed of, for months, so why couldn’t you look at him? Were you afraid you’d have to chart the constellations in his eyes? 

“Listen, man, I liked it. I like you, I like this, so do you wanna do this?” He asks, genuineness seeping into his voice. He speaks as if you would shatter if he said the wrong thing.

Were you afraid to explain how he’d brought you back to life?

Obviously, you fucking liked it. You loved it. He tastes like ambrosia, leaving a sparkling, shining aftertaste. What was there not to love?

“I– Leo, I like you,” you say, gathering all your courage, “And obviously I want this–” He interrupts you, “‘Cause you’re head over heels in love with me?” continuing with, “Sorry, go on,” when you shoot him an incredulous look. “Are you sure you do?” you ask.

It was a simple question, really. But it produced a softness in his eyes you had never seen before like you were a kicked puppy. It made you feel vulnerable and seen, but you didn’t mind. With him, you hardly ever did. 

He reached out to take your hand. It was the only one he’s ever reached out for. He vowed to always be yours the moment he saw you. He just had to make sure you knew that too, that he was willing to braid sweet-nothings into your hair and to fall asleep on top of you every day. Willing was a humble word; he fucking needed it.

And the gods know you were determined to let him know just how much you loved him, to plant kisses on his body until they grow into surety; the type of knot that would never ever come undone.

tagging: @drvrslcense @fbfh @quteez @chasingpj @dreamerball @oliviajdjarin (just some of my favourites -- send an ask to be added)

[bonezone44]

Muddy Waters, pt 4. (18+)

'Punching Bags'

Ezra x F!Reader x Joel Miller

Summary: A peek into your past and present with Ezra. A brief clash between you and Joel. Then, your best friend catches you with Joel.

Word Count: ~7,5k

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 (story masterlist) (my masterlist)

tags: NSFW 18+. Intuitive!Reader. Afab!Reader (she/they). Southern!Reader. Established Ezra x F!Reader. Polyam. No use of Y/N.

This Chapter: Pet names: baby, angel, darlin. Fighting/Fucking. Unprotected P-in-V. Ezra and his poor hygiene habits. Angst. Rage. Humor. Adult conversations.

Warnings: The first section of this chapter occurs in the past and contains consensual physical violence + sex, aka fighting/fucking, between the Reader and Ezra and the Reader and Ezra threaten each other’s lives (it’s understood between them that they don’t literally mean what they’re saying).

Author's Note: It's amazing how many different version of a chapter can exist before I end up with what I post. I hope this is the best version. I might have had too much caffeine today.

++++++++++++++++

“Just leave it!” he shouted at you from across the library with veins bulging from his neck. He splayed his fingers wide and threw his hands down. “We can’t take ‘em all!”

You traced the letters on the cover. 1,000 Facts About Space. Decorated with images of stars and planets and black holes. Your lips trembled and you fell to your knees.

Ezra groaned. “We don’t have time for this!”

“We were gonna go places.” Mars. The Asteroid Belt. Jupiter and beyond. To the very end of space and time. “We were gonna see… we were gonna see it all.” You swallowed thickly as your eyes filled with tears. 

“Yeah, well." Ezra spun around with his arms swinging. "It’s no longer an option, now is it?” he spat.

“B-but we’re gonna lose all this–all this knowledge!” You held the book to your chest and clung to your lower lip with your teeth as you pouted. In any other lifetime, it would have been a silly little collection of trivia you flipped through on someone’s coffee table. But in that moment, it was your ancestors’--nay, your entire species’--lost destiny and tragically unfulfilled prophecy.

“I am well aware of what progress our society is losing,” he snarled with wide eyes. “And I am just as heartbroken as you are but–" he placed his palms together in prayer. "–we cannot allow ourselves to mourn eternally over it and we cannot allow ourselves to mourn right–now!” He stomped his foot twice. “We need to move with haste,” he hissed.

“Stop telling me what to do!” you shouted, regressing into your childhood self, desperate and selfish and kicking your feet. God, why couldn’t Ezra understand you? Why couldn’t he understand the pain you were experiencing? Where was his fucking compassion?!

“Baby, if you don’t put that book down right now…” With his chin high and serious, he raised one ominous finger in your direction. “I’ll say it.”

You whipped your head up and flared your nostrils. He wouldn’t dare.

“You think I’m joking, huh?” Something about your reaction made his eyes glow. He dropped his hand.

“Don’t,” you threatened–your lips curled thin.

“Drop the book and get up or I’ll say it.” Excitement bubbled in his cheeks. He was grinning.

You stayed on the floor, snarling at him. Fire began to burn in your fists and ripple throughout your chest. “Don’t you fuckin say it.” Fuck, you wished he would. You wished this motherfucker would say it just so you could feel something for once in your whole stupid life.

“I will.” His eyes were positively glittering—sparkling like the falling dust in the pale white light flooding in through the windows. “I will speak it loudly and I will speak it proudly.”

“Don’t you fuckin say it, Ezra!” Your breaths were heaving now, hot blood pumping through your arms and legs. You were a wild beast being toyed with and prodded and the thought of pouncing your torturer burned embers low in your belly. You squeezed your thighs together–squirming.

“Don’t tell me what to do!” He said with a sideways shake of his head. He started laughing. You could see the beast in him, too, the way his teeth shined like fangs ready to sink into your skin.

You two went back and forth, taunting and tugging on one another while your bodies stayed in place and built up fiery momentum. 

It was Ezra who finally burst and snapped and he dug his teeth into the depths of your craw.

“I–" he started and your nostrils flared with hot air. 

"--miss–" 

Energy coiled in your toes 

"--the fuckin INTERNET!” He shouted and stomped, all red in the face and neck.

You launched yourself up from the floor and ran straight for him, screaming with fury and heated spite. You lunged forward, wrapping your arms around his knees, and tackled him to the ground. 

A loud pained groan was knocked from Ezra’s gut as he hit the floor. You scrambled up his body. 

You hovered above him, fingers gripping his shirt tight. "I am so fuckin sick of hearing you talk!" You punched him in the chest with the sides of your fists before tumbling over sideways and slamming into the floor, shoulder first. You hastily shimmied out of one pant leg because one leg free was all you needed before clawing yourself back on top of him.

"Give it to me–give it to me–" he choked out through short breaths. His pants and underwear were pulled under his hips. His twisted amusement was gone–replaced with a deep, snarling hunger. "Make it hurt, baby–" Ezra spit on his hand and stroked his cock. "Come on–" He whined.

You slid your panties to the side, wasting no time to sink down on his length. The sharp, dry pain went unnoticed as rage flooded your vibrating veins. You scratched your nails along the back of his scalp and pulled his head down and away from you. Your other hand curled into his shirt again. You wanted to rip it off his body and shove it in his mouth while he whimpered–and you tried, honestly, but the fabric wouldn't tear. 

Ezra dug his fingers into your waist. "Fuckin hurt me, baby!" He shouted and rolled his body, trying to get you to start moving. "Come on!"

You hunched over, meeting him nose-to-nose and screamed. "You wanna fuckin hurt?! I'll show you how to fuckin hurt!" You leaned upright. One hand squeezed his cheeks before the other swung back and punched him in the jaw–fist following all the way through. 

Ezra whimpered and jerked his hips. 

You saw blood in his teeth.

