#half of these posts will be made by people who aren’t even keepers.

[sharkieboi]

certain fb group for animal care people just makes me sad sometimes cause it’s either just people looking for engagement by asking a very easily searchable question with “cute animal pic for tax!!1!1!1!!1!” so they can get some likes or people discussing actual literal human rights violations that their workplace is trying to commit and being like “but am i the bad person for buying donuts for my team when susan in HR who i never interact with is lactose intolerant?” or people using the anonymous post option to have impromptu group therapy

[room-surprise]

Izutsumi's name, meaning and cultural references

This is an excerpt from Chapter 6 of my Dungeon Meshi essay, "Real World Cultural and Linguistic Influences in Delicious in Dungeon"

IZUTSUMI

(Japanese Pronunciation: Idzutsumi)

(Spoilers for the entire manga and post-manga materials!)

Izutsumi (イヅツミ) is a beast-man created by attaching a human soul to a monster cat, which is why she won’t ever be able to “turn back” into a human: she was never human to begin with. We don’t know what Izutsumi’s birth name was, if she even had one. The human that was killed was probably a baby or young child, since they don’t seem to have any memories of their mother, so they may not have ever been named.

We know that Izutsumi is from a different, larger island in the Eastern Archipelago to the northeast of Wa Island, however we do not know if this is the origin point of her human half, her monster cat half, both, or if this is just where she was made.

We do know that when she saw an illusion of what she thought was her human soul’s mother, the illusion was wearing something similar to North or Central Asian clothing, not Japanese clothing, so the island Izutsumi comes from is probably not culturally Japanese like Wa Island.

PLANT: ASEBI

Izutusmi’s code name as a ninja is Asebi (アセビ), which is the Japanese name for Japanese andromeda (pieris japonica), a type of shrub. The kanji for this plant’s name is 馬酔木 and it literally means “horse intoxicating tree” because it was known to be toxic to horses and make their legs go numb. A code name like this could imply a rude sentiment like “you’re so unpleasant, just being near you makes horses sick.” Considering the hostile relationship Izutsumi has with the Nakamoto clan, this code name makes a lot of sense.

IZUTSUMI THE FAMILY NAME

Izutsumi (井堤) is a common family name in central Japan, especially Kanagawa Prefecture. It is historically affiliated with the Tachibana (橘氏) clan, which was one of the four most powerful kuge (court nobility) families in Japan's Nara and early Heian periods.

The Tachibana clan’s founder was Inukai Michiyo (犬養 三千代) whose name was changed to Tachibana Michiyo by Empress Genmei. Michiyo was a court lady of the early Nara period and mother of Empress Kōmyō.

The family name Inukai (犬養) literally means to own or keep a dog, but the character for dog historically refers not only to dogs, but to any four-legged animal, especially those that are ancient or magical.

Over the course of the 9th and 10th centuries, the Tachibana clan’s rivals pushed the Tachibana out of power, and the clan was scattered across the country. I’m not certain, but it sounds to me like “Inukai” as a family name describes a profession, in this case, someone who is in charge of keeping four-legged beasts of all kinds. In the world of Dungeon Meshi, maybe this name implies they are a professional monster keeper, or monster trainer.

Though it’s a somewhat tenuous connection, the idea that Izutsumi’s human half might have been a stolen child from the Tachibana/Inukai family, which tames monsters, is very interesting! Another possibility is that the Tachibana/Inukai family were the ones that provided the monster cat used for making Izutsumi. Perhaps they were experimenting with making beast-kin soldiers in an attempt to fight back against their rival kuge clans.

IZU-TSUMI

Let’s break down the name Izutsumi into its sound components and what they might mean.

TSUMI

The primary meaning for tsumi is 罪, a Japanese word that indicates the violation of legal, social or religious rules, so you could translate it as sin, abomination, or a crime against god and humanity.

In Ancient Japan the word usually implied that a divine punishment was occuring, and something that was tsumi would therefore carry disease, be polluted and unclean, suffer from disasters, or be ugly and unsightly.

Considering the way people of the Eastern Archipelago discriminate against all races that aren’t tall-men, and the way the Nakamotos make Izutsumi cover her body and face up completely, I think Kui probably meant for Izutsumi’s name to convey this meaning.

However, although the negative connotation is the most common, tsumi can also be a name, or part of a name (Tsumigiwa, Tsumiki, Tsumio, Tsumire, etc.) which makes it sound natural when used in Izutsumi’s name.

It can also refer to the Japanese sparrowhawk, Chinese mulberry, a spindle, a whelk, a child's wooden building blocks, to accumulate (bricks, like a wall, or savings, like money), to build a reputation or gain experience, atonement (for sin), to pluck, to load with cargo, or to send away.

These meanings are interesting, since they suggest that Izutsumi is “sent away” by Toshiro when he lets her go, and by joining Laios’ party she is gaining life experience, building herself up (like a wall, like a child with toy blocks), and becoming a more mature person, moving past her old identity of being a sinful mistake. Through the course of the manga she learns to accept herself as she is, and eventually discovers that there was nothing to “fix”, she cannot become a full human, because she wasn’t one to begin with.

IZU THE PERSONAL NAME

Izu is either a girl’s name, or a component of several Japanese names for any gender (Izumi, Izuko, Izuchi, etc), so putting together Izu+tsumi creates a compound that sounds like a Japanese personal name, though I have found no evidence of it as an existing personal name.

IZU THE PLACE

Many names reference where a person or their family are from, so it’s possible that Izutsumi (or her family, or the magicians who made her a beast-man) are from a place called Izu.

Izu (伊豆) is the historic name of a province which is now part of the Shizuoka Prefecture, which is to the west of Tokyo. This area is the Izu peninsula, a large mountainous area, and it contains Izu city, and nearby is the Izu island chain.

Many of the Izu islands are and have been uninhabited, however a few of the islands do have small populations, and Jomon and Yayoi ruins have been found on several of them, indicating that the ancestors of modern Japanese people once lived in these places. I was unable to find any information about whether any other ethnic groups have specifically lived on these islands.

During the Tokugawa shogunate (one of the primary eras that Dungeon Meshi’s Wa Island resembles), the Japanese court frequently sent nobility into exile in the Izu islands because the region was far away from the capital, and it was considered an unlucky and bad place to be. It’s unclear if the Izu islands already had this reputation before they became a place of exile, or if the negative reputation was caused by its use as a prison. There is some indication that the Izu islands were somehow seen as ritually unclean or dangerous.

Eventually the criteria for banishment was broadened and the islands became penal colonies, where people were sent for murder, theft, arson, brawling, gambling, fraud, jailbreak, rape, and belonging to illegal religions (Christianity). Criminals exiled to the island were never told the length of their sentences, and the history of the island is filled with foiled escape attempts.

Not only were the islands used as a prison to keep politically dangerous people away from Kyoto, they also held an important religious role as a barrier between the supposed purity of the central court in Kyoto and the unclean dangers beyond the borders of Japan.

The islands were the first line of magical defense against the dangers that threatened Japan, and the ritual experts, a type of shaman called an urabe, practiced a special kind of turtle-shell divination in Izu.

It’s possible that Izutsumi’s human soul came from the Izu region. Izutsumi’s human part could have been a native of the Izu mainland, an Izu islander, or the child of a prisoner. No matter which one it is, being from Izu would make Izutsumi very low-ranking and unimportant, which would make her human half a perfect target for someone trying to find a baby or child that they could sacrifice to make a beast-man.

It’s also possible that the magician that made Izutsumi lived and worked in Izu, since it’s a place that had magical and ritual significance, was seen as a place of pollution and danger where such “unclean” work could be done, and where there is a ready supply of unwanted human beings (prisoners, islanders and their kin) available to be used as raw materials.

Perhaps they made many beast-men, and so since “tsumi” means abomination, perhaps the name Izutsumi simply means “abomination made in Izu.”

IZU THE VERB

Izu (出ず “dezu”) is also an archaic verb used by the lower-class that can mean a great variety of things, though there does seem to be some common ideas being expressed through all of them. Here are the ones that I think apply the most to Izutsumi:

Doesn’t come out (She’s been hidden in her ninja clothes for a long time.)

To leave on a journey, to depart, to move forward (She leaves her old life behind.)

To appear, to emerge, to be discovered (She surprises Laios’ party and then joins them.)

To be exposed, exhibited, displayed (She grew up displayed in freak shows.)

To sell (She was sold by many people.)

To exceed, to go over (Her behavior is often seen as rude and “too much.”)

To stick out, protrude (Her ears stick out, giving her identity as a beast-man away.) To come from, to be derived from (She “comes from” tsumi, she was created by an abominable act.)

To assume an attitude, to behave in a manner (She behaves like tsumi, an abomination, uncivilized.)

[al-ld]

(The OG draft was made Dec 5 2023, I’m now posting to post them and clear my drafts :p)

When the aro(ace???) takes over your writing and now half the plot ploint are based on parental issues

(RW that I sorta scrapped)

There was a riot and the lord of Irene’s village attacked her mother

Irene was shocked she held her mother in her arms

Placing her hand over the wound

Irene had learned she come easily pass through dimensions at will

One dimension she went to was the Aether

She learned healing magic and was soon branded with their mark

A mark that appear in her forehead

A mark of the sun with two rings

Angels wing as the people would say and five wings as the Aether people would say

As Irene placed her hand in her mother’s wound it slightly glowed a pure white and with that her mother was healed fully

Everyone was shocked

Soon her father came up to her

“Father, look! Mother’s ok now!”

She looked up at him in joy, hoping so would he but that was not the case

“You inhuman freak! What have you done?!”

Irene looks confused

“Inhuman freak?”

Why would her father say that

She just saved her mother

“Father, what do you mean? I just saved mother, aren’t you happy?”

“Don’t call me father! My daughter is not a mage freak! How did you even learn magic?! Only elves can do stuff this, you’ve become inhuman!”

“Father…what you’re saying is wrong, humans can lea-“

“Enough! I want you out of the village!”

“But fa-“

“Out!”

The people started to speak up some who agreed some who didn’t

This was to much for Irene

She was barely an adult and she was being kicked out of her hometown by her own flesh and blood

Irene looked to her mother who had gone next to her father

She looked at Irene with disgust

Irene knew what she had to do

She stood up and left

Those who wanted Irene to stay tried to stop her but to no avail

But where would Irene go now

I guess she would just have to travel and travel she would

She would go anywhere, helping anyone, and one day she came across a village

The people worried her about a man, near same age as her that lived in the woods

Where he went he brought corruption and destruction

Irene was curried about such boy

She went to the forest, she found him, yatta yatta, when it’s time for her to leave he follows along

The she finds Enki an Ender men, ender dragon, human hybrid

And then the path splits

She finds a man who can control all four elements - Esmund

OR

She finds a woman of fire and air (Menphia) and a man of earth and water(Kul’Zak)

OR

Opposite

Irene Aether - Shad Nether/Esmund Earth - Enki End

OR

(Since Esmund is protection Memphia would be Fury(offensive) and Enki would be keeper(staying to one place(most of the time) and Kul’Zak is the wanderer which makes sense)

TIMESKIP

An evil man, the lord of O’Khasis, starts taking over other kingdom

She and her other guards take this man down

OR

THIS SHIT JUST DOESN’T HAPPEN!!! This whole kingdom take down makes NO SENSE in the timeline!!!!!

REAL TIMESKIP

After Irene and others travel around a bit they pass by her hometown

She plans to show that she proved herself

HOWEVER

She comes the day of someone’s funeral

Who’s?

Her parents

They had died (How? No fucking clue)

Irene was devastated

She decided to split up the team for the time

Taking over the village

She made Scaleswind

The other has gone many different places

Enki to Gal’Ruk

Esmund to O’Khasis

Kul’Zak just wondered, leaving just of himself with Enki

Menphia had gone to Tu’La

And soon they faded away

Leaving behind nothing but there relics

[angryschnauzer]

He’s A Keeper

Summary: Working as an artist hired by Durrell Zoo, you spend your days sketching the day to day life of the animals and the keepers. One keeper in particular catches your eye.

Pairing: AU Zookeeper Henry Cavill x Female Reader (no race or size mentioned)

Fandom: Henry Cavill

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, Friends to Lovers, Oral Sex (Female Receiving), Fingering, Safe Sex/Use of Condoms, Realistic Sex/Relationship discussion, Vaginal Sex.

Typo’s are allowed to run wild and free, only the finest organic free range fuck ups for me.

I do not operate a tag list, but if you follow @angryschnauzerwrites​ and hit ‘notifications’, you’ll get an alert every time i post something new. Back catalogue/masterlist can be found there and also on AO3

He’s A Keeper

Working the pencils over the sketchpad you quietly captured the beauty of the animals the zookeepers had nursed back to full health, the Ruffed Lemur currently hanging off the keepers arm as he spoke through the headset to the group of excited school children watching through the glass. 