Fuck, it felt good. So good you almost came–it felt so good. The way your cunt clenched around him, sucking his cock deeper inside you. You bounced up and down, savoring the way his length stroked your inner walls. You reeled your arm back a second time and punched him again in the same spot to the right of his chin. This time, your fist hit the floor beneath him as well–sending a shooting pain from your knuckles up to your shoulder and right back down again.

Hoo! It hurt, but you shook it off–shook your hand around while bouncing up and down.

Ezra didn’t complain. In fact, he started fucking up into you, hips and bare ass using the hardwood floor as some kind of springboard. The rebound threw your body forward and you nearly toppled over him completely. But you were quick enough to steady yourself and met his strokes in a pounding, synchronous rhythm.

“I fuckin hate you!” you screamed in his face, sweat building on your brow. You punched him one more time for good measure, and the sting was so sharp–you felt pins and needles all through your hand. You clawed and tugged at his hair while hunting the billowing heat at your core. “I fuckin hate you, Ezra!” Fat tears filled your eyes and spilled down your cheeks. “I hope you fuckin die!”

“Nnng–I hate you, too, baby!” His eyes were glossy and wet and he was sweating from the exertion of his thrusts. "Fuck!" He whined and ached. "I fuckin hate you, too!" He croaked as he wept.

You wrapped your fingers in the hair on his crown. “If you fuckin come first, I’ll kill you mySELF!” Spit flew from your lips.

“Do it!” he yelled through gritted teeth, pain evident across his face. “Fuckin KILL ME ALREADY!” He shrieked. He was panting like a dog and crying like a baby.

“I’ll do it! I’ll fuckin KILL you, Ezra!” You were sobbing now–your abdomen spasming and twisting. You didn’t stop riding him, though. You were determined to get your orgasm–even if you felt yourself wavering. You shoved your dirty fingers in his mouth, down to your broken and bleeding knuckles, while your other hand braced yourself on the floor next to his head.

He tongued and choked on your fingers. He bit down hard and you loved it. Once you felt his hips slow–once his pace stuttered and grew weak–it set you off on your high. A creaking whimper escaped your throat. Your pussy clenched and contracted around him. A heady wave of blood pulsed through you, leaving you dizzy and disoriented. You collapsed into his body, limbs flopping around while Ezra chased his own end. 

You weren’t sure if he came in you or on you or somewhere else in the room. You just remembered the whole world going dark and quiet as you floated serenely on some post-orgasmic ethereal cloud. 

You were eternal. 

Unlimited. 

Until a waft of air over your bare ass sent goosebumps up your back and down your arms. You pried open your heavy eyelids with your cheek smushed against the floor. In front of you was a blur of book spines. A label on the shelf read ‘Local Authors.’ The title beneath:

'The Nature of Good and Evil' by Sylvia Browne.

—------

Ezra trekked ahead of you, smiling widely in the sun with a red wagon in tow. Its contents were covered in a black plastic tarp and wrapped up with cord. He craned his neck back and chuckled. “You clocked me pretty good, baby. It’s been–what?--over two weeks now? And I’m still feelin it.” He flexed his jaw. "Hoo!" 

“Sorry,” you murmured, embarrassed. You fumbled behind him, dragging a wagon of your own. Your knuckles were still tender, too. 

“There is no need to apologize for your actions.” He stopped and smiled. “I am proud of my woman.” He had been perky and grinning since you left the library behind. “I love it when you kick my ass.”

You rolled your eyes and laughed. You walked passed him, navigating carefully upward through the dry, grassy terrain. Your thighs and glutes trembled and ached. The soles of your feet burned. You couldn't feel your fingers hardly, but you didn't care. You didn’t wanna stop, yet, because you knew that stopping would make all the hurt settle in and throb through your body like rolling thunder–make your muscles spasm and twitch like flashes of angry lightning. 

“Shouldn’t be much further now," you heard him call from behind you.

You laughed again and yelled over your shoulder. “You have been saying that for days.”

“Well, since every scale is relative, I am technically correct each time I say it.”

You shook your head and sighed.

You heard a hungry moan. "Baby, I am treasuring the sight of your ass from this lower perspective–"

"Stop it!" Embarrassment heated your face as you giggled and squirmed, trying to cover yourself with your free hand. "You pervert!" 

He grunted. “You know me, angel–”

“HEY!" Shouted a deep and booming voice. 

Your hand instinctively pulled the pistol from your hip and you let go of the wagon. Your heart drummed in your chest as you searched the horizon. Like some kind of optical illusion, as soon as you saw one person heading towards you on horseback, you saw two more in your peripheral.

“Drop ‘em down! NOW!” It was the same deep voice as before–coming from a man wearing a bright red bandana over his face and a black cowboy hat. He was aiming his rifle straight at you. “And step away from the wagons!”

You both complied, clearly outnumbered and outgunned, too.

“Are you bit?” he shouted.

You shook your head as you raised your hands in surrender.

“No, my good sir.” Ezra cheerily spoke for both of you. “We are clean as whistles, I assure you.” He cleared his throat. “We are merely passing through—”

“What’s in the wagons?” asked a woman’s voice. She was to your right, wearing a denim jacket–face wrapped in a yellow bandana, but nothing atop her head but tightly twisted long black locs. 

“Nothing nefarious, I promise,” Ezra pressed his palms together. But he lifted them again when the woman raised her rifle. “We are delivering a collection of books–”

“Books?” The man in red sounded disgusted.

“Delivering to who?" Asked the woman. "There’s no one out here." She shook her head. “Certainly no one that ordered books.”

“Well, we uh–We–” Ezra looked to you, nudging for you to speak by widening his eyes.

You looked at the three riders surrounding you. Their clothes appeared clean and fitted. Although you could only see their eyes, they weren’t red and sunken. Their horses looked well-kept, too, brushed and attended to. You took your chance, praying to every single god you had ever heard of in your life that these were the right people and you were about to say the right words. “They left the light on for us,” you croaked out.

“...What?” said the man in red.

“They left the light on for us,” you repeated, though now that you were saying it out loud, you weren’t sure if it was correct. “They left the light on for-for-for me.”

“Th-that’s right!” chimed Ezra, still smiling with his hands up. “They left the light on for me.”

The three riders looked at each other. The woman in yellow trotted forward. 

“Who told you to say that?” she asked.

The tension eased a little. Your heart rate slowed. “My friend, Tonya. W-we met her back in Kansas City.”

The woman hummed. “And where is Tonya now?”

“She stayed,” you said and took a tight breath through your nostrils. “She’s still in Missouri.” 

She hummed again. “And she told you to bring us …books?”

“Tonya encouraged us to provide… tribute to the good people in the Jackson community,” said Ezra, bouncing on his toes. “My partner and I desire to join and participate in the development of this, uh… small town that Tonya has told us quiet, but evolutionary things about.”

The man in red scoffed. “So you brought books?”

“Yes. Books.” Ezra stood as proudly as he could with his hands still high in the air. “We carry with us some mechanical and medical textbooks and some children’s books for the little ones and-and-and we also have some literature, as well, from some of the greats–which–” He looked to you again. “--we know was a biased effort, of course, as is the nature of any opinion, b-b-but I believe we chose quite fairly across the board to-to-to express the diversity of our world’s uhh… our world’s—”.

“Capabilities,” you added.

“Capabilities! Yes! Our world’s capabilities and talent and knowledge.”

“We don’t do hand-outs, alright?” said the woman in yellow. “Everybody works.”

“Absolutely!” Ezra said. He looked over at you, flashing his eyebrows in a silent cheer before returning his attention to the riders. “I completely agree! One hundred percent!” He nodded in your direction. “M-my partner may need time to-to rest after this long, arduous journey, but I, personally, am fighting fit.”

The woman grunted and turned to the man in red. She spun her finger in the air. “Go get the dogs.”

Ezra smiled uncomfortably. “The-the what now?” 

—-----

There were never enough hours in the day. You don’t know how Joel kept his whole house so neat and clean and still found time to go on patrol and build things around town and limewash new shutters and take care of Ellie. You and Ezra shared a small apartment above the Outfitters and it was always an overwhelming disaster. 

You two had somehow collected so much in the brief time you had been in Jackson. And you had no idea what to do about all of it. Books and papers and trinkets and gifts and clothes–how the hell did you two own so many clothes?

And the shower was never clean enough and there was always dirt on the floors and the bed sheets–God! The bed sheets always smelled.

And Ezra never gave a shit.

Your eyes bore into him with fury as you stood watching him from the bedroom.

He was reclining on the couch wearing only blue boxer briefs and …a baseball cap, for some fuckin reason. He reached down to scratch his balls and then smelled his fingers after. A high pitched pained scream resounded in your head.

"Jesus Christ, Ezra," you groused and pointed at the floor. "Can't you put your clothes in the fuckin hamper?"

"Nope," he answered cheerily and flipped the page of his book. "I sure cannot."

The thing about Ezra’s cheeriness was that sometimes it was happy and perky and jovial. 

And sometimes it was a big 'Fuck You.''

You stomped through the living room and picked up his laundry while grinding your teeth. "You come home and just fuckin… throw your clothes all over the place." 

"I sure do." He grinned and continued to read.

Fire built in your chest. It didn't matter that you were just as messy. What mattered was that you were trying to do better–trying to be cleaner. And he refused to make a single effort.

"I'm sick of living in a fucking pig sty!" You screamed. You did not understand how to get through to him. No matter what avenue you took, he fought you at every turn, so you gave up and yelled at him all the time instead.

"It must suck to be you, then."

"Oh my god!" You shouted with your hands curled into tight fists. "You are a fuckin child!" 

He turned to you with a proud smile, eyes disappearing behind his rounded cheeks, and released an utmost satiated hum.

You started panting in anger. You wanted to grab his book and rip it in half. Or set fire to each page one by one, laughing maniacally as he cried–the flames reflecting brightly in your wild eyes. 

But… no. You didn't really want to do that because he loved his books. He loved reading. And you didn't really wanna hurt him. 

That would break his heart.

And in turn, it would break yours, too.

…But you did kinda wanna strangle him right where he was, laying on the couch without a care in the world. 

But.

Again.

You didn't really wanna strangle him. 

Because even though you imagined doing all this damage to Ezra, it was a cartoon fantasy that played in your mind. Like Looney Tunes or Ren and Stimpy where the excessive violence never did any permanent damage but allowed the characters to get out all their frustrations.

This was usually where the hate-fucking came in. 

But that was for ‘out there.’ Out in the rest of the world where safety and survival was a constant uncertainty. Where there was nowhere to go when you needed a break from one another and the persistent grinding friction between the two of you had to breach your surfaces somehow.

But now you’re ‘in here.’ In Jackson. In a community that allowed you to get the fuck away from him when necessary.

And–Praise be!–on this day, you knew the perfect place to go.

“I am getting the fuck out of this fuckin apartment!” you shouted into the air.

“Good for you, angel.” Ezra was so calm and encouraging. “I hope you have a wonderful day.”

The fact that he wouldn't fight you back just made you angrier. "Well I hope your day fuckin sucks!" You screamed and slammed the door behind you as you left. 

You stomped down the stairs into the alleyway and stopped once you hit the bottom. Your head was already clearer outside of the confines of your shared living space. The cool fresh air cleansed the heat from your skin and a slow, deep breath brought you even further toward peace of mind.

It was inventory day at the General Store and you knew they needed extra hands.

It was the perfect distraction. 

Counting items was easy and repetitive. And you would be under direct surveillance, by Derek of all people, so there would be no opportunity for your mind to wander and ail you. The man was impossible and it made you do better just to spite him.

Derek was one of the patrollers that first found you and Ezra. He was on the council, supervised the General Store, and ran the town meetings. And he loved Ezra. 

His feelings toward you, though, were tepid at best. 

You hoped Tracy would be there. She was Derek’s wife and probably your closest friend in all of Jackson. She was funny and bright and she loved her kids more than anything. She always wore a velvety soft brown cardigan and smelled like lemongrass. Her friendship made you feel all warm inside and damn, you needed a friend.

Unfortunately, as you approached the front door, you saw Derek through the window. And even more unfortunately, he saw you, too. Meaning there was no turning back. You took another deep breath and opened the door.

“Inventory day,” Derek groaned as you walked in.

“Oh, I know!” You smiled with your fingers tugging on the hem of your shirt. “I wanted to see if you needed an extra hand.”

“An extra hand?” He scoffed with his eyes all big. He crossed his arms over his stomach, one hand clinging to his clipboard. He glared with disdain. “We started over an hour ago. You can’t just show up whenever you feel like it.”

You crossed your arms right back. “I was just passin by–”

“Passing by?” He pointed his stupid little clipboard at you. “You live across the way.”

“Livin across the way doesn’t mean I can’t pass by.” You huffed. This wasn’t quite going how you had planned it would go. “Maybe–Maybe I could bring y'all lunch or something?” You suggested as you scratched your eyebrow. “So you don’t have to go to the hall for it?"

Derek scoffed even louder than before.  “And make a big mess in the middle of the store? No.” He huffed back. “We got enough mess to deal with already.”

“Heeey!” You heard Tracy call out to you in song. She wore chunky heels that echoed with every step as she approached. “How are you?” she asked as she opened up her arms.

“I’m doin good, Tracy,” you grinned and glowed and hummed as you met her in a tight warm hug. You glared at Derek over her shoulder and he rolled his eyes. “i was just seein if y’all needed help, but–”

“Oh, great timing!” she said and squeezed your shoulder after pulling away. “Derek, let’s get her counting those pillows in the back.”

“No." He was all worked up, eyes bulging, offended by the suggestion. "I’m gonna have Kara take care of that when she’s done with the blankets.” He tossed his hand in the air. “We don’t need her. She’s just gonna count ‘em wrong anyway.”

You raised your finger to defend yourself. "I told you. Last time, I had a cold and I was on my cycle, okay?"

"Horseshit," he muttered under his breath. 

“Derek, be nice,” Tracy hissed. “She is my friend and she is trying to help.”

“I don’t care if she’s trying to help.” He tossed his hand up again. “Let her go help someone else.” He stomped away, shaking his head. 

Tracy rolled her eyes, tucking a brown curl behind her ears. “Sorry about that.” She huffed as she wrapped her cardigan around her front. “He is bein such an asshole today.” She mouthed the word 'asshole' so no one else would hear. "And I don't know why–" she hid her mouth behind the back of her hand. "--'cause he definitely got some last night."

You faked a laugh. Normally, her little asides would crack you up, but your mood was souring everything.