You’d been hired by the zoo to capture day to day life at the zoo throughout the summer season, drawing the animals and the humans, however there was one particular human you had found yourself drawn to numerous times, and that was the rather tasty zookeeper by the name of Henry. He also had one of the sexiest voices you’d ever had the pleasure to listen to, so as he explained about the Lemur’s your mind wandered, as did your gaze;

“... originally from Madagascar, and have been part of Durrell zoo since 1982 where they have been essential to the breeding program…”

Your mind fell even further into the gutter at the word ‘breeding’, your eyes raking down Henry’s body, taking in how the branded t-shirt clung to his chest before tapering down to a narrow waist where it was neatly tucked into cargo pants that did little to hide how thick his thighs were and a pert arse you could bounce a satsuma off of. Biting the end of the pencil you had all but given up drawing, only realising that the talk was over when the group of school children were being herded onto the next exhibit by their tour guide and teachers.

When the kids had disappeared you finally got back to drawing, watching as Henry finished up feeding the Lemur’s before he met your gaze and smiled at you. Tapping your pencil on the glass he frowned and shook his head, before smiling and pointing to the sign in the corner of the window that said ‘do not tap the glass’, getting closer you tried to mouth your words to him, but was surprised when his eyes went wide in almost shock, before looking down and realising you had pressed your chest to the glass, your low cut cami top helping to accentuate your cleavage. When you looked up again he was gone and you let out a sigh of disappointment, before he appeared through a door to the side of the viewing area;

“Hi” he had a smile that could charm the panties off a nun; “Did you want me?”

“God yes…” Oh fuck, did you say that out loud?; “Sorry, i mean, you’ve dropped the foam bit off your headset...”

He glanced into the enclosure just at the moment one of the larger Lemur’s picked up the small round piece of foam and staring straight at Henry, proceeded to rip it into tiny pieces.

“Furry little fucker…” he cursed under his breath before turning back to you, but before he could say anything a group of other keepers came walking in and soon you were hanging onto the periphery of their conversation where they were discussing going for drinks after work. Moving to pack your stuff up as you presumed they weren’t including you, but a call of your nickname drew your attention;

“Hey Da Vinci, you up for a few beers after work?”

You hesitated to answer, glancing at Henry who had a smile across his face and a hopeful look in his eye;

“We’re all going…”

“Ok, yeah sure, that’d be great” you agreed. 

-

An hour later you were sitting on the wall outside the main entrance waiting for the rest of the keepers to finish their shifts, smiling as you saw them coming out of the doors, and the ensuing 10 minutes that followed as people sorted out who was driving and how many people could fit into just a couple of small cars. As spaces were allocated Henry laughed and shook his head;

“I am NOT riding five up in a Renault Clio, i’m too tall, i’ll have to fold myself in half! Where are we going anyway, i can take my bike and just walk home after”

Waiting as everyone discussed location and finished off seat allocation, they’d finally decided when Henry turned to you;

“Hey, i think the last seats are in the stoner wagon…”

“Oh…” you didn’t have anything against anyone smoking pot, but didn’t fancy being in a car you could barely see out of the windows of.

“But you can ride with me on my bike?”

Looking to where Henry was pointing, you saw a fairly large trails bike, the kind that could go 50mph over rough land and through forests;

“I… I don’t have a helmet…”

“Wait here, let me run into the locker room and grab the spare i keep here”

Everyone else pulled away as Henry ran into the zoo, and you glanced at the bike. You’d never been on a motorbike before, so this would be a first. Stowing everything loose in your backpack, you hooked it over both shoulders just as Henry reemerged from the building, swinging his keys from one finger as he came to stand in front of you;

“Hey, thanks for waiting”

“No worries! So, where are we going again?”

“The pub in Rozel does good food and pulls a great pint” he nodded to his left and you saw a row of motorbikes; “You ever ridden?”

Shaking your head you laughed; “No, never”

He carefully helped you put the helmet on, his nimble fingers helping to secure the strap beneath your chin before putting his own on and climbing onto the bike, pushing it off the kick stand and nodding for you to climb on. You tried to sit back, but he wrapped his arm behind his back and pulled you flush to his body;

“Gotta hold on tight, otherwise you’ll throw the balance off. Lean when i lean and just squeeze a bit harder if you’re scared, the ride won’t take long” he shouted over the thrum of the noisy engine idling.

The ride down to the small village of Rozel had been exhilarating, from the vibration of the motorbike between your legs to the way you were able to wrap your arms around Henry’s waist and cling to him as he hurtled around the country roads at what seemed like warp speed, when in fact it was little more than 30mph. By the time you arrived in the small fishing cove your heart was racing and you actually let out a reluctant moan at the thought of removing your arms from around Henry’s waist.

“C’mon” he grinned as he helped you off the bike; “I’ll buy you a vodka and coke to calm your nerves”

“It wasn’t nerves” you muttered to yourself, smirking as you know he heard you.

-

The group had managed to find a cluster of small tables chairs and benches in the corner of the pub beer garden, and as the sun had set behind the hills to the rear of the pub, the cold Atlantic sea had glowed in pale blues and pinks. You were squashed into a bench with Henry on one side and another enormous hulk of a keeper on the other, and as the temperature had dropped you’d found yourself thankful that Henry had casually rested his arm behind you so you could leech some of his warmth, but it didn’t stop a violent shiver involuntarily running up your spine.

“Cold?” Henry asked quietly, before gently wrapping his arm around your shoulder and pulling you close; “Any better?”

You nodded and let out a very quiet whine as you smiled at him, completely surrounded by his scent and warmth. It made your stomach do a flip and you clenched your thighs together, something that didn’t get past Henry as your leg twitched against his thigh. Before either of you could say anything an enormous bowl of cheesy fries was set down between you, your stomach growling at the aroma’s that wafted around you as it turned out someone had ordered sharing bowls for the whole table.

With the meal mostly devoured as you’d sat side by side on a small wooden bench in the pub garden, laughing as you fed each other and strings of cheese hung from your fingers. As the giggles of a joke faded away you glanced at Henry’s almost finished pint;

“Hey, you aren’t planning on riding that bike home are you?”

“Nah, i’d never drive after a pint, let alone three… my place is just behind The Navigator restaurant…” he paused; “Oh god, where are you staying, do i need to call you a taxi?”

“No no, i’m renting a studio up the hill, on the hairpin bend”

“Oh…” 

It wasn’t a bad ‘oh’ and there was definitely something loaded in the subtext, so when people had started to leave and arrange ride’s back to St Helier and St Johns it felt natural for Henry to stand with his arm around your shoulders as you both waved everyone off.

“Can i walk you home?” he asked, his voice low and full of promise, and you nodded as he slid his hand into yours, leading you along the low coast road that skirted the harbour.

-

You hadn’t gotten far before the evening turned even better, a brief suggestion of a walk along the beach as the tide was out soon had your feet in soft sand as you were pressed to the weathered stone of the sea wall, Henry’s lips on your neck as your fingers dug into his back, his teeth nipping and biting at whatever exposed flesh he could find. You hadn’t even realised he was going lower until he was on his knees in front of you, those sea blue irises staring up at you as he pressed kisses to your legs where your shorts ended. His fingers softly rested on the button and he finally spoke, his voice low and thick with lust;

“May i?”

Nodding fervently you bit your lip as you watched him slowly unbutton you, pulling the garment down your legs until you were able to step out. Never breaking eye contact he lifted your leg and gently rested it on his shoulder, pressing open mouthed kisses up your inner thigh until his face was pressed against your panties and his wide tongue worked against the soaked cotton and lace. His finger crooked beneath them and tugged the scrap of fabric to the side, seeking out your clit before tracing down to your cunt and tenderly teasing the entrance.

“Henry… please…” you whined, desperate for more

“Don’t you worry, i’m gonna make you see stars…”

Pushing his head forwards his lips caught your clit as he slowly slid two fingers into your soaked channel. You let out a long groan at the feel of his lips and fingers finding the right spot immediately, his other hand cupping the back of your thigh before he ran it around your hip and caught your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours as he quickly drove you closer and closer to the edge with that added touch of intimacy. Suddenly he hummed against your clit and the world exploded, making you cum so hard you truly did see stars as a white heat bloomed in your belly and you rode Henry’s fingers until you were spent.

As you rested against the wall behind you he carefully withdrew his fingers, licking them clean as he tugged your shorts up your legs. You couldn’t help but to notice the obscene bulge in the front of his cargo pants, your hand rubbing over the smooth curve of it;

“You keep doing that and i’ll cum in my boxers… “ he panted out, his lips inches from yours; “What’s your room like?”

“Its a little summer cabin studio right at the end of the garden, away from the other holiday rentals and the main house… what about you…”

“Shared flat with two other guys from the zoo. They’re probably drinking in the lounge right now… so, your place?”

-

Unlocking the door you stepped inside and turned on a small lamp, standing aside so Henry could come into your small summer living space.

“Mmm nice” he nodded and looked around; “Wanna give me the tour?”

You snorted out a laugh at the formality, and held your arm out;

“Well this is the kitchen area, right next door we have the smallest shower room in Jersey, and here’s the bed” you didn’t need to take a single step for the ‘tour’, the room seeming even smaller as Henry took a single stride and wrapped his arm around your back, pulling you flush with his chest. Never breaking eye contact he gently trailed a single finger over your cheek, his thumb brushing your plump bottom lip;

“Are you going to be good for me?”

Your legs almost buckled at the deep baritone of his voice, igniting something within you that you hadn’t even known existed, eagerly nodding;

“Yes Sir”

Lowering his lips to yours he kissed you, his tongue pushing past your lips as he took control, walking the pair of you back until your legs hit the bed and you fell back onto the soft unmade covers. Covering your body with his, he quickly stripped you of your clothing, his mouth trailing behind his hands so every inch of you was gifted with a kiss. 

Standing between your legs he pulled his t-shirt over his head and you couldn’t help but to moan at the sight of his body; toned and just the right amount of hair on his chest and a treasure trail on his abdomen that surely led to untold riches. Quickly sitting up your hands joined his on his button to his cargo pants;

“May i?”

Henry released his hands and nodded, watching as you carefully plucked the button before lowering the zipper painfully slowly, his boxers tented obscenely and you couldn’t help but to cup him in your palm, the searing heat of his engorged cock a welcome feel in your hands, the wide mushroom head clearly visible through the stretched fabric. Unceremoniously tugging the rest of his clothing down, you felt yourself getting wetter as his beautiful cock was finally revealed; big, thick and uncut, you had to taste him and quickly ducked your head forwards, swallowing his head between your lips as his hands flew to your hair to steady himself.

Now it was your turn to drive him crazy with your mouth, taking him as deep as you could even though it was barely half of his length, you wrapped both hands around what was left, the thick root of his shaft filling both palms. A few more pumps and he pulled his hips back with a gasp, a trail of spittle hanging from your lips to his bulbous tip;

“If you keep doing that i’m gonna cum far too soon…” he said, his voice shaking; “Lay back and let me treat you right…”

Scooting up the bed you settled against the pillows as you watched Henry shed himself of the rest of his clothing, his boots and socks hooked off, cargo pants and underwear all left in a messy pile at the side of the bed, before he crawled up the mattress like a Panther stalking its prey.

Capturing your lips for another searing kiss, you felt his hot shaft against your belly, burning against your skin and you so desperately wanted to feel him inside you. Pulling away just slightly you were already breathless;

“Just a second…” reaching for the small drawer at side of the bed you pulled out an unopened box of condoms, Henry sitting back on his knees as you ripped the box’s cellophane open with your teeth and pulled out a small foil packet, tearing it open before smoothing the latex over Henry’s shaft. Looking up to his face he wore a rather sheepish smile;

“Sorry, shoulda’ thought of that”

“S’ok, a girl’s gotta keep sharp these days…”

“Right…” he met your gaze; “But you know, if you had gotten pregnant, i would have stood by you”

“Umm thanks? But its for STD’s. I’m on the pill”

“Oh… good thinking…”

A tense pause hung over the pair of you, before you reached up and rested your hand on his chest;

“Shall we continue?”

At your words the tension in the room suddenly dissipated, Henry kissing you as he slid a hand between your bodies so he could position himself at your entrance, groaning as he pushed in slowly breaching your body. Your tight channel hugged him tight, unfamiliar with such a size splitting your walls so he paused, pressing light kisses to your face as your body grew accustomed with his size and the heavy weight of his dick in your pillowy soft embrace. Finally you moaned out his name;

“Henry… please…”

“What do you need?”

“Move… please move. Fuck me, please”

Pushing up on his forearms he started to fluidly move his hips, slow and steady, each thrust was gentle but firm, your body yielding to him as he started to increase the pace, the sound of hot bodies meeting filling the small wooden cabin as the gentle sounds of the sea not far away filled the rest of the night. Soft moans spilled from your lips at the feel of his body playing yours like a delicate instrument, waiting for the chorus and the inevitable crescendo. But he was going to play the entire symphony first, knowing how to get you to sing the high notes as the thrum of your bodies were in tune with each other completely.