She shook her head and sighed. “Anyway, if he won't let you help out in here, there was a little accident that happened in the tool shed over night last night." Tracy interlaced her fingers together and pleaded with her eyes.

"Oh yeah?" You really didn't want to work by yourself, but there was no way out of it at this point.

"One of the shelves fell and we just haven't had a spare moment to go clean it all up." She smiled kindly and you forced a smile back. "Maybe you can go do that for us."

"I can do that! Don't you worry ‘bout a thing," you nodded, groaned internally, and walked back out the front door. 

—--

The large barn door to the tool shed was wide open and you recognized an empty space on the back wall above the wood-top counter. Once you stepped past the work table in the center, you saw the edge of it--the 'accident' that Tracy referred to. To the left of the back counter was a tall pile of nails and bolts and screws and broken pieces of glass from the jars that had once sorted them all. 

“The fuck,” you muttered.

The shelf itself was a long, thin, deep slab of wood, sitting on top of the back counter, dusty and stained. Its brackets were still secured to the wall, strangely enough. 

You scoffed. The shelf had no holes in it. It was solid. 'What idiot puts up a shelf and doesn’t attach it to the fuckin brackets?' You huffed. 'How long has this been here like this?' You shook your head. 'A disaster waitin’ to happen and then–' you waved your palm out to the mess on the floor. '--it finally happens.'

You groaned. This looked like something Ezra would do. He was so lazy. He never finished anything but his books. That's all he ever wanted to do was read. Hardly ever spent any time with you.

Sure, there was that amazing sex you had the other morning, but besides that–hardly ever!

You groaned again. Not that you would want to spend time with his unwashed ass right now.

God, Ezra was the worst. There was something wrong with that man. What kind of person happily marinates in their own filth like that? Why couldn’t he shower every day like a normal person? Just because he had off the night before didn’t mean he should just soak in his own sweat and muck and – Ugghh!

And he never picked up after himself. Sometimes …maybe he would pick up a thing or two, but mostly never.

And then Derek, ugh! How the hell was Tracy married to him? He was so impossible to please. You wanted to help with inventory. You weren't there on time because you didn't know how you were gonna feel that morning and you didn't wanna commit to something if you were just gonna let them down again. And last time you had a cold and you were on your cycle and your brain couldn't hold the numbers in your head but that wasn't your fault! You did the best you could every single day of your life and sometimes your brain and body betrayed you and forced you to betray others but it wasn't intentional! You weren't trying to be an unreliable piece of shit! You were trying to do better every fuckin day for yourself and for Jackson and for Ezra’s disgusting ass! You didn't mean to be a big fuckin failure who had no skills and devolved into a panicked puddle of blood, sweat, and tears by the tiniest inkling of responsibility now that you were inside the safety of Jackson’s walls! It wasn't your fault that you were never gonna be enough! It wasn't your fault that–

Someone cleared their throat and it grated against your skin.

You looked up from the pile of sharp glass and metals.

Great. 

Now Joel was here. 

He was the last person you wanted to see while you were busy being animus and self-loathing. And he was smiling at you like life was all fun and happy or something when it wasn’t!

God, it felt so fuckin stupid to be alive.

"Mornin, darlin," he grinned and shuffled towards you. 

His sexy, smoky voice was so stupid and annoying.

"Mornin," you rolled your eyes as you sorted out nails and tossed them into one of the few surviving jars. 

He stopped. Tilted his head. Had the nerve to breathe in your general direction. "So…" he pointed with his chin. "What happened here?"

You raised your head slowly with a condescending glare. “The shelf fell down." You raised your palm toward the empty spot on the wall like you were Vanna White. ‘Is this beautiful idiot incapable of observing his own surroundings? Is he too busy being attractive and handsome to use basic deduction skills?’

He raised his eyebrows and put his hands on his hips. "Did… did you do it?" He asked.

And now he was accusing you of being the idiot that didn't properly install a simple fucking shelf?! 

"No, I didn't do it, you fuckin asshole," you groused and tossed more nails into the jar.

"Hey." 

You felt him more than you heard him–a tense shockwave rippling through you like an earthquake, shoving you to teeter on the edge of a crevice. You whipped your head up. Your gut trembled. Your whole world became uncertain and unbalanced.

Joel towered above you from where you sat, shrinking into the floor. He scowled with his arms crossed. "What is this? What are you doin?” He shrugged his broad shoulders and shook his head. “Don't talk to me like that." 

His disappointment sent your heart over the edge into free-fall. Shame crawled across your skin and all the heat and turmoil in your head suddenly vanished, leaving behind nothing but a cold, empty wind. You covered your eyes with your hand and sucked air into your lungs.  "I'm sorry," you creaked out, frowning. You had seen Joel standing there, but you hadn't felt him yet. Too busy in your own storm to see anyone but yourself. Your heart shrank further.  "Sorry." Tension stung the muscles in the center of your chest and snaked its way up your throat. "I-I-I get like this …sometimes." The water that had once been boiling inside of you had cooled and started pouring out your eyes. 

"Well, don't… get like it… with me," he said, sounding on the edge of timid.

"Okay. Okay." You nodded and recycled another breath. And even though you still felt the burn of shame on your skin, the pressure on your chest was relieved. "I'm sorry." You sniffed and spoke to the floor. 

You wiped enough of your tears away to see Joel eyeing you with his brows pulled tight, chewing on his lip. It surprised you that he didn't push back or start yelling. It surprised you that he stayed instead of throwing his hands up and stomping off or, at the very least, saying something polite before leaving you be to wallow in your own shame.

"Are you alright? What's goin on?" He asked.

You opened your mouth to speak, thinking the words would come to you, but they didn't. You sighed, half-smiling. "I'm sorry, Joel. It's nothin." You waved him away. "You've got work you're trying to do–"

"Can't be nothin if it's got you actin like that. I–" he sighed. "C'mon." He offered you his hand. 

You obliged, reaching out and allowing him to pull you up. You wiped the dirt from your knees and shit, they felt stiff and bruised. You didn't realize you had been kneeling for so long.

 He carefully took your hand in his own again. It felt good and warm and safe. "So what's wrong? I-I gotta be honest" He huffed and smiled. "I didn't know… someone as happy as you could get like that."

If he hadn't been holding your hand, you would have ran away–you were so embarrassed. You closed your eyes. Your breaths grew shallow.

"It's–It's–I just–" The right words still weren't there.

"Look at me," he said.

You complied. 

"I wouldn't be askin if I didn't wanna know." His eyes were big and tender. The lines around them and in his forehead echoed his sincerity like ripples in water. 

You closed your eyes, nodding.

And his thumb was rubbing along the center of your palm and he was waiting–so patiently.

You opened your eyes and his expression was unchanged. "I have these moods…" the words finally tumbled out of you. "...where I get lost in my own head and wanna hurt everyone and everything. But I don't really wanna hurt anyone.” You sighed. “But then I go lashin out at everybody, anyway." 

A soft smile bloomed on his face. “Yeah,” he said and glanced into the alleyway. “I know what that’s like.”

Relief washed over you, removing all your remaining apprehension. You had been so scared and yet… he impressed you again.

“I don’t wanna be your punchin bag, though,” he said earnestly.

You didn’t know a statement like that could feel so good–warming up your chest and clearing out your mind. “I don’t want you to be my punchin bag, either,” you said, echoing his sincerity. “It won’t happen again, Joel.” You were confident of that. “I’m sorry it happened in the first place.”

“‘S alright.” He blinked and looked down to where you had been sitting on the floor. “That was… easy compared to most of the fights I have.” Amusement rounded his cheeks, his dimple burrowing deep. He leaned his hip into the back counter, resting his elbow atop it. He was still playing with your hand, interlacing your fingers through it. 

You giggled through your closed-lip smile.

He spoke to the floor between your bodies. “I … fight myself more than anybody.” 

Your smile turned sympathetic.

“You could say I’m my own punchin bag,” he said in a forced joke with a forced smile.

“Yeah,” you nodded, staring at him with open tenderness. “I know what that’s like.” Your hand found his waist, fingers on the smooth leather of his belt and the rough fabric of his jeans. You rubbed your thumb up and down the soft, cotton fabric of his shirt. You wanted to wrap your arms around him and hold him close, but you weren't sure how he would respond. You didn't move. Didn't say anything. Didn't want to risk him closing back up. 

His eyes–you could lose yourself in them forever. Especially with how adoringly he looked at you. You wondered if he was delusional or something to be so quickly enamored with you.

Shit, though. Maybe you were delusional, too, because he was constantly making you melt and you didn't even know him. Not really. Not like you knew Ezra. 

Was this okay? Was this alright to feel about someone when you didn't yet know all their quirks and viewpoints and world opinions? You knew Ezra for years before you crossed that boundary. And that was living every single day in his presence. You and Joel had spent very little time together, but god, you felt yourself pulled to him by some electromagnetic current. 

But you were a lot older and wiser than when you first met Ezra. Your instincts were stronger and clearer. And your life wasn't at risk if things went south between you–there were no cordyceps or raiders or slavers to find you if he wasn't at your side with a gun in his hand. 

You could trust this–whatever it was–happening between you. You could trust yourself to figure it out, too. Maybe Ezra was right. Not everything could fit into a pretty little box for you to label and package all nice and neat. Maybe it was alright to be messy. 

So when Joel stepped closer, bringing your bodies flush, you felt warm and easy. And when he leaned forward to kiss you, you felt no doubt in your body when you leaned in to kiss him right back.

The distinctive sound of metal clocking against itself and wood sliding against wood startled both of you. You both whipped your heads around to see Tracy, slamming the door behind her and scuttling towards you from the back of the General Store.

Time slowed down right in front of your eyes, moving like molasses down a shallow incline. You felt your heart pounding in your ears. You hadn’t prepared for this. You hadn’t prepared to tell anyone. Til you knew what the hell you were doing.

But… of all the people to catch you in the act, at least it was Tracy. She knew you better than anyone else in town.

"Hello. Hi." She waved her hand–a broad, panicked smile on her face.

“Shit,” Joel muttered under his breath.

She stepped inside the shed with her hands clasped together. “What’s going on? What are you doing?” She asked. Her voice teetered between casual and accusative.

“‘S none of your business.” Joel’s voice teetered on threatening.

“Um, actually it is my business–” She held her finger up and snaked her head around. “--when my best friend is about to throw her perfect relationship down the toilet.”

Joel scoffed and rolled his eyes. 

Your heart jumped. ‘Best friend?’ You hadn’t had a best friend since high school. And you and her had had a falling out, which was why you went to college alone in the first place. You needed this. You needed to save this. You held your palms up, attempting to calm her. “Look, Tracy. I know it looks bad, but–”

Her arms were crossed and angry. “After all Ezra does for you and for this town and–what? You’re just gonna leave him for-for this?” With a disgusted look, she tossed her finger in Joel’s direction before tucking it back beneath her arm.

Joel placed his palms on the work table, leaning his weight into them. He looked ready to pounce.

You stayed even and gentle. “I am not leaving Ezra.”

You felt Joel’s eyes on you.

“Oh, okay. Of course.” She shrugged. “You’re just gonna fuck someone else behind his back. My bad.”

“It’s not like that,” you said evenly.

“Ezra knows.” Joel added.

“No. Uh-uh.” Tracy shook her head. “There is not a man alive that would let their wife run around and make a fool out of them.” 

Your palms were still high, still trying to ease back her cloud of upset. “No one is bein made a fool of, Tracy. Ezra knows.” 

She scoffed. “This is a joke, right? This is a fucking joke?” Her head was still shaking. Tears rimmed her eyes as she dropped her arms. "Is Ezra not enough for you?" She pressed her fist into her chest. "After all he's done to support you and he's not enough?"

 You struggle to find the words, every thought in your head is blurry. 

She laughs, wiping pained tears from her reddening eyes. "Ezra is such an incredible, perfect, handsome man and you–"

"Ezra is not some golden child.” Joel spat.

"What?" You turned to look at him. His face was red and he was snarling.

"Ooooh!" Tracy looked sickeningly excited and started waving her finger around. "You got a lotta nerve to say anything, Joel." She spat his name out like an insult. "I have heard plenty of stories about what you did before Jackson."

He raised his jaw, his body gone stiff. His chest heaved hot breaths through his nostrils.

"All the killing and smuggling." She huffed. "The only reason they even let you in was because of your brother."

You scoffed. "Tracy, stop it." Your calm was disappearing.

"You don't know, do you?" Her eyes were now trained on you. "You don't know how many people he's killed?"

"Tracy," you warned. “I am not going there. There is not a single person in this town–”

“Innocent people.” She said your name to you as if to emphasize her point. She leaned forward, pointing at Joel as if her finger was gonna help you understand everything she was telling you. “He killed innocent people.” 

“I killed innocent people, too.” You threw your hands up–stiff, exasperated. You spoke through gritted teeth and trembling lips. “And people tell me stories all the time about murderin and torturin and-and-and the sick, painful shit they did to get by.” You pointed a shaky finger downward. “People here. In Jackson.” You stared at Tracy's pained face, wet cheeks. "But we are not who we were when we were survivin'." 

“Fine. Fine!” Tracy spat, wiping the tears from her eyes. "Fine!" Her head was shaking. Her body was trembling. “B-B-But you can’t do this.” Now her finger was pointing at you. “You can’t just go around… fuckin whoever you want.”

Your eyes grew wide and your jaw went slack.

“It is none of your business,” Joel snarled again.

“There are families here. And there are children.”

“What?” What the hell did that have to do with anything?

“And how am I supposed to explain to my kids that you’re out there sluttin’ it up like nothing means anything?”

“What?” You wanted to laugh. "That–that doesn't even make sense! What are you talking about?" ‘Like nothing means anything?’ What the hell did that mean? 

“You get one, okay?” She started stepping back, out of the tool shed and into the alley. “You get one and that’s all you get. That's how it works. That's how it's always worked.” She nodded, satisfied. “Okay? So pick.” She clapped her hands together. “And you know how I feel about this one.” She nodded toward Joel and turned around.

You stomped around the work table. “I don’t have to pick shit!” She was almost to the door. “I can do whatever the hell I want!”

She threw her hands up, shaking her head, and went inside.

Your whole body was jittery. Your breaths were short. There were people, you noticed, on the edge of your vision. Other people in the alley. But you didn’t count them and you didn’t look to see if they were looking at you. You placed your hand on your chest, attempting to calm your nerves.

Joel stood in the tool shed, watching you and working his jaw. He looked down and crossed his arms.