With the stretch of his girth and the way the curve of it meant he was able to find your g-spot with every thrust you were fast approaching your orgasm, your body trembling as your lips found a life of their own;

“Henry… please, so good… keep doing that… oh god, i’m gonna cum…”

“That’s it, my good girl, cum on my cock, let me feel you squeezing me so tight… feel so amazing right now… that’s it, you can do it…”

With a cry you came, your legs wrapped around his waist as you pulled him deep whilst your body shook with a fierce orgasm, triggering his own as he pumped a heavy load into the condom.

Finally spent, Henry settled on top of you, his weight a heavy comfort as your sweaty bodies lay skin to skin, the gentle roughness of his chest hair against your naked breasts a tender reminder of his virility. When he started to soften he finally shifted, holding the condom at the base as he pulled out and staggered the few steps to your small bathroom;

“I’ll be back in a second, gotta sort this out…”

The door closed and you shifted on the bed, pulling the duvet back and sliding between the sheets, listening as you heard the tell tale sound of a man urinating and the high pitched, double barrelled squeak of a fart. The flush of the toilet and water running soon after meant you knew the second he would reappear, a flannel in his hand and he stopped dead, his cheeks suddenly bright crimson;

“You heard that didn’t you?”

“It's a small wooden cabin… yes i did”

“Sorry” he approached the bed and with a warm flannel he carefully cleaned between your thighs, pressing a kiss to your lips as he did. When finished he sat on the side of the bed; “Can i stay the night, or did you want me to go?”

“Have you got work tomorrow?”

“Nope. You?”

“Nope. Please, stay”

He quickly threw the flannel into the sink in the bathroom, before with a giggle climbed under the duvet and pulled you into his arms;

“So, how many more condom’s you got?”

-

The morning light broke softly through the trees that surrounded your cabin, your body sore but sated, knowing every bruise and ache came from soft lips, sharp teeth, or skilled fingers, apart from that one ache deep inside that you knew exactly what had caused that delicious soreness, and the owner and cause of all of it still softly slept in your bed. Climbing out you quickly used the bathroom, and as you came back into the room the artist in you couldn’t help but to admire how the dappled morning light cascaded over Henry’s body. Slipping his work t-shirt over your head you pulled your sketchbook from your backpack and settled onto the only chair in the room, quietly working carbon to paper.

Henry woke 45 minutes later, the gentle scratching of your art making him squint at the bright daylight, before laying back on the pillows with his arms spread;

“Still life class?”

Setting your sketchbook down you padded across the room and climbed onto the bed;

“Sorry, i couldn’t help myself… the way the sun was hitting the muscles of your back and shoulders, you were like an anatomy masterpiece”

With a laugh and moving much quicker than you thought he was possible of, he grabbed you by the waist and turned you, his body atop of yours;

“Well that’s enough of that, i would like to become better acquainted with your anatomy… and as we’ve both got the day off i suggest we make the most of it”

Laughing you fell into his embrace, sighing with happiness. Henry really was a keeper, as you were for sure not going to let him go. 

[justanobsessedfangirl]

The Sacrifice Part 1 - The Maze Runner Minho Imagine

Request from @elizabeth-brown hey when your requests will be open can you do 'the maze runner' one with minho. where one day when new greenie was coming up he had letter with him. on it there was written that if they sacrificed y/n they would let everyone out. so keepers decided to vote. most of them voted 'yes' so without any emotions Alby kick y/n into the maze. then minho realized his feelings. y/n survived the maze and WCKED took her. after one year she escaped WCKED and ran into the scorch. Minho missed her miserably. y/n searched the safe heaven. and when Group A searched safe heaven they saw y/n and she was so mad. you can end it however you want either she forgives them or not. and please tag me

Masterlist

Part 2

Warning: Some mature language

Author’s Note: Thanks for waiting! I changed up the request a little (I think?) but there will probably be a part 2 so I can do the stuff outside the Glade. Hope you like it! Also, I know it seems like my requests aren’t open because I take forever to post, but I swear they are. :)

Word Count: 4.6k

The Box came up every month like clockwork. Half an hour before its arrival, a blaring alarm would sound. Gladers would trickle in from the Gardens, the Med-jack Hut, the Homestead, and gather around the hole. Those who had requested items would push their way to the front. Others lingered around the edges, hoping for a glimpse of the new Greenie.

“Maybe it’ll be another girl,” they’d whisper.

“Maybe it’ll be another shank,” their friends would whisper back, and the boys would shove each other and laugh and make jokes until the Box slotted into place and the roof slid away, revealing the Glade’s next victim.

You were an unnatural fit to the routine. You’d disrupted it right from the beginning, with your arrival as the first female Glader. Now, months later, you still hadn’t formed many strong bonds. It was hard when you were rarely in the Glade during the day, spending most of your hours mapping the Maze. No one was directly cruel when you had a day off, but it was clear that this was a brotherhood, and you did not meet the requirements. You were an “other.” You were a girl. You were something to be looked at and talked about but you weren’t necessarily someone.

You didn’t feel like an outsider when you ran with Minho. He treated you like a person. Like a friend. So did Newt, although your time with him was limited to bonfires, where you drank Gally’s moonshine and talked.

Just the memories of those nights made you feel warm, even as you stood apart from the boys around the Box and prayed for another girl to appear. You stood on your tiptoes and tried to peer over the crowd. Through gaps and over heads, you caught a glimpse of a boy in the Box. He was younger than you, probably younger than most of the people in the Glade, with curly brown hair, round pink cheeks, and wide, fear-filled eyes. 

Alby jumped down into the Box. Laughter rose from the crowd as the young Greenie backpedaled so wildly that he tripped over his feet and slammed onto his butt. Next to you, a group of Gladers jeered. You frowned at them, watching their smiles slip into sneers. They looked away from you. Inside the Box, the Greenie cried, “Please don’t hurt me!” His already high, youthful voice was pitched even higher with terror.

You felt a stab in your chest. He sounded so young, so alone, so scared. Taking a step forward, you came to the edge of a thick knot of Gladers. They catcalled and hollered and cackled, slapping each other on the backs. One noticed you and quickly jerked away like you were contagious.

Cheeks burning, you stepped back again. You gave the crowd one last look, heard the Greenie blubber one last time, and headed for the Homestead, where there was no one to make you feel unwelcome or weak for feeling sympathy for the new Greenie.

Besides, you thought bitterly, they might make fun of him now, but he’ll still be one of them.

A few Gladers saw you go; most were focused on the Greenie, who Alby was trying to coax to his side of the Box, where someone had dropped a length of rope. 

“We’re not going to hurt you,” Alby said. Impatience wore thin on his voice. “Just come over here.”

The Greenie stayed curled in a ball in the middle of the Box.

Alby shook his head. Turning to the pair of boys above him, he lowered his voice and said, “Do you think Y/N could try to get him out?”

The Gladers looked at each other.

“Isn’t she running today?” one asked.

“I haven’t seen her all day,” the other added.

Alby frowned. “Fine,” he sighed, “we’ll do it the hard way.”

At that, the two Gladers joined Alby in the Box. The Greenie’s eyes bulged as they approached. He tried to scoot back. In seconds, the pair was on him, lifting him as easily as if he weighed nothing. They toted him to the rope.

The Greenie gasped. “Wait! Wait! I dropped it!”

Alby waved the boys on before they could stop. “I’ll get it.” While the Gladers hoisted the Greenie out, Alby walked to the center of the Box. Laying on the metal floor was a card of paper, pristinely white save for the 10 grimy fingerprints of the crying Greenie. Alby knelt, picked it up, flipped it over, and froze.

It seemed like an eternity before he stood again. Around him, the Gladers still talked and laughed. Around him, the Gladers still thought they were following their routine.

Holding the note in his hand, Alby commanded, “Gathering in the Homestead. Now.” After a beat of silence, he added, “If Y/N’s here, bring her.”

The Glade burst into a flurry of activity. Boys scrambled, yelling the news. Their Keepers chastised them and handed out work orders like candy. Feeling brave and uninhibited and a little frenzied, Gladers complained and groaned and manhandled each other and ran. The new Greenie was handed off to a Builder, then a Slicer, then rescued by a Gardener. A pack of Gladers took off for the Homestead.

You’d barely made it inside before your moment of alone time was shattered. The boys whooped and hollered and shouted as they sprinted toward you.

“Gathering!”

“You have to go!”

“Alby called for a Gathering!

Their voices came at you like bullets, one after another after another. Your questions fell on deaf ears. “Why a Gathering? Now? Did you say I have to go?”

They kept talking to each other, ignoring you even as they pushed you farther inside, pushed you toward the meeting room, pushed you like you couldn’t even walk by yourself. You shoved away from them and entered the room on your own two shaky feet. Only a few of the Gladers followed, taking their seats as Keepers.

With a sick sludge of anxiety swirling in your stomach, you looked around the room. You’d never been to a Gathering before, although you’d listened to Minho complain about how boring they were many times. The room was small, the only furniture a crudely made table surrounded by twelve seats, one for each Keeper plus Alby and Newt. There was no seat for you. You were not supposed to be here.

“Clint, what’s going on?”

The Keeper of the Med-jacks looked up at the sound of your voice. He’d been staring at the tabletop, tracing his finger along the wood grain. His hands were thin, his fingers long, and they held a delicate strength, accustomed to wrapping wounds and sewing stitches. “Alby called a Gathering,” Clint said.

“Yeah, I figured that part out. Why? And why am I here?” You tried to keep your emotions under control. Clint didn’t need to know you were a little annoyed, a little angry, a little worried. Clint and the growing mob of Keepers filing into the room didn’t need to know you were scared.

Clint looked to the head of the table. Two empty chairs sat waiting. “Alby didn’t explain much. I think it was something to do with the Greenie.”

“The Greenie?” you asked, just as someone gave you a harsh nudge to the side. You whipped around and found yourself staring up at Gally.

“Don’t block the doorway,” he snapped. Before you could reply, Gally was walking past you, settling into the seat closest to the head of the table.

Most of the chairs were filled now. Some Keepers looked at you, others talked with their neighbors, and a few, like Clint, seemed like they’d rather be anywhere else but here. You lingered by the door. After a couple of minutes, Alby and Newt entered together.

You knew something was wrong immediately. Alby’s face, stoic at the best of times, was downright grim, like he’d just witnessed a terrible crime against humanity. Newt wouldn’t even lift his eyes to yours. His skin had taken on a pallor, pale white tinged with sickly green.

“Alby-”

Alby interrupted you. “Where’s Minho?”

You weren’t sure if he was asking you or the Keepers, but you answered anyway. “He’s running. What’s going-”

Cursing under his breath, Alby strode to the head of the table. “Someone got the schedules mixed up,” he fumed. “They thought you were running today. Minho is supposed to be here.”

“Maybe we should wait-”

“This can’t wait, Newt. You know that.” Alby shot Newt’s suggestion down before it even had time to breathe. “Y/N, take Minho’s seat. And someone shut the door.”

You didn’t like the way Alby was barking out orders or the way Newt had slumped into his seat like an admonished puppy. The whole world was off-kilter, just slightly, but enough that you felt nauseous and hyper-aware. Clint was still picking at the table. Winston was sitting next to Gally, who was staring daggers at you, and Zart, who had his arms crossed and was sitting straight in his chair, looked disgusted at something Doug, the Keeper of the Sloppers, had just said. Frypan was the one to get up and close the door, giving you a reassuring smile as he walked. You slowly made your way around the table to the only empty chair. It was across from Gally, right next to the side that Alby and Newt sat behind. 

Newt flinched away from you as you sat. Alby eyed you, waiting, waiting, waiting, and, finally, with the door closed and you perched on Minho’s chair, ready to bolt, he said, “We’re holding a Gathering because of this.” He pulled a piece of paper from his pocket. “The new Greenie was holding it.”

Down the table, Winston smirked. “Is that why he was crying? Poor thing can’t read?”

You frowned. One of the Keepers, Billy, chuckled lightly.

Alby ignored them and continued, “It’s a note from the Creators.” A few murmurs arose; Alby didn’t speak until it was silent again. “It says,” he cleared his throat and, next to him, Newt looked as if he might puke. “It says, ‘The Glade is failing. Show you can follow instructions and you will be released.’” Alby paused.

Unlike before, the Keepers stayed quiet. You were on the edge of your seat, listening with bated breath, like all of the others. Maybe the instructions involved finding something in the Maze? You knew you could help with that, and maybe Alby knew it too, and that’s why he’d made you attend the Gathering. You could nearly taste the freedom on your lips. Under the table, your legs shook with excitement, energy, adrenaline -- everything that made you feel alive. What would life be like outside the Glade? 

“Tell them the instructions, Alby,” Newt whispered, voice strained.

Your hopeful heartbeat faltered.

Alby’s eyes flicked up from the paper, met yours, and shot back down.

Something like dread filled your chest.

“‘Show you can follow instructions and you will be released,’” Alby repeated. He drew a deep breath before continuing. “Sacrifice Y/N to the Maze. Tonight.’”

One second passed. Inside that second, there was an eternity, an infinity, a lifetime. Your lifetime. Every limb of your body became paralyzed. You felt liquid. You felt insubstantial and invisible, only you were the farthest thing from invisible, because every single person in the room, all ten Keepers and Alby and Newt, even Newt, who wouldn’t meet your eyes before because he’d already condemned you to death, was staring.

And then the room roared.

“They’re lying!”

“That’s insane!”

“They can’t ask us to do that!”

“We can’t trust them!”

“I’m not doing that!”

“What if it’s true?”

The last voice, soft, barely audible, silenced everyone.

You stared at Gally, jaw dropped. “What?” You could barely speak above a whisper. Your vocal cords were constricting, choking you. Every breath felt like your last.

Gally’s gaze stayed on the letter in Alby’s hands. His eyes were glazed and his whole demeanor, normally stubborn and stand-offish, had shifted into quiet contemplation. “What if it’s true?” he murmured. “What if this is our way out? What if this is what we’ve been waiting for?”

The other Keepers began to speak. Instead of ardent protestations, you heard questions. So many questions and no definitive answers, except for Gally’s. The room spun around you, swirling, swirling, swirling. Your skin was flushed and cold and sweating and freezing all at the same time.

“He might be right,” you heard.

In an instant, you shot to your feet. The chair that Minho should have been sitting in clattered to the floor, silencing the Keepers. “Guys, this-this is insane,” you pleaded. Every face was a blur, a smear, no distinguishable people anywhere. You didn’t know a single boy in this room. “The Creators have never asked us to do something like this. They locked us in here! They-they...they put monsters in the Maze to kill us!”

“Maybe not to kill us.” Billy, the Keeper of the Baggers, was a boy of few words. He never seemed to have much to say, maybe because he’d gotten used to such solitary work. Most of the time, the only Gladers he was around were dead. “Maybe the monsters are there to kill you.”

Panicked tears burned in the corners of your eyes. Gally was nodding. So was Winston. Too many of them were nodding or looking down, pretending they didn’t have a say, hope gleaming in their eyes and betraying their thoughts.

You turned to your leaders. “Alby, this can’t--we can’t--”

“We’re going to vote on it.”

You switched tactics. “Newt. Newt, please, please look at me. This is crazy. We can get out without doing this, we can--I’ll run more and we’ll...we’ll figure something out, just, please, don’t--please just look at me.”

Newt slowly lifted his head. In the background, the Keepers talked, rising from their seats, growing more animated, more determined. Unshed tears glimmered in Newt’s eyes. “Y/N,” he said, and in your name you heard an apology. “This could be our only chance.”

“It can’t be.” You moved forward, desperate. “It can’t be our only chance, we’ll figure something out, I know we can, we just need to--” You were babbling and stepping closer and your hands reached out to grab his arms, to shake him, to knock some sense into all of them, and then Alby’s low, commanding voice rang out, ordering everyone to sit, and you were left standing, crying, terrified, and so, so, so alone.

“If anyone wants to see the note, there.” Alby dropped it onto the table. Across from you, Gally picked it up, scanned it, and passed it to the boy next to him, Winston. From Winston to Billy to Clint to Frypan to Ozzy to Doug to Zart to Leon. To you. With trembling hands, you held the note, saw the words, tried to read them and make sense of them, only nothing made sense at all.

Sacrifice Y/N to the Maze. Sacrifice Y/N. Sacrifice sacrifice sacrifice.

The more you repeated it in your head, the less real it sounded. This wasn’t real. This couldn’t be happening.

“We have to make a decision,” Alby said.

Lungs squeezing painfully, you tried to speak. No words came out.

“I think it’s obvious,” Gally said. “Everything changed as soon as she got here. Now the Creators want us to do something, so we should do it.” He sounded more certain the more he spoke, his voice and words building to a persuasive, powerful crescendo.

“We could get out,” Winston added eagerly.

Clint pushed back his chair and slowly rose to his feet. He looked uncomfortable being the center of attention. One of his hands stayed on the table, scrambling for support. “I think it’s important,” he said, “that we think this through and give it the weight it deserves. This is someone’s life we’re talking about.”

It’s my life, you wanted to scream. I’ve tried to be a part of your group! I’m a Glader!

Clint continued. “But we also have to think about everyone else, too. I’m sorry, Y/N, I really am. But your sacrifice could mean that everyone else here can live.” Clint sunk back into his seat. “My vote is to obey the Creators.”

“Clint--” You were drowned out by Gally and Winston and Billy agreeing, formally voting to kill you. Gally nodded down at Ozzy, the Keeper of the Bricknicks, and then Ozzy said, “I vote to obey the Creators too.”

Leon agreed next. Leon, the Keeper of the Maps, who you’d spoken to nearly every day since becoming a Runner. Leon, who you’d sometimes traded jokes with and complimented for his drawing skills. Leon, who, after voting, said, “I’ve spent all of my time in the Glade trying to get out,” like it was an explanation you wanted to hear. Like it would mean it was okay for them to throw your life away. He wouldn’t look at you, still standing, half-slumped against the table as your legs wobbled with each vote that damned you to being ripped apart by Grievers.

“Guys, please,” you said, or you thought you said, but maybe they didn’t hear because now Frypan was standing up.

“I haven’t seen a Griever up close, I don’t know what it’s like in the Maze, and I don’t know what it’s like to patch up people who have done all of that. I know that Y/N’s a Glader. That’s all I need. I vote no.” Frypan nodded at you and sat back down, his normally easy-going face creased in deep thought.

One voice. One against six. But one was all you needed; one gave you a shot of strength, enough for you to straighten up, to open your mouth, to instead hear Doug say, “I haven’t done any of that either but I know that I don’t want to spend another goddamn minute in this Glade. I vote yes.”

The room spun. You looked down at your hands, found them in your lap, realized you were sitting but couldn’t remember ever doing so. Everything was slipping through your fingers so fast, too fast, impossibly fast.

Seven.

“My vote doesn’t matter much now,” Zart began, his words ponderous and slow. “But I vote no.” He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms, as if daring anyone to question him.

Gally turned his attention to Alby and Newt instead. “So we’re doing it?”

Alby frowned. Newt buried his face in his hands. You thought you might pass out.

“Seven is a majority. It doesn’t matter our votes,” Alby said. “Or Minho’s.”

“Or mine.” The table turned to you. “I don’t get a say in any of this? It’s my life.” You knew your voice was too high-pitched, too warbled, too girlish to be taken seriously. You swallowed and it came out even more panicked. “You can’t just kill me with a one-vote difference, you can’t just--”

“It wouldn’t be a one-vote difference. I vote to obey the Creators.” Alby stared unwaveringly at you. “Newt agreed before the Gathering. That makes it nine to four, assuming Minho would vote not to obey.”

“Why?” It came out strangled and mangled and desperate.

“For the Glade,” Alby responded.

Newt suddenly looked up, shaking his head. “No, no, I take my vote back. I vote no. We can’t do this, Alby.”

“Eight to five. The majority says to obey. It happens tonight.”

“Alby--” “Alby, please,” You and Newt protested together, but Alby’s voice boomed over both of yours. “Gathering over. Gally, Winston, take Y/N to the Pit until tonight.”

Newt stood up too fast and stumbled, nearly crashing into the table. “We can’t put her in the Pit!”

The sound of arguing and chairs being pushed back washed over you, filling your ears with white noise. Chills raced up and down your spine, sending a clamminess to your hands and feet. You were going to die. You were going to be torn apart by Grievers, the very monsters you’d spent so much time running away from. It was almost ironic, really, and you almost laughed until you realized it was a sob, until you realized there were tears streaming down your face and there were two sets of hands grabbing you by the arms and hoisting you up and leading you out of the room and down the hall, practically dragging you for all of the good your feet did. And then you were in the doorway of a dark, windowless room, and Newt was standing in front of you. He enveloped you in a hug, spewing apologies about the vote and the room and your fate. All too soon, he pulled away. You saw his brown eyes and tear-streaked face. You saw the door close. You saw darkness.

You sagged to the floor and cried.

Hours passed. The room had no windows for you to watch the sun move across the sky, silently counting down to the end of your life. You had tried a few times to shove the door open,  but you only succeeded in bursting out between two strong Gladers. After the first time, they were ready for any attempt of yours to sprint past. Sometimes their voices would seep through the cracks in the wood. Apologies and excuses and pleas for you to please, just please, do this one thing for the Glade and help them all survive.

Part of you thought they were right. What if your sole purpose was to be a sacrifice? But then you thought of Minho and running and laughing and the few flickering memories you had from before the Glade, of an older couple smiling at you or the warm feeling of being loved, and you remembered how it felt to be alive. And you knew that it wasn’t right, it wasn’t fair, for anyone but you to get to decide your death.

Your time alone helped you think. It helped you settle yourself, calm your mind, and dry your tears. But as soon as the door opened and you saw the sunlight fading from the hallway, all of your carefully planned entreaties faded from your lips. Your throat went dry with impending doom.

“It’s time. Alby’s waiting by the Maze,” one of the Gladers said. You didn’t even know who he was. Why hadn’t you gotten closer to him? To all of them? Maybe if you hadn’t been so solitary, maybe you could have...or they could have...or maybe...

“What’s your name?” you heard yourself ask as the guards flanked you down the hall.

He gave you a look of confusion. “Rob.”

“Rob,” you repeated. Rob led the way outside. You glanced over your shoulder at the other Glader. “What about you?”

“I’m David,” the one behind you answered. He hastened to walk beside you. David had stubby legs, two of his steps matching one of yours. You picked up your pace. Rob matched it easily; David lagged.

Over the Glade, the sun was nearly below the horizon. Gladers milled about but kept their distance from you, trying not to stare at the doomed prisoner. It was like you were already dead. And no one cared.

The wall loomed high above you, growing as your entourage got closer and closer. Huddled near one of the entrances was a group of Gladers. When you neared a hundred feet away from them, you slowed. David followed suit immediately. Rob’s lengthy strides shortened.

“David, Rob,” you addressed them by name, not looking at either even as they faced you. “Thanks for walking with me.” Then you bolted for the Maze.

David had no chance of catching up to you, Rob was just stunned enough to give you the head start you needed, and the group of Gladers only shouted as you closed the distance to the door.

My choice, the pounding of your feet seemed to shout. My choice. My life. You may have been minutes away from death, but you had never felt so alive. Adrenaline flooded your body. The hairs on the back of your neck stood up. All of the cold fear had been replaced by the warmth of energy. One last choice, you thought. The open door called to you. 20 feet. 5 feet. You’d just crossed the entrance when one voice made itself known above the crowd.

“Y/N!”

Every muscle tensed, you spun around to see Minho sprinting after you, the group of Gladers following, none as fast as your partner. He crashed into you with the tightest hug of your life. Your body reacted before your mind knew how; you hugged him back.

“I couldn’t let you go without seeing you,” Minho blurted, his lips an inch from your ear. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t…” he trailed off. Loosening his hold, he pulled back enough to see your face. He stared at you like he wanted to memorize you. “I’m going with you.”

“No, you’re not.”

“I am, Y/N, I can’t let you do this yourself. With two of us we could--”

“Die. We’d both die.” You pulled him close again, burying your head back in the crook of his neck, hating the fear in his eyes. You’d wanted your last memory of him to be a smile, not this.

He spoke more softly now. “If we had supplies, I bet we could do it. I’ll raid the kitchen, the Med-jack Hut, bring us weapons. We could find the way out. You don’t have to die. You can’t die.”

You wanted him to stop talking, because you couldn’t extinguish the little flame of hope blooming in your chest if he kept feeding it. “Minho-”

Minho cut you off. “You can do this, Y/N. You’re fast, faster than me, and a hell of a lot smarter than all of these shanks combined. Survive the night. Survive the night and I can bring you supplies tomorrow.” His voice had an edge to it, a fierce desperation you’d never heard from Minho. Inside his encouragement, he was pleading with you. “Fuck, Y/N, please survive the night. Meet me at the intersection past the west door when the sun rises. I fell there the first time we ran together, remember? I said it was because you ran funny and it made me lose concentration but it was actually because you looked so beautiful in the sunrise that I couldn’t think.” He took a deep breath. Your heart beat too quickly, running on hope and support and maybe a little bit of love. When Minho spoke again, his voice was solemn, “I’ll find you, I swear to God. We’ll figure it out together. We’ll get out together.”

“I’ll survive.” You were lying. “I’ll try.” Was that another lie? Everything was moving too quickly.

Alby’s voice stopped you from thinking any further. “It’s time,” he intoned. 

From your place in Minho’s arms, you saw that the group of Gladers, composed mostly of Keepers, had surrounded you in a semicircle. The way forward was blocked; your only way out was the Maze.