“I … I don’t know what the hell just happened,” you said as you leaned against the doorway. You were exhausted suddenly–every ounce of life having been sucked from your veins and mind and bones. 

Joel didn’t say anything. Just wiped his face and adjusted his belt. 

“Everything is happenin so fast. It’s too fast.” Your eyes welled with tears. You didn’t know you had any left in there. “I don’t understand it. I don’t understand what is goin on.”

Joel slowly stepped to you, boots scraping against the dusty floors. He placed his hand on your shoulder and opened his mouth to speak. But he closed it just as quickly.

You sighed and wiped your tears. You wrapped your palm around his warm hand and it felt so good to touch his skin. You didn’t need or want him to say anything at all. It was enough to be in his presence. You took a deep breath and looked at him with a small smile on your lips.

“I need to go tell Ezra what happened so he’s not blind-sided by it later ‘cause I know she’s gonna tell somebody and they’re gonna tell somebody else and I’m pretty sure–” you sighed. “I’m pretty sure some other people just heard us arguin out there.”

“A-alright,” he said–his hand staying on your shoulder.

God, being with Joel felt so good and so right and so… correct. Like this was what you were supposed to be doing. Like this was what your whole life had been building toward and you were exactly where you needed to be. 

“I wanna see you again. Soon."

Joel's eyebrows shot up, his lips upturned on the edges. “Really? E-Even after all that?”

“I'm not changing myself to make her feel better.” You spoke with confidence. You shrugged. “This is who I am.” You gasped and stepped back, putting out your arm to make space between the two of you. “I mean, if you need to take a break or wanna stop or if it's too much and you wanna think about it–"

“No no no no.” Joel smirked. "I'm good."

You couldn't believe it. "...Really?"

He scowled. "I don't give a shit about these people." He pulled you back in by your waist, adoring you with a smile. "I can do whatever the hell I want." 

You laughed, shaking your head. His tender eyes had you hooked again and you reached up to hold his face in both of your hands. The kiss you shared was just as tender, lips locking with only a tease of your tongues. 

You were determined to make this work. 

You were also determined to not lose Tracy as your friend. 

You knew it wouldn't be easy, but it would definitely be worth it.

+++++++

A/N: I feel like it's important to say that Joel 'Bottles-Up-His-Emotions' Miller will not stay cool, calm, and collected forever. The next chapter will include a lot of processing.

tag list: @toxicanonymity @jksprincess10 @shotgun-shelby @walkintotheriveranddisappear @for-a-longlongtime @rubyfruitjungle

+++++++

(story masterlist)

(my masterlist)

[crowswithize]

Random DP Xover Interactions 4

Characters: Alfred Pennyworth and Ember McClain

Many types and shapes of living beings found themselves visitors of Wayne Manor. From Dick’s multiple escapades - one’s Master Bruce dutifully ignored - to Damian’s impromptu animal shelter. Even Tim had his fair share of colorful friends stop by. As much as Bruce asserted the Manor as a place of solitude and intimidation, the inside was far too friendly. Its inhabitants far friendlier.

So when Alfred walked into the kitchen and found a young lady with blue fire hair sitting at the island, he barely batted an eye. At least, this time, he knew who sat comfortably on the stool.

He started the kettle. “Miss McClain,” he greeted.

“Heya, Gramps,” Ember said, giving a two-finger salute. They share no blood bond and her words were certainly teasing, yet an underlining fondness coated her tongue.

“How are you? It’s been quite some time since you last visited Gotham.”

She made a noncommittal hum. “Same old, same old. Punching creeps and breaking hearts.”

“Just like Master Bruce in her younger days.”

Ember snorted. “I don’t think he’s stopped.” Alfred couldn’t, and wouldn’t, disagree. 

“May I ask what brought you here today?” He surveyed the fridge. Damian had notably started gardening and Alfred wouldn’t dare let good produce go to waste. He took out the misshapen tomatoes and bell peppers and set them aside. 

Ember clicked her tongue, pretending to think of it. Finally, she settled with, “Hypnotize the whole city with Ivy again. That gal is a riot.” She devilishly smiled with a row full of fangs. The fire of her hair whipped wildly, and Alfred feared the cabinets would become seared.

“An encore, I see,” Alfred commented. He turned on the coffee machine and began making Tim’s morning brew. He’s been slowly lowering the caffeination levels each day in the hope of weening the boy out of his addiction. “Though,” he added, “I couldn’t see any of your equipment being strung about for such a plan.” “I left them at Ivy’s.”

“Surely not. Miss Quinn and her share an apartment nowadays and their hyenas might destroy them. Not to mention Miss Quinn’s sporadic behavior when seeing a perfectly good drum kit.”

Ember let out a long, suffering groan. Alfred paid no mind and poured the hot water into a teapot along with some scoops of tea leaves.

Alfred was no stranger to Ember’s antics. He’s dealt with worse in Bruce’s younger years. Raising over six children have ample practice for patience and Alfred was nothing if not accommodating. If need be, he’d let Miss McClain think over her words for any portion of her infinite afterlife. 

“You’re wasted as a butler, Gramps,” she said, leaning a head against the counter. She stared directly at where Alfred was preparing tea.

“I respectfully disagree, Miss McClain.” 

He walked toward her and set a cup of Lady Grey in front of her. She immediately straightened herself out and took a small whiff. Alfred watched the gentle smile subconsciously brought upon her with great pleasure. 

He stood opposite of her, holding his own teacup in his hand. It’s a silent minute and only the brewing coffee pot sounded.

She hadn’t changed, not that Alfred expected her to, in appearance. Though she hadn’t visited the Manor since Bruce left, Alfred didn’t think she’d never return. Those were fond times when Bruce brought home a fire-haired lady and committed himself to solve her death. He would’ve thought him mad if not seeing her with his own eyes. She’d been so confused, unsure of the mortal realm, and utterly clueless about everything. Beautifully she grew into confidence and mischief. Alfred suppressed the chuckle of how Young Bruce and her would host shenanigans together. It was the first time he had reason to smile.

Then they grew apart, finding different definitions of justice. They both wanted to leave, both wanted to make a name. Bruce left for his training then Ember left back to her afterlife. Alfred tried to rekindle them but their differences were too apparent. What once gave strength to their relationship now warred against them. The only thing they had truly shared was indulging in the childhood so rudely taken from them.

Her teacup clinks against the saucer. “Just…” she struggled with what to say. She propped her elbow on the counter and pillowed her chin against her palm. Alfred does not scold her.

“I missed you guys,” she said quietly, her hair subduing with honesty.

Miss McClain had changed, he observed. Her fire did not crackle like desperate flames in December as it had. Decades ago, anger resided behind her eyes so acutely. Anger at the world, her death, and everyone who betrayed her. He does not see the anger he saw the burnings of regret, guilt, and, most of all, hope.

Alfred circled the island until he stood directly in front of her, her eyes trailing the entire time. 

“Dear girl, you’re always welcome here.” He laid a hand on her shoulder without fear of burning.

Ember laughed, hollow and empty. “I hypnotized the city with a plant lady last time I was here.”

“And master Bruce dresses up as a bat every night,” he countered. “Neither act will have you banned from this house.”

“I got really angry at him both times I left, Alfie,” she sniffled. Water hissed against her eyes as not a single drop survived.

“As well as each of his children yet he still loves them.”