You and Minho separated slowly. Behind you, the Maze rumbled. Still, Minho held your hand in his, looking physically pained. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said, hoping, desperate, pleading. 

You nodded.

Minho shook his head. “Please say it back, Y/N. Please.”

You glanced at the door starting to close, then at Alby, who stared hard-eyed at you and motioned for the Gladers to press in. You couldn’t find Newt in the crowd. Minho’s hand was heavy and warm in yours. Comforting.

With your last moments in the Glade, you darted close to Minho, pressed your lips to his cheek, and then slipped away from him, entering the Maze. The door thudded closed behind you. The sun had set. You were alone.

[writefasttalkevenfaster]

Take My Hand (Part 8.1 - Sonny’s Ending)

Summary: he put your heart back together -- and it was time for you to do the same for him -- and to have your future together. 

Pairings: Sonny Carisi x Reader, Rafael Barba x Reader

Word Count: 3,582

Song: There'll be happiness after you / But there was happiness because of you / Both of these things can be true / There is happiness (happiness by taylor swift) 

Warnings: T, a happy ending, a little angst, but sonny is the sweetest, v*rus doesn’t exist b/c i don’t want to live in reality.

A/N: i can’t believe we’re here -- we’ve reached the ending (or a ending). thank you for reading, reblogging, for your comments --  i’ve read and reread every comment multiple times. thank you to @bucky-of-the-opera and @laneygthememequeen​ for being the best beta readers. i have so many other people i want to thank -- but i’m gonna make a separate post. thank you for reading. please let me know what you think. 

His back is turned, heading towards the elevators. 

It was Sonny — slipping past the crowd in the hallways outside the courtrooms — it was always Sonny. 

“Sonny, please,” and your hand brushing his shoulder, “Please—” 

And he reluctantly stops, turning on his heel, lips a thin line as he faces you and his arms crossed, “What?” his question is terse, the tension as thick as in the courtroom — and this had nothing to do with the verdict.

Your mouth opens, but no words leave them—you can’t stop looking at him. 

His brow is furrowed and his jaw set — but you know he’s angry, betrayed, frustrated — and you were the one who had caused it.  

But what else would he feel? When you had played with him, his feelings, his heart, and now, is it even fair to ask for it — your chest squeezes — when you didn't deserve it? 

“What is it?” he asks, his tone flat, and you’re wavering a moment, blinking back tears, and he’s sighing, his shoulders buckling under the weight of it all — the weight you had placed on him, “if you’re telling me that it’s over—” his voice breaks, and your heart breaks along with it, “I get it.” 

No, No— 

And you’re shaking your head, reaching for him, but hesitating as your palms fold in on themselves, drawing them back to your sides. 

 “No, no, Sonny,” and he’s blinking, “I love you,” he’s wordless, mouth slightly agape as he stares at you, “I’m sorry—I’m not doing this right. I—” 

He’s pulling you aside, away from prying eyes, his gaze softening a fraction, “Tell me,” 

And you’re staring up at him — how do you tell him that you love him? How do you put it into words? How are words even enough to encompass everything you feel? There aren’t words, there isn't a sentence you would say that would ever do— 

But you can try. 

"I'm sorry," you whisper, "I've pushed you — shoved you away as if you've meant nothing to me, when you mean everything to me," and tears are stinging at your eyes, "I can't apologize to you enough — I treated you like shit — every time you wanted to move forward I brushed you off because I was afraid, we wouldn't make it. That I would—" and you bite your lip — doesn’t that sound familiar?

"No apology I give can make up for what I did — nothing can make up for what I did, but I can promise I'll never do it again because—" and he's meeting your gaze as you step a little closer, dare to climb the cliffside you had plunged yourself down — because you would, for him, you would do anything. 

“I want to wake up beside you every morning, I want you to be the first person I see in the morning and the last person I see at night, you’re the first person I want to tell good news when I get it—” and your voice is breaking, “living these last few days without you — it wasn't living because I couldn’t breathe,” tears sting at the corners of your eyes, “and I don’t deserve you after what I put you through — and I’ll do whatever I can to make it up to you — but, I—” and you’re gazing up at him, your fingers tentatively brushing against the length of his cheek, “do you still have that ring?” 

He’s blinking, his eyes glassy, but he's shaking his head, "What about—" 

"It was never Rafael — it was always me," your voice breaks, "I was scared — I was pushing you away, and I was using him to do it. You were right. I didn't want to admit to myself how much I wanted this — how much it scared me to want someone so desperately," and you swallow the lump in your throat, "to love someone so fully — I never thought I could. I never thought someone could but— you did. You always did." 

And he always did — he was there to put your heart back together, he was there to help you grow, he was there to make you smile — he was always there by your side. 

"I want to marry you, Dominick Carisi Jr.," You smile softly, as your hands drop to his, "I want to be your spouse, I want to be your partner, I want to do everything you've done for me and more — because you deserve everything. You deserve better than me, and I'll spend my entire life trying to give it to you," but he doesn’t take your hands, and you waver, "it's okay if you're not ready or if you need time—" 

But his fingers slowly intertwine with yours, fitting together perfectly — as always, and he's cupping your cheek, his eyes shining, "I just want you, sweetheart. Always have."  

And your lips split into a grin, heart thrumming in your ears as you pull him into a kiss, his lips move against yours — finally and wholly — as his arms wrap around your waist, his palms sliding against your lower back. And he tastes like home — the one  housed between his arms, in his loving gaze, and his soft touches — the one you know you could never live without, and the one you wouldn’t have to — because he was it. 

And as you part, he smiles, his fingers cupping your cheeks, but he’s glancing down, “I still need time before—” 

You nod, waving off his explanations — ones you didn’t deserve, “I’ll be here. I’m not going anywhere,” your thumb running across the length of his cheek, “never again.” 

And he’s smiling, lips curled in a wide smile — the pain of the last few weeks slipping from his face, as he tugs you closer, “Can I kiss you?” 

And you laugh, “Why are you even asking—” 

But he cuts you off with his lips, swallowing your laugh, and stealing your breath — just as he did your heart. 

How did you get so lucky? 

~~~

“Didn’t think you could leave without saying goodbye, did you?” your arms crossed across your chest, the cool brick of Lucia’s apartment building still finding its way through the plush lining of your coat, a small smile on your lips, only half forced — just as it was only half-awkward. 

Half-awkward because neither of you had spoken a word to each other since the trial — your firm was wrapping up sentencing negotiations on your end, and your texts over the last few days to Rafael had been sporadic at best. But you couldn’t let it end like that — you couldn’t just disappear, not again. 

You had learned that lesson — twice over. 

But to your surprise, his lips curl wryly, “And I thought your fiancee was the one who was the former detective,” 

And your brow wrinkles, “How—” 

His eyes flicker to your hands and back, the ring resting delicately on your finger, and your mouth nearly agape, you fidget, fingers toying with the metal band — you had gotten far too used to it already, as if it had always been there. 

You bite your lip — and maybe it always was. 

“I suppose congratulations are in order,” and you know he means it  — no sarcastic bite to his tone, but only resignation — the very same that made your heart ache. 

“Rafael—” 

“You don’t have to explain,” he shifts from foot to foot, his head tilted, a sad smile on his lips, “I think we’re past explanations at this point.” 

And any words you have die on your tongue, as you swallow the sentiments in your heart — about how much you loved him, about maybe in another life you would have been together, and about how much you hope that he would find someone else — no, those weren’t as helpful as you wished they were.

“It’s not an engagement ring,” you say softly, “it’s a promise ring—” 

“You and Carisi decide to go back to the 1950s?” he teases lightly, as you scoff, shaking your head, “not quite ready to get married yet?” 

“After everything,” you say softly, “I think both of us needed some—” 

“Time,” he finishes, licking his lips, “I’m familiar,” 

And you swallow the lump in your throat, “I’m sorry if this is—” 

“No, I’m the one who should be sorry,” and now you’re blinking as he purses his lips, “It wasn’t fair to spring this on you — to tell you how I felt, but I did it anyway—” he shakes his head, “I needed to tell you — I just hope you know that,” and he bites his lip, “that Carisi—” 

“He does — we do,” you sigh, stepping forward, “you know Sonny isn’t the type to hold a grudge — and anyway, this,” your fingers graze over the band again, “it was between me and him, not you.” 

And he’s nodding, his nose now red from the cold, as a small sigh escapes his lips, “I just want you to be happy.” 

“I am happy,” you smile, “I really am,” and you reach for him, squeezing his hand, “and I wish you nothing but the best, Rafael Barba — because you deserve it.” 

And he’s smiling, as he squeezes back, before stepping back, glancing at his watch, “You should get back home, shouldn’t you?” 

And you raise an eyebrow, “Since when did you become my keeper?” you echo his words from all those years ago — the very same he had said to you — and he rolls his eyes. 

“I’m not,” but he tilts his head, “but you have someone else to do that, don’t you?” And it’s almost on cue, your phone is vibrating in your pocket, messages from Sonny to check in — asking what you wanted for dinner. Rafael steps forward,  before leaning slowly — giving you enough time to lean away but you don’t — as his lips brush against your forehead, a goodbye without words, smiling as he did so. 

“Will I see you around?” you ask as he’s turning to go instead the building, just as snowflakes begin to fall, the icy melting as it drifted to the concrete, and he looks over his shoulder with a smile. 

“You will,” and he steps inside, the door swinging shut behind him, as you grab your phone, calling Sonny. 

“Hey, I’m on my way home soon,” as you step away from the building, “do you need me to pick up anything for dinner?” 

~~~

There’s a knock at Sonny’s door, just as he finishes looking over an answer from the defendant’s attorney, “Busy?” 

“Never for you,” he smiles, as you shut the door behind you, rounding his desk, perching yourself on the edge of his desk in front of him, as your fingers intertwine, “I’m almost done, sweetheart,” 

“Really?” you raise your eyebrows, a wry smile on your lips, checking your phone, “I believe you said that almost an hour and half ago,” your eyes drift back to him. 

“Well, now I’m really almost done,” 

“I am only just getting settled into your place, but if you keep pulling these late nights, I may get bored and redecorate.” 

“Oh really?” he echoes your taunt, as you laugh, “I’d pay to see that.” 

“I’m thinking purple walls,” and he snorts, “with yellow curtains—” 

“I love it,” and now you’re pouting, “as long as you’re happy,” and you roll your eyes. 

“This is supposed to make you come home earlier, and you’re smiling, until he’s tugging you off with a small yelp, right into his lap. 

“Sonny—” and he’s nosing your neck, pressing soft kisses to your skin, sighing against you, as you shiver, “Sonny,” you repeat, voice much softer, “let’s go home.” 

“Not yet,” he murmurs, against you as you gasp, his lips sucking softly against your pulse. 

“You know,” and you’re nearly squirming, “we can do all this and more at home,” you as you pull away, cupping his cheek, “what’s gotten into you?” And you don’t notice when he pulls the ring from his pocket, until he holds up in front of you — your mouth is dry, as tears sting at your eyes, “Sonny—” 

“You have, sweetheart,” he says, his voice nearly hoarse, “I wanted to wait until tonight, I wanted to propose to you at our apartment — surrounding by lights, over the first meal I ever cooked for you—” 

“Italian poached eggs,” and he smiles, as he presses a kiss to your forehead, before he continues. 

“But I couldn’t wait another second,” he whispers, fingers brushing against your cheek, “I can’t spend another second without asking you to marry me,” 

“Sonny, I—” 

“I see my future with you, sweetheart — nothing is certain, nothing at all,” he shakes his head, “but nothing else matters if you’re there beside me — my best friend,” he kisses you softly on the lips, “my love,” another kiss, “and hopefully my—” 

“Yes, Sonny, yes,” you kiss him in earnest, gripping the front of his shirt, again and again, “I’ll marry you,” and his eyes are glassy as he kisses you again, engulfing you in his embrace, as your fingers splay over his shoulder and on his chest, his heart racing under your touch. 

“I almost can’t believe it,” he murmurs, as your lips find your way to his again, “I can’t believe you said yes.” 

“I’ll say it a million times, if you want,” you part your lips as he tilts his head, “Yes,” kiss, “yes,” kiss, “yes—” and he cuts you off with his lips, grinning against you, “I love you so much, Sonny Carisi,”

“I love you too,” he says, brushing away a tear slipping down your cheek, “I just I never thought I’d—” 

“Shh,” you kiss him again, swallowing his words, and you ground yourself in him — his touch, his scent, his taste — him, “it’s real, we’re getting married.” 

And he surges forward to kiss you again, when his phone begins to vibrate, “Shit,” he murmurs under his breath, grabbing his phone, “I forgot I—” 

“Forgot what?” and you glance at his phone, spotting your dining table set up nicely with a white tablecloth, a vase of your favorite flowers, and lights strung up above it, and you cover your mouth, “Sonny—” 

“I was having Liv, Fin, and Amanda help me set up—” 

“They were helping you set this up?” you repeat with a ghost of a laugh in your voice, “please tell me you have pictures of Fin putting up string lights—” 

He snorts, “I think I wouldn’t make it out alive with that picture,” and he purses his lips, “this is where I wanted to ask you — in our home over dinner, but just seeing you, I—” his fingers interlace with yours, “I couldn’t wait to ask to marry you.” 

Your laugh is watery and you don’t care, as you press your forehead to his, “Well I can’t wait to marry you,” And he’s smiling — and you can’t believe you get to wake up to that smile every day for the rest of your life, and you’re slipping from the chair, your fingers still laced with his, “Let’s go home?” 

And you do, your hand never leaving his the entire way there. 

~~~

“You have to show me your recipe for this, El—” you catch a sharp look from your husband’s mother, “Mom,” you correct yourself, “I don’t know how you do it.” 

Elena tastes the dish, a small smile gracing her lips, “I think it’s turned out even better somehow,” and she squeezes your shoulder, “must be your help,” 

Sonny snorts, and both of your heads snap to him, “What?” 

“Something to say, Dominick?” Elena crosses her arms, as her husband claps his hand to his son’s shoulder and shakes his head. 

“No, ma’am,” and you roll your eyes, biting back your smile while you stir the sauce. His parents slip from the kitchen for a moment, taking drinks over to their daughters and their families, leaving the two of you alone. 

You feel Sonny watch you, leaning against the counter, his gaze skimming over the length of you, lingering. Until he pushes himself from the counter, coming behind you to wrap his arms around you, his hand over yours, helping you stir. 

“Sonny, contrary to your belief, I can handle stirring this—” a little sauce flecks against your thumb and the back of your palm, the heat low enough that it barely stings, but Sonny’s pulling your hand away, and your protest dies on your lips as he licks the sauce from your hand. The air thickens, and it’s not from the heat of stovetops, as he grins. 

“Mm, Ma was right — it is better,” he presses a kiss to your temple, squeezing your hips, before stepping away just as his mom re-enters. 

“Dominick, go help your sisters with their kids, some of the younger ones are—” 

“I know the drill,” his hand brushes your waist as he leaves, throwing one last smile over his shoulder. 

Your gaze falls back to the pot in front of you, lips curled, until you find Elena beside you again, “You two are happy, huh?” 

And she’s turning the burner off, as you glance at her, biting your lip, “We really are — I can’t remember ever being this happy.” 

“That’s what love does to us, isn’t it?” and she’s looking out the window at the backyard, watching Sonny play with his nieces and nephews, “it brings out the best in us,” and she turns again, “and I want to thank you for doing that for my son.” 

You blink, “Elena, I—” 

“I know you had your trouble getting here, but I know,” she looks to Sonny again, “I know my son is happiest with you — you’ve helped him come into his own,” 

You nod, softly smiling as you find him again in the yard, now standing off to the side, watching his sisters’ kids run around, “We helped each other — he’s the best person I know, really,” 

“He is,” and she squeezes your shoulder, “thank you for taking care of him,” 

You nod again, blinking back tears, “Thank you for letting me.” 

~~~

“Think you want that?” Sonny asks you, as you sit at the table, watching his sister pick up her son who was falling asleep at the table, his head lolling for the last fifteen minutes, until his father picked him up, his head resting on your shoulder. 

“A kid?” you rest your chin on his shoulder, “Well, your mom never fails to remind us of our lack of one,” you smile, glancing back at the kids, before licking your lips, “I was never sure,” and his expression wavers, “but I think with you — I think we could do anything,” and he relaxes, spotting your smile, 

“What?” 

You shake your head, pressing a kiss to his shoulder, “You would just be a really good dad,” 

He raises his eyebrows, “Really?” 

And you snort, jerking your heads toward the kids, “Have you seen yourself with your nephews and nieces?” 

He sighs, “Well that’s the easy stuff — playing with them,” he watches as his sister picks up her son’s things, and grabs him juice for the car ride him, “taking care of them, protecting them, letting them make their way in the world,” he sighs, “that’s the hard part.” 

You shrug, bumping him with his shoulder, and he wraps his arm around you, “I like our odds,” 

“Never question the odds,” and you raise an eyebrow at him. 

“Dork,” you scoff, and he shrugs, smirking as he raises an eyebrow. 

“Well, you married a dork so—” you press a kiss to his cheek. 

“Touche,” you slip from his grip, as he holds onto you with the tips of his fingers, “I left my coat inside — I’ll be right back,” you brush him away, before slipping inside. 

The house was empty, everyone outside and getting ready to go — the shoes that had lined the entryway had dwindled, as you stepped through the foyer and living room, before finding your way to the kitchen. 

And then you see it. 

You pause before the wall of photos — the very same wall you had found yourself in front of the very first time you had come to the Carisi home. And now it was the first time since the wedding that you had come back. You toyed with the ring on your finger, the first time that this was your home too — because he was now. 

Officially, at least. 

And your eyes found his parents wedding photo again — his father in the tan suit he regretted, but looking as happy as he did each day. 

And he was right about one thing — it really was the happiest day of your life — your eyes slid over to your wedding picture right beside it — a picture of you and Sonny staring at one another, your fingers brushing against his cheek— 

“Sweetheart?” you heard Sonny call after you, “Bella is leaving? Are you coming?” 

“I’m coming,” you reply, grabbing your coat from the kitchen chair, before slipping back outside to say goodbye to the rest of his family. 

And so was every day that followed.

[whiskehorange]

Howdy! Okay, I hope this doesn't bring you down in the dumps if it's something your not comfortable with since it can be triggering? I guess, but I want to play it safe. So slashers: Pinhead, Hannibal, Harry, Mark, Jack, Huffman, the ghostface duo, Norman, and the Auditor after being interested in the reader realized that they deal with really bad depression and anxiety? Will they stay or leave? I kinda wanna request one about non slashers so hold on. (1/2)

These are out babies, of course they’d stay! I love you anon, feel free to come to me for anything. I don’t mind putting all of these guys in one post though, so I’ll put them all right here!

Pinhead

You’re pure. You might not think it, but the amount of suffering you have done mentally is far from enough. And for you to still be strong enough to simply be alive is commendable on it’s own; you’re strong, he can give you that. He really shouldn’t stay, mainly due to the fact that you’re a living human, but it’s him down here that makes decisions, and if he wants to have you by his side to show you some “peace”, then so be it.

Hannibal

It’s no new news to Hannibal, he could practically smell the worry in the pit of your stomach every time you came in for a session. Even when the sessions were over and he successfully convinced you to meet up with him for dinner regularly, he genuinely wanted to help you out of this hole. It would take some time and effort with how badly you’ve got it, but it’s nothing he can’t handle, nothing he can’t convince you is treatable. 

Harry

Every time you came down to visit him he could see right through that warm smile of yours. Your eyes and words were dead giveaways to that dark cloud inside your head. Trust him, he knows a thing or two about how it feels, he isn’t one to leave you in the dust. It’s a lot of work to get through hard times, especially alone, but if you’d like, maybe you could work on it with him. He doesn’t talk much, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t open to being open to discussion on how you feel.

Mark

Mark quite literally doesn’t have the time to deal with depression, but that does not mean that he does not have the time to be with you. He demands that if you ever feel down or are having a rough time, no matter what time it is, that you pick up your phone and call him. Mark has authority in his parts, so if that means that you need to come and lie on the newly bough sofa in his office just for you, then you better get your ass over here and let him watch over you.

Billy & Stu

Billy knows a thing or two about it, but not this deep. Being with Stu typically distracts him from everything, but nothing they do can get you out of the thunderstorm in your head. Billy’s there for verbal affirmations and physical affection, taking a more serious route to try to get you to smile. Stu, on the other hand, is a bit much to handle, wanting to get you out and about, even if it’s something small like just to sit in the park. Stu is good at distracting, and maybe it can work on you for a while.

Norman

Oh no, we can’t have any of that. Norman lives to give you happy days and warm, sunny days. It’s time for him to step up and give you all of the affection he can ever give. The sun does wonders for your health and he’s going to run with it. Waking you up at sun raise to help him plant some flowers, even if you need to take it slow and just set outside. He tries his best to get you out and about with him to show you how much you can appreciate the small things.

The Auditor

It’s no secret to him, he already knows just about everything in your file. It’s sad, really, to have to deal with something this dark and frustrating for years on end, without treatment if you don’t seek it. He’s no therapist, Heaven’s no, but he can offer you some stress outlets! Writing is a good way to release all of your feelings, and he’s more than willing to give you a special booklet to write down your thoughts and anything you want to get out of your mind. No one, not even him can read the ink that you write in, and once you’ve finished writing, it gets fed to a particularly hungry Glutton Cenobite. 

Abe

It was overwhelming the first time Abe touched your shoulder, practically made him fall down. He confronted you the moment the two of you were alone, asking if you needed anyone to talk to. The BPRD has amazing specialists and therapists if that’s what you’d like to have, or, you have him. Abe is a known secret keeper when things of this nature are being talked about, and you can trust that he can be there anytime you need him. Maybe take a dip in the pool with him, you’d be amazed how good it can feel to let all of your worries float right away.

Nuada

While he might not have the right remedies to help your case to it’s full extent, it does worry him to see you so out of it. Never wanting to roam the town or markets with him whenever he offered, just staying to yourself and rarely initiating any conversation. Nuada is one to keep to himself, but it’s no good for you. Please, come stay in his library with him, watch him train, let him entertain you for the time being. You don’t need to be alone.

Yautja

Yautja’s really aren’t the best experts in detecting human emotions, he does know that crying is not a good sign. Especially isolation, that’s never good for a human when you already seem to be down. They’re great listeners, and hearing such horrific internal battles leaves him almost speechless. It’s nothing but assuring words from your Yautja, you are strong than you could ever imagine. Screw his battle scars, you have the worst he’s ever seen, let him hold you.

Pavi & Luigi

Both boys deal with depression, but they’re too busy arguing to really see it. Pavi, no matter how vain, is the best emotion reader believe it or not. While you’re practically family, he coos to you, serenading you and offering you priceless jewelry and objects in hopes for a loving smile. Luigi, once caught on to how you feel, is the better advice giver. It’s sort of a battle of who can cheer you up better, which makes for some unintentionally funny “scenes” of the two of them fighting.” They’re trying their hardest, they promise.

Nathan

Boy, has he been there. It’s rough, and staying inside is all he wants to do half of the time. Locking himself away, keeping to himself and away from the entire world. Honestly, if it wasn’t for Shilo, then he would be in the same boat as you. He wants nothing but to see you better just as he wants Shilo, but he can be a bit dramatic. All of the love and affection/attention he gives you is in good light, it can just seem a little overbearing. He’s worried about if you’re going to stay or leave.

Graverobber

He doesn’t blame you. In a city like this, it’s rare to find a genuinely happy person anymore. But seeing you like this makes him shake his head. Never will he point you in the direction of Zydrate, but he encourages you to come along with him, at least to get out of the cramped little apartments and into the foggy light. It’s better than nothing. Graves knows a lot of people, a lot of people that he can have help the two of you get out and about, be into movies, shows, restaurants, galleries, anything. He knows his way around the city, and you’re going to have a good time.

Bishop

Bishop is concerned, he really is. While he doesn’t recommend any of the doctors on board, they were really only hired so that it would look good in the papers, you can always come to him. It’s lonely on the ship, you can’t just walk out and get some fresh air, he knows that, hell even sometimes he wishes he could do that. But he’s all ears for you. Anything you need, he’s sure to make up something for you, anything to make you smile. He misses your smile.

Anton

A man of little to no interest in small talk, he can’t just leave your needs unwanted. Talk to him and he’s sure to listen, no matter how long or what about. Anton is a phenomenal listener, no need for interruptions or his own thoughts about the situation. How about this, instead of setting in this house all by yourself, pack your bags and come take a ride with him. Leave all of this in the past, tell him where you want to go and he’ll take you there.

[mxgilray]

I... have some thoughts on the Loki finale. It was not what I was expecting, but I'm still hopeful for season 2.

This felt like a meh finale, like how a lot of season finales felt in Spring 2020 when they unexpectedly quit filming and had to cut things short by a couple episodes thanks to the pandemic. Only this was the planned out finale, they should've given a bit more oomph. I'm quite a fan of exposition and character development usually, but all the dialog was centered on He Who Remains, so it felt like our main characters were just side pieces.

Plus, the final "cliffhanger" of Mobius not knowing Loki and the statue of HWR replacing the Time Keeper statues felt quite lackluster. Not sure how they could've made it hit harder, but it didn't deliver the "oh shit" vibes they intended, but maybe that's cuz Mobius not remembering Loki has been an expected plot line on tumblr for half the season so it wasn't a blindside.