“I’ve been gone for so long.”

Her hands shook, scrunching her pant’s fabric. Gently, he took them and held her hands within his. He stared directly into her eyes, fear akin to the one in Bruce’s eyes.

“And not once did we dare forget about you, Miss McClain.”

She launched herself at him, hugging Alfred with all her might. She sobbed tearlessly but her fire burned brighter than before. 

[ggomos-maribat]

The Consequences of Her Visit

Part 3 of Heirs Apparent | AO3

Masterlist

Danny dragged his feet to the kitchen to fetch himself a glass of water. This time, he wasn't deprived of any sleep; he'd snored his way through the entire afternoon after a particularly long morning of attending to kingly duties.

He threaded his fingers through his hair. The day marked four months since he had last heard from his mother. Her last letter had informed him about the situation of the League: the members had split into two main factions, one in support of a new leader and one in support of Talia and Nyssa's current rule. Talia never made her letters lengthy or personal, but Danny found comfort in receiving them. It told him that his mother was at least alive. 

The hairs on the back of his head abruptly stood on end when he sensed a presence by the kitchen table. 

"Dani, I told you to tell me first before you suddenly drop by," he sighed. 

But when he was met with no snark, no reply, he whipped around to see an unexpected guest. "Amira? What are you doing here?" 

Marinette gave him a gentle smile. "Sorry, I just . . . I needed to see you. It's been four months." 

"Since the letters." Danny moved around the kitchen to prepare hot drinks for the both of them. 

"Yeah." Marinette cast her gaze down. "I can't really visit Damian without compromising our identities so I thought I should come to you." 

Danny shared her sentiments. He already had half the mind to fly to Paris or Gotham out of paranoia but held back, thinking of it as a reckless move. But he was more than relieved to have his sister visit. 

He repeated the words from the last letter. "The League is split into two factions. She's probably occupied with that, right?" 

"I imagine she's taking precautions so the other faction cannot trace us." 

Excuses to reassure themselves. Danny had already known the fact that death was inevitable for any of them—they were a family of assassins after all. But he didn't know if he'd be able to accept it when it did happen. He swallowed down the bitter lump in his throat. Cross the bridge when you get there. Don't think about that right now. 

He took the steaming mugs of coffee, handing Marinette one much to her delight. He wasn't unfamiliar with her addiction to caffeine but he had the same tendencies so he was happy to indulge her. 

"Are you sure it's okay for me to stay here?" Marinette shot a wary look at the stairs leading up to the bedrooms. 

"Don't worry, Mom and Dad can't be woken up even if there's a ghost and Jazz just pulled an all nighter so she's knocked out," Danny explained and Marinette hummed in reply. 

He often wondered if she felt any different shifting into a new family. In his first days with the Fentons, there was a strange feeling accompanied by being the youngest as a transition from being one of a set of triplets. 

"Is there anything bothering you?" asked Marinette, sipping on her drink. Translation: has anyone targeted you? 

"Nothing really. The usual," he shrugged. "Ember, Technus, Fright Knight. They're minor inconveniences at this point. What about you?"  

"Hawkmoth's still Hawkmoth," said Marinette. "But, um, my partner and I are handling things better. We're together now." 

Danny made a mental note to arrange a shovel talk later on when he saw a pink blush dusting her cheeks.  

"I'm worried about you," he confessed, "I was thinking . . . Rogues will always be in Gotham and ghosts won't cease to exist here but you—you can defeat the villain in your city. There's an end to his reign. If we can help out in uncovering his identity, Paris will be at peace again." 

"It's too dangerous. I'm sorry, akhi." 

Danny took a sip from his cup. Just like that, his help was turned down. 

With his luck, footsteps sounded from the staircase. He scrambled to get Marinette into a hiding place but she was faster, effortlessly slipping inside a cabinet. Danny had just enough time to push back her chair and bring her mug next to his when Jack entered the kitchen. 

"Whatcha you doing up, son?" Jack asked. Danny pretended not to notice that his adoptive father was all geared up. 

"Can't sleep." Danny forced out a faux smile. "It's nothing bad." 

"Why do you have two cups of coffee?" 

"Uhmmm, I like to have an extra just in case." He pulled the other mug closer to his. 

Thankfully, Jack didn't seem to think twice about it. "Well, your mom and I are driving over to Springfield. One of our ghost sensors went off there and we're gonna test our newest invention!" 

"You're going right now? At this hour?" Another ghost-hunting trip. What did he expect? 

"Yup!" As if on cue, more footsteps padded down the stairs. Most likely it was Maddie, who was loading their equipment into the truck. "Who knows, we might be able to catch that sneaky Phantom!" 

A chill passed over Danny's spine. The fact that Marinette was hearing how obsessed the two were about hunting down Phantom wasn't good. He drummed his fingers nervously on the table. "Doesn't he stay in Amity Park though?" 

"You never know." Jack dug into his pocket and handed him a few bills. "Here's a lil' something for you. Get yourself something nice while we're out." 

Danny looked down at the allowance left for them. It was barely enough to buy them groceries to last a whole weekend. Jack, as usual, didn't seem to realize this and only ruffled his hair before heading out the front door. In less than a minute, the RV was speeding down the street. 

And Marinette was out from her hiding spot. 

"Danny, what was that?" He couldn't meet her eyes as she asked the dreaded question. 

"What was what?" 

"Are your parents always like that?" Her tone was firmer, voice louder. 

He didn't answer. Marinette moved closer to him and he knew—he knew—she was analyzing him, watching his every move to read the answer from him. "Danny. Danyal." She clutched the edge of the table. "What was that?" 

He had told his siblings about how he came to be a Halfa, but he only mentioned in passing that his parents were hunters. He chose to omit their neglect, and preferred to just live with it. "Jack and Maddie care about catching ghosts more than us," he told his sister quietly, "But they're good people, amira." 

"But what he said about Phantom." Venom laced her words. "How can they be so reckless? What about you? You're a good person, don't they see that?" 

Danny opened his mouth and clamped it shut. Ancients, what am I supposed to say? 'We're used to it'? He braved a look at her eyes and found them flowing with emotion, perhaps even more than what she could show back in Paris. 

"They don't know you're . . ." 

"No, they don't." 

"But Jazz knows, right?" She took a seat, accepting her cup again. 

"Yes, and she's been taking care of me ever since." He reached across to squeeze her hand. "It's okay, we're okay right now. As soon as Jazz finishes college and saves up enough money, we'll be out of this house." 

"Why didn't you tell us you've been living like this?" Her face was red, her irises were watery and her fingers shook. Marinette was good at concealing her emotions, but she was better at expressing them at the right times.  

"The same reason why we lie about our past," Danny answered solemnly. "You understand that, don't you?" 

A harsh glare was directed at him. "Yes, we lie to other people but that doesn't mean you lie to us. No matter what you think of the situation, it's dangerous for you. And don't say you didn't want to worry me and akhi, because we're always worried." 

His shoulders sagged. He did want to tell them but only when he had settled on a new life. "I'm sorry." 

Marinette heaved out a sigh, and it that second Danny felt like he was the youngest, fresh out of a scolding. She sipped on her coffee to calm herself down, rubbing away the tears from her eyes. "You know akhi will skin you alive, right?" 

His lips quirked up into a smile. "It's not like I'm not already half-dead." 

"Danyal." 