I get the point of the Sylki kiss. From what I've seen on tumblr so far I feel like the nuance of Sylvies actions was lost to most people (both Sylki fans and antis just Didn't Get It). It wasn't a big declaration of love like the fans are grasping onto it as, and it wasn't shoving selfcest into the canon to keep the heternormativity like antis are accusing it of being; it was Sylvie using Loki's attachment to her to trick him. She needed Loki out of her way, and she knew the only way to get past him and get He Who Remains' tempad was through emotional distraction. She used his love against him and betrayed him, a kiss was simply the most efficient way to do it. I did a whole post last week about Sylvie's feelings towards Loki, but to sum up I firmly believe that while Loki harbors some romantic feelings for Sylvie, she feels strictly platonic towards him, but is very aware of his attraction. She took advantage of his care for her to get the upper hand during their fight. Heck she even foreshadowed it herself in ep 5. "There are more important things than friends" "like taking down the TVA" she told Loki that taking down whoever is behind the TVA comes before everything; it's priority #1 in her book, above friendship or love or trust. Loki proved that his priority now is the greater good of the universe not her revenge, so Sylvie has no use for him anymore (partners only when it's convenient, because she is a Loki and that's how emotionally stunted Lokis behave).

I would like to point out the irony of her being worried about Loki betraying her, only to turn around and betray him. It's in the realm of "people who cheat assuming their partner is cheating" / "not using a turn signal when changing planes to avoid being cut off because when you see someone else use their signal you tend to cut them off", it's assuming other people will behave like you do. Sylvie feared in ep 5 that Loki would betray her in the end because she knew if it came down to it she'd betray him. But the thing is, he's actually grown past that. Loki is finally thinking about how his actions can damage others, not just his own wants and needs. Sylvie saw this moral change in Loki, realized there was no chance of getting him back on the blind revenge boat, and decided to exploit his newfound selflessness and emotional attachment to get him out of her path.

This whole season Loki has been maturing emotionally and growing into the best, most heroic version of himself. Sylvie, on the other hand, still has that deceptive, selfish, can't trust anyone persona that every Loki develops to combat insecurity. She hasn't had the emotional growth needed to see the bigger picture, she's still trapped in her own self centered mindset. As such, she disregards the impact her betrayal will have on Loki, the impact killing HWR will have on the universe. She doesn't even take a beat to consider whether revenge is still the right path cuz she doesn't practice self reflection yet; revenge has always been the goal and she refuses to give herself a chance of changing her mind. I hope in season 2 she'll get some character growth, now that her 1 goal has been accomplished.

Now on to Mobius. I enjoyed his scenes, I wish we'd been shown more of what he did to reveal the truth to the rest of the TVA. Again, I feel like too much time was given to HWR's monologing and not enough was spent on the other characters so Mobius and B-15 got very little screen time to display their plan. I am happy Mobius got the opportunity to throw Ranslayers betrayal back in her face, and his attemp at attacking her...my boy you work a desk job you ain't no fighter, she used to work in the field collecting variants, you had no chance. Also, where the F did she go??? I kept expecting her to show up at the end of time but she didn't. Where did Miss Minutes send her??

I'm sad Mobius doesn't know Loki anymore, but I can't say I'm surprised. I've got a few different thoughts on what the heck is going on with him and the TVA:

Sylvie accidentally sent Loki way back to a time early on in the TVA before HWR created the Time Keepers for anonymity. As such, this is a past Mobius who has yet to meet Loki or even learn of Loki's existence. If this is the case, then I think Loki and Past!Mobius's interaction at the end of ep 6 will be the catalyst for him becoming a Loki expert. The 63 branching timelines Mobius and B-15 are discussing before Loki interrupts are from some currently unknown disaster that'll be a plot line in s2. (This is my least favorite theory, but nevertheless a possibility)

HWR was correct when he said that if Sylvie kills him and destroys the TVA then another variant of him will just start it all up again. This variant didn't care to remain anonymous, hence the big statue of him, but kept all the memory wiped variants working there. Because time is a chaotic bitch, the changeover from one HWR variant to another may have been near seamless at the TVA and just involved a quick memory wipe of anything relating to the Time Keepers, Loki and Sylvie, or knowledge that the TVA are all variants. The 63 branches may be thanks to something Renslayer is doing like killing all the HWR variants in existence in order to negate the need for the TVA. The branching could also be from Sylvie's revenge still, we have no idea how much time has passed between her killing HWR and a new HWR taking over so the branching she caused could still be an issue.

There have actually been multiple TVAs running simultaneously, each in their own multiverse. Each one employs memory wiped variants, each one is in charge of a certain subset of timelines, and all work under the one HWR. Sylvie used HWR's tempad to eject Loki back to the TVA, but she accidentally sent him to the TVA of a different multiverse not realizing that's a Thing. The 63 branching timelines Mobius and B-15 are discussing are indeed from Sylvie killing HWR, but there's only 63 as opposed to the countless we saw diverging from Sylvie's perspective because this TVA only sees branches on timelines within their own multiverse. Mobius doesn't know Loki because he isn't our Mobius and in the multiverse he works in maybe Loki's aren't as much of an issue because none of them ever escaped the TVA like Sylvie did (or none of them have Tom's face so he doesn't recognize him as a Loki). If this is the case, then Loki is gonna have to find his way back to his own multiverse in order to be reunited with his Mobius, and that could end up happening thanks to Renslayer. Miss Minutes gave her a file that I suspect only HWR should have access to. Maybe it was tempad coordinates for other multiverses? It took til the 31st century for the multiverses to be connected despite Tony figuring out time travel in the 21st century because travel between universes is much harder, maybe HWR is still the only one who knows how to do that. (If this theory is correct then all the time travel done during Endgame was through timelines within one multiverse) Also just thought of this but what if the reason there are so many extreme variations of loki that grew to adulthood is because the criteria of "sacred timeline" is different in each multiverse. Classic Loki and maybe President Loki and Kid Loki are from the same universe as MCU Loki, but red haired Loki, Croki, Boastful Loki, etc are all from other universes. Think about it, Classic Loki, 2012 Loki, and MCU Loki all have an exact identical path up until their nexus event (or death in MCU Loki's case). I think other than identifying as female, Sylvie's childhood was identical as well and that her nexus event was coming to terms with her adoption as a child, which erased the catalyst of 2011 Thor's plot and would've changed everything for her future path. Had her adoption remained a secret and she grew up on asgard, I believe her story would mirror MCU Loki's. It mildly hit me weird that there would be such wild variation amongst Lokis, even with him being a shapeshifter, because there's a rigid sacred timeline (that supposedly the MCU movies have all adhered to) and they all felt like too big of a divergence to have been left unchecked so long. If boastful Loki was telling the truth about getting all 6 infinity stones then he should've triggered a nexus event as soon as he got more than the 3 he is "supposed to" interact with, unless in his multiverse the sacred timeline criteria is different. Another theory: the agents employed in each TVA are from multiverses other than the one they're working in. It would make sense, keep them from running into their own past by fully detaching each agent from their home timeline/universe. So the Principal!Renslayer that B-15 found will never in any future become the TVA judge we know. The one we know maybe came from the universe Loki got sent to, and that's how the two of them will end up crossing paths again.

[sincerelyravens]

for @hidden-joy, based on this post by @tsjernobyl

note: this segment takes place at the end of what would be zoë’s season. for context, if i keep this scene in it’s entirety (which i prob will with some dialgoue changes), this will likely be the second to last scene of zoë’s book. so robbe is very much still in the closet which i hope i managed to portray good in his internal dialogue. i hope you enjoy!

also happy 100 posts to this blog~~

...

The end-of-another-year celebration was yet another Senne De Smet party that would go down into the history books of their Hogwarts careers. Even with the massive amounts of the De Smet family wealth, it was a surprising feat that Senne managed to conduct a party of this magnitude and vibrancy in the span of a day and a half. Though, Robbe had a feeling that Amber and Zoë’s combined party-planning expertise might’ve helped him pull it off. 

Every person who was now seventh, sixth, and fifth years—and some below who seemed to have snuck in with their siblings—seemed to have materialized in the backyard of the De Smet mansion, crowding together and enjoying their newfound piece of freedom. It seemed as though everyone had a butterbeer or firewhiskey in their hand, but there were some cups filled with the non-alcoholic punch that Zoë had whipped up. There was even a record player, floating near the house, and it was charmed so every party guest could hear the music clearly, even if they were at the edge of the property.

Finishing off the party atmosphere were the bonfires. There were half-a-dozen of them scattered around the backyard, roaring to life in a flame taller than Robbe if he had been standing up, and bathing the party in a warm glow. When he and Milan had arrived, armed with refreshments that Zoë requested, Robbe had watched as Senne summoned embers from the tips of his wand and he wondered briefly if the fire was truly warm as it looked. Now, sitting up close to it, Robbe could feel the warmth on his face and in his palms.

Scratching at the label of his butterbeer bottle with his nails, Robbe glanced around the party.  

It was not hard to find his friends—being dipshits and full of themselves—as they stood over by the drinks table. Jens was filming obviously with his phone as Moyo and Aaron attempted to flirt their way into some poor Hufflepuff girl’s pants. Even from here, Robbe could tell that the girl was not having it, waiting for one of her friends to rescue her from the travesty of the conversation at hand. Finally, another one of the girls rescued her, pulling her away, and his friends tried to get her back to no avail.

Robbe snorted, rolling his eyes. 

Next, Robbe found Milan. The resident Hogwarts nurse—turned Robbe’s new roommate—was talking with Zoë, Senne, and Yasmina by the house. Milan had one arm wrapped around Zoë as he clutched onto a glass of wine. Zoë looked on the verge of rolling her eyes, shaking her head, as Milan told a story about something or another. Next, Robbe found Jana dancing in the crowd with Amber and Luca—though her eyes kept wandering over towards Jens, who seemed oblivious. 

Finally, Robbe’s eyes landed on Matthias Joossens—the seventh-year Ravenclaw Keeper—who was standing in the midst of his friends. As if on cue, the boy raised his head and his bright blue eyes found Robbe’s brown ones instantly. All at once, the feelings came rushing back to Robbe, hitting him over the head and making him feel dizzy all at once. The abandoned classroom, the hallway, the sneaking-around, what he said—

The sound of someone sitting next to him brought him back into the reality around him—the party—the present. “Hey, Robbe.” 

Turning, Robbe was surprised to find that Sander Driesen was sitting down on the bench next to him. The now-seventh-year Slytherin had a lop-sided grin on his face and a mischievous glint in his green eyes. Today, he was without his signature leather jacket, simply wearing a plain white t-shirt and a pair of jeans. 

Taking a sip of his drink, Sander asked, “What are you doing out here all alone?” 

Even though they had been going to school together for over six years now, Robbe could not remember a time where Sander had ever come up to him to talk to him. Sure, there were a handful of times where Sander and Robbe had interacted, of course—the most recent one being when he carried Zoë into the Slytherin Common Room. And, they might’ve interacted a handful of times at Quidditch parties. But, their meetings had never gone like this before. In fact, Robbe was surprised that Sander even knew his name.

“Oh,” Robbe said, shrugging his shoulders. “Just staying warm by the fire.” 

Sander quirked an eyebrow, their eyes locking together. Robbe felt something warm sweep through his gut, knowing the air clear out of his lungs. Robbe tried to smother the feeling down, quelch it with a swig of butterbeer. However, to Robbe’s displeasure, the butterbeer only seemed to ignite the feeling further, making it brighter and all the more frightening. 

“What are you doing here, exactly?” Robbe asked. “Don’t you have… I don’t know, other things to do?”

Sander’s eyebrows furrowed. “Other things?”

“Yeah.”

“Like what?”

Robbe sighed. “I don’t know,” he said. “Like going over to be with your friends or something?”

Sander glanced towards Senne, who still was laughing with Zoë and Milan, before returning his gaze back to Robbe. “I don’t know. He seems to be occupied… so do your friends actually.” There was a pause between them as Sander took a drink… and Robbe scratched off another part of his label. “Is that why you’re over here alone?”

“Yeah, that’s what always happens,” Robbe said. Even though he had meant it to come off light-hearted and fun, it seemed to be heavier than he intended. Robbe could hear it thump in his ears long before he noticed the concerned stare that crossed Sander’s features. “They get distracted by a girl and they forget that I’m still here.” 

Robbe chugged the remaining drops of his butterbeer, clenching at the glass.

There was a long pause—and Robbe could feel Sander’s heavy stare on him. Even as the fire roared in front of them and Robbe wanted to keep his eyes trained on it, he couldn’t help but glance over at Sander beside him. Robbe was ready to see Sander Driesen—the infamous troublemaker—getting off the bench and far away from Robbe and his negativity. But, instead, Sander was simply staring at him, a small smile curving on his lips, as he took another sip of his butterbeer. 

“Sucks to be them, then,” Sander said. Before Robbe could manage a response, other than staring at him confused and perplexed, Sander added, “Did you ever think that two people in two completely different worlds could ever end up to be the perfect combination?”

Robbe blinked. “What do you mean?” 