"I know, I know." His smile stretched wider. "Are you going to tell him?" 

Marinette huffed. "I should." 

"I'll tell him myself. Later today." He downed the last of his coffee, savoring the sweet taste. 

"What?" 

"You said it's difficult to visit Damian, but it's less risky if it's me. I'll drop by Gotham, check on him, and ask if he's heard anything from the League or Mother," he vowed. "Then I'll come clean." 

Marinette's lips curled. ". . . Are you sure?" 

"Yeah, I'll make it quick and give you an update after." Plus, I can always overshadow akhi if it doesn't go well. Or disappear right away. 

----

Danny didn't find his brother in manor, so he opted to track his location to the Botanical Gardens where he saw Damian with Titus. He swiftly checked if he was truly alone before jotting down a coded message on a broad leaf. He dropped the leaf on the page Damian was sketching on, and the latter quickly deemed the coast clear. 

"Hey, akhi." Danny carefully sat down beside his brother. The setup and timing were too perfect. 

It was almost as if Damian was expecting him. 

"Amira told you, didn't she?" Danny said with a wince. 

"She concisely summarized what transpired during her visit." Damian paused his sketching, patting Titus' head who seemed to be interested in Danny's presence. "Now explain." 

Of course she'd snitch on me, Danny grumbled to himself. But then again, I promised to tell Damian. "It's exactly how it is. My adoptive parents . . . aren't the best parents. Ghost hunting has always been the topmost priority for them and Jazz has been the one taking care of me for as long as I remember." 

"Why were you keeping this from us?" 

Danny's leg bounced up and down. From their childhood, it was always Damian who asserted his elder position among the three, despite being born only three minutes before Danny. Danny always thought his brother was subconsciously pressured to be the one in charge, along with the obligation of being the League's heir. 

"Because . . . it's too messy to deal with it. I don't want court cases linked to us or CPS knocking at our door," Danny replied. "And it's better this way. They don't care too much if I'm out late or missing for a few days. At least Jazz and I have the freedom to deal with our lives, especially ghost-fighting." 

Danny looked at his brother. He hadn't torn his gaze away from the page, continuing to draw the pink hydrangeas in front of them. Danny leaned back. "There's also the Guys In White." 

"Guys in White?" 

"A secret government organization dedicated to eliminating ghosts." The awful memories filled his head one by one. "If Jack and Maddie are out of the picture, they might come for me and Jazz or confiscate their hunting equipment. I don't need more ghosts falling into their hands." 

Danny laughed humorlessly. "So I guess our parents' neglect is a double-edged sword in that way." 

He felt his eyes shifting in color as he imagined what the GIW could do to them and his subjects. Damian clearly sensed his anxiety as he didn't pry any further about the organization (though Danny knew his akhi would be doing a lot of incognito research later on). 

". . . I see," Damian finally uttered after moments in silence. 

Danny cocked an eyebrow. "That's it? 'I see'? You're not going to skin me?" 

"Tt. I trust that you and Jasmine know what you're doing and I see no need to interfere . . . yet." A scowl flashed on his face. "Also, I refuse to be a victim of your possession again." 

Danny blinked. He anticipated blood. A bruise or two at least. But a calm Damian was more terrifying; he took it as a promise that his brother will retaliate if ever anything happens to him under the care of his adoptive parents. 

Nonetheless, he was glad he could finally confide in his siblings about his situation and give them more clarity on his double life as a Halfa. 

"Overshadowing," Danny corrected, snorting. "That was one time! I didn't know where to hide." 

"You made a fool out of me in front of Kent." 

"Come on, he totally bought it!"  

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[thefutureiswhat]

My (brutally honest) thoughts on Fargo 5.10

I was gonna wait awhile to write up my thoughts, but my mind is racing and I've had too much caffeine, so here goes nothing...

Gonna be real here, my reaction on first watch was major disappointment. Going into the finale, this season was neck and neck with 3 as my overall favorite, and I felt like this episode ruined that.

Basically as soon as Witt died I checked out. I don't usually say this about fictional characters because I feel like it often misses the point, but he deserved better. And that death was so ridiculously preventable. Roy refuses to drop the knife, is basically telling Witt he's gonna kill him, Witt has a gun... JUST SHOOT HIM!

The moment with Gator and Dot just didn't feel earned to me. This guy breaks into your house, threatens your family, refuses to help you when you're being held hostage, says he hopes you die... and you're gonna bring him cookies in jail?

Nothing after the scene with Dot in the back of the car is real life, and I'm shocked that more people don't realize this.

The FBI drives Dot to her burned-down house that doesn't even look that damaged despite firefighters still "extinguishing the embers" the next morning, instead of... I don't know... a hospital? Lorraine's house? That woman needs an IV!

After the time jump... it's the height of the pandemic (the era Hawley said he wanted to avoid) but no one's wearing masks or distancing; Scotty is wearing pink; lactose-intolerant Wayne is eating sour cream, cheddar, and buttermilk; Dot is wearing clothes (yellow cardigan, plaid coat) that shouldn't have survived the fire.

Also the title is "Bisquik" (not "Bisquick") for a reason.

That entire cemetery scene was the cringiest thing I've ever seen. It was like something out of a Lifetime movie. It was the most un-Fargo scene in the entire series.

Dot doesn't seem to know even the most basic details about Witt despite it being a year since he died and her being so distraught over his death? Did she not go to the funeral? Read his obituary? Talk to Indira in the past year?

Indira is taking care of Witt's cat? They barely knew each other, and he has six sisters! Wouldn't one of them get the cat?

Munch coming back for his "pound of flesh" in real life after his last encounter with Dot just... doesn't make any sense? Does he want to kill her? Why didn't he do it when he had the chance? Why isn't he doing it now? What is he waiting for?

That whole scene with Munch was just... too long.

Okay, I'll stop being quite so negative...

I'm still on the fence about the execution, but after looking at the episode according to @tdciago's "Gaear is the author" theory, there's A LOT to unpack here. I need to watch the finale (and the entire season) again to really solidify it.

Basically, I think 5x09 was about wrapping up the "justice for Jean Lundegaard" aspect of the story (which I absolutely loved -- that last scene with Dot and Munch was one of my favorites of the entire series), and 5x10 was about wrapping up the "forgiveness for Gaear" aspect.

What I love about this show is that it always strikes such a wonderful balance between compelling storytelling/character work and deeper thematic/symbolic meaning. I think this episode lacked the former and had a heck of a lot of the latter (deceptively so). So I'm pretty much split down the middle on it... like a car cut in half with a chainsaw. Kind of perfect, actually.

More thoughts/analysis surely to come.

[the-mighty-dalob]

*A bowl full of dragon treats that have been injected with a ton of caffeine appears near Ember when no one is looking*

Hehehe, get ready for the zoomies!

*Ember curiously sniffs the treats, perplexed by where they suddenly came from seeing as I am not home at the moment and ember generally hunts during these times*

[rustyelias]

Welcome to Eli can't listen to music without immediately associating it with rqg :D

Today with have:

• Things we lost in the fire by Bastille - Zolf and or Wilde and or the end of 218 the vibe THE VIBES!

• No Caffeine by Marika Hackman - carcar! carcar! my beloved

• the hand that feeds by the crane wives - raaah Sasha!

• embers by beetlebug - Hamid <3

urjsjdjsjd the hyperfixtation is hyperfixtaing