Sander paused, staring at Robbe. For a one long, drawn-out beat, Robbe thought that Sander was going to say something else—something that made his heart skip and plummet in the same motion—something that would make him confused and disoriented. But, a second later, Sander clarified, “Senne and Zoë.”

“Oh—” Robbe said, scratching off the label. “Yeah, that wasn’t something I thought would happen at the end of the Christmas holidays.” 

“Exactly,” Sander said. “Like don’t get me wrong, I am always going to support Senne in pursuit of what he wants. But, I thought that there was no way he and Zoë were going to end up together. They were too similar to one another—and stubborn as hell, as I’m sure you know—” Robbe snorted and the grin on Sander’s face grew wider. “—but now, look at them.” Sander gestured towards Senne and Zoë, who were wrapped in each other’s arms, laughing. “Now, I can’t imagine a world where they aren’t together, you know?” 

Robbe smiled. “Yeah,” he said. “Senne makes her happy.” 

“Zoë makes Senne happy too,” Sander said. There was a pause before Sander turned towards Robbe, gaining his full attention again. “But, logically, you know, they shouldn’t have worked. They are both too stubborn and they lived in two different worlds, but somehow they just ended up… working.” Tilting his head to the side, Sander added, smiling over at him, “That’s kind of beautiful, don’t you think?”

Unexpectedly, Robbe’s stomach warmed up, hot and bright, as it twisted unexpectedly. The motion nearly made him lose his dinner—and his alcohol—as he tried to keep his breath even. Internally screaming at his mind, no, not now, Robbe hoped that Sander wasn’t capable to read his mind and his internal demons. Turning away from Sander, staring over at Zoë and Senne, Robbe replied, “Yeah.”

[harrypotter-imaginess]

A/N: So this is kind of like the prologue to a Fred and George Weasley story I wrote several years ago, that I am currently rewriting. I think I actually prefer doing the “Would Include’s” over regular imagines, they’re a bit less pressure, and I can always expand them into an imagine if I (or you the reader) want.

The lovely @youreanangelbaby​ made a playlist for this series for her follower celebration: Spotify I Tidal

Imagines Series Based on this post:  Part 1 Here! / Part 2 Here!/ Part 3 here!

- You’re probably not from their house. You’re most likely either from Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw

- You’re a year younger than them, and a year older than the golden trio.

- It’s probably George that notices you first.

- You’re just this painfully shy, beautiful little thing.

- He feels this rush of affection, and his heart swell. He feels like he has to protect and guide you.

- So he ends up talking to you inside class first.

- “Snape’s a bit of a git ain’t he.”

- You just look at him with wide eyes, nod slightly and look back at your work.

- And then George tries to talk to you about your interests.

- “You like quidditch?”

- “Yeah”

- It’s the first word he’s heard from you.

- “Have you thought about trying out for your house’s team, I heard they’re looking for a Keeper.

- George thinks the friendship is pretty one sided until Snape calls on him in class one day

- “Mr. Weasley, what is a standard ingredient in Swelling potion?”

- “O-oh um-“ he hadn’t been paying attention to be honest.

- From the corner of his eye he notices you furiously tapping on the word “Puffer fish” written on your parchment.

- “Puffer fish.” He says without a second of doubt. And you almost smile, granted he probably didn’t have anything else, but no one has ever trusted you like that before.

- “Puffer fish eyes, Mr. Weasley.” Snape drawls. But George looks to you and grins

- You’re both closer after that. You help George with homework, and he helps you with quidditch

- Fred noticed the friendship, and half to support his brother and take interests in his interests, and half from curiosity, ends up befriending you through quidditch as well.

- “No you can’t stay in just one spot (Y/N),” He tells you, moving you a bit to the side.

- “But it feels like it’s risky to move in this kind of situation.”

- “If you don’t move goals you’ll lose.”

- Somehow, quidditch practice turns to sneaking out on weekends with the marauders map.

- “Where’d you get that thing anyway?” You ask

- George shrugs

- “Found it in Dad’s things.” Fred says.

- “So we’re going to Zonko’s?” You ask, and they both exchange a look before asking:

- “Where do you want to go?” In unison

- You can feel the heat creeping up your neck and onto your face.

- You’ve never had this much attention before.

- “I want to get fireworks from Zonko’s.” And then a quieter voice you admit, “I’ve never been.”

- At that George grabs your hand pulling you forward, while Fred pushes you from behind

- “Well now we really have to go to Zonko’s”

- Getting into lots of trouble.

- “Fred you’ve got to hurry up!” You mutter, looking around the corner as George stands on the other end of the hall looking over that corner, and Fred rummages through the potions closet.

- “And be careful! Snape’ll notice if anything’s out of order.” George hisses.

- Helping them brew love potion

- “So uh,” And you feel sweat form as you sit in the back of the empty corner of the greenhouse. “Who is this for?”

- Coming to Hogwarts, you’ve never had all that many friends. So the thought that one of your two closest friends may leave you to spend all their time with someone else, makes you a little sad.

- But you want to be happy in their happiness, even if drinking a love potion probably isn’t the best way to do it, so you put on a brave face and smile.

- “Mrs. Norris.” They say in unison

- “Excuse me.”

- And then they tell you their elaborate plan to get Filch’s cat to fall in love with Fang, and how it’ll drive him crazy.

-Despite yourself, you’re a little relived. And a little disapointed in yourself, you should know better by now.

- Knocking on their dorm window, as you float on your broom, just to tell them that you made it onto the quidditch team.

- “I’m sorry if I’m disturbing you. I was just so happy when I found out and I wanted to tell you righ-“

- They both pull you inside the dorm and give you a big hug

- “We knew you could do it”

- “I’m so proud of you.”

- The next week, you wake up and there’s this poorly wrapped pair of brand new quidditch gloves from them on your nightstand

- And you just start to tear up, because you know that they’re not rich or anything, and that they could spent their allowance on candy or pranks from Zonko’s.

- But instead they got you these gloves.

- So when you see them in the corridor, you grab them both into a hug.

- “I love you guys.”

- They’ve never really heard those words from anyone outside their family. They don’t really know when it started, but somewhere along the way, you started to make a great big home in their hearts.

- “I love you too.” George says it first, and gives you a squeeze back. Before he gets shoved by Fred.

- “Oi, why are you making me look bad?” Fred glares at him as his twin laughs.

- “You don’t have to say it back Fred, I ju-“

- “I love you too.” He says, the words roll out in a rush, and his face flush’s bright red. George can’t seem to stop laughing.

- “Let’s just go to class, we’re already late!” He mumbles, his face is lobster red at this point, and George and you move to keep up with him.

- “Since when do you care about class?” George jokes.

- “Since today!”

- Hanging out with them means your public profile has increased significantly as well.

- “Hey, who’s the (guy/girl) always around Fred and George?”

- “I don’t know, but they’re cute aren’t they?”

- It’s true, you’re adorable, especially when you’re laughing at something Fred said

- “Who’s the (Girl/Boy), who you’re always with you?” Angelina asks, and Fred shrugs

- “Thats (Y/N).”

- “They’re f*cking adorable.”

- Fred’s a little taken aback and just laughs. Yeah you are pretty cute. But it’s more like how he see’s Ginny than actual attraction.

- “That person you’re always with the new keeper for (Y/H)?” Oliver Wood asks casually as they’re changing for quidditch practice.

- “Yeah, they’re good aren’t they?” George says with a grin, he’s awful proud you made it on, especially since he and Fred basically coached you.

- “They’ve certainly got a pretty face.” Oliver says with a hum, and that makes George stutter to a stop. He feels a mild twinge of jealousy but brushes it off.

- “You fancy them mate?” He asks, a teasing grin spreading across his face. And he doesn’t miss how Oliver’s ears turn red.

- “You want me to put in a good word for you?” He says between howls of laughter and Oliver just rolls his eyes and shoves him away.

- “I’m just glad you’re in love with something other quidditch!” George shouts as Oliver begins to walk away.

- You probably have a small crush on Oliver as well. He’s older for one, and the other being that he’s very good at quidditch.

- Oliver doesn’t share emotions very well, even though the feelings are reciprocated.

- “You should quit quidditch.” He tells you after a match.

- And your heart plummets as he abruptly walks away.

- He meant that you should quit quidditch because you might end up getting hurt, or getting scars on your face.

- You took it as if you were a terrible player, and should quit while you’re ahead.

- Afterwards Fred and George probably comfort you in your dorm.

- “Oliver’s a prat, doesn’t know what he’s talking about.” George says.

- “Want me to turn his hair pink?” Fred asks and you laugh.

- The next week Oliver’s hair is lime green and he’s chasing Fred and George on his broom.

- “Sorry we couldn’t make it pink.” Fred says later, and you just laugh.

- The fact that they did anything at all is more than enough.

- You can tell them apart, it’s something you don’t even realize until the moment comes.

-You’re walking out of potions class, Fred ran to the bathroom, and you manage to catch up to George.

_”Hey George, did you manage to catch what pages we’re supposed to read, my ink got smudged.” You say, holding up your ink stained hand.

- George grins, thinking he’ll have a bit of fun.

- “George? I’m Fred.” He shakes his head, biting back a smile. “And you call yourself our best friend.”

- You look at him for several long seconds, and George can already feel the hairs on the back of his neck start to stand.

-”No, you’re George.” You tell him, looking back down at the parchment. “So did you get the page numbers or not?” You ask, and the entire moment’s so casual for you. 

- You miss the significance of it completely, finally waving down another classmate and asking them for the page numbers.

- George can’t hide his dumb struck expression. George, by all accounts, is identical to Fred. No one can tell them apart. 

- To be honest, since he was a small boy, he didn’t really see the similarity. Fred was so much bolder than he was, more charismatic and charming. 

- Where he saw himself as more diplomatic, a bit quieter, and more sensitive as well. 

- Since their childhood, the two could only notice differences between them. Though they shared some interests, they were very different people. 

- George smiles, of course you would be able to tell them apart. 

- They talk a lot about their family, and you find yourself a little nostalgic for a place you’ve never even been.

- When Christmas comes around, you get a sweater from Molly Weasley herself.

- “Yeah, it’s pretty embarrassing.” Fred starts

- “You don’t have to wear it-“ George is about to say, when he see’s you hug the sweater to your chest.

- “It smells like you.” You tell them, like honeysuckle and sunshine.

- “I love it.” You say with a giant smile on your face.

- Endless amounts of mischief

- And endless adventures.

[thelightofthingshopedfor]

so I wrote most of this...four days ago, and then somehow didn’t get around to finishing it until just now, which feels super weird because after writing this I started getting worried about future episodes again for a variety of reasons, and of course now we’re at T minus 10 minutes? (honestly if I’m somehow late for my own funeral I’m pretty sure no one will be surprised.) but I still wanted to post this to go over some of what I liked so much about episode 4, even if...I am no longer anywhere near as confident as I was a few days ago about where the show might be going. whatever.

***

I’ve done almost nothing for the past day or so except chew over episode 4 some more, partly trying to figure out why I liked it so much when it was broadly very divisive, and I realized that a lot of what I’ve been feeling from this episode is relief.

the thing is I’ve been paranoid since at least Infinity War about Marvel doing setup that looks like it’ll lead to a big payoff and then nothing (Loki’s death, but also Gamora’s and maybe Vision’s, and the general fact that the “fix” to IW was convoluted, took place much later, and caused as many problems as it solved, and just, Endgame in general), so I don’t really trust Marvel that way anymore. plus Marvel has pretty badly fumbled a lot of different things in the past, especially on various social issues, by introducing unfortunate implications that apparently didn’t occur to them even though they’re obvious to literally everyone else...stuff like Thanos’s “sacrifice” of Gamora, or how the Flag-Smashers were portrayed and Karli was a villain for no real reason, or how it would’ve been so easy to add a couple lines in WandaVision that would fix the whole thing where the Maximoffs weren’t just whitewashed but they also voluntarily worked with Nazis and they whiffed that too. 

so, while I’ve been enjoying the show, a lot of that enjoyment has been based on meta I’ve seen and me sort of going “this interpretation is really cool and it makes a lot of sense, but at this point I can’t know if it’s something the showrunners are doing on purpose or if they sorta accidentally implied depth where there wasn’t any and it’s not actually leading anywhere” with things like the TVA being very clearly authoritarian but also supposedly the good guys, Loki being constantly described as an awful person, Loki sometimes being manic or incompetent, etc. etc. etc., along with the similar interpretation of “sure, we fans know all this stuff about how Loki is not an awful person actually, thanks, and the people who arrested him aren’t automatically Good Guys just because they’re in opposition to him but casual viewers--including not-casual-but-not-fannish viewers who should really know better--have not figured any of this out and so the show needs to go out of its way to demonstrate things that are obvious to us” but I wasn’t sure. the second half of episode 1 made me feel pretty good about where the show was headed as far as Loki’s characterization and emotions were concerned, but the more lighthearted aspects of 2 and 3 had me wondering again.

so then what happens in this episode?

the TVA goes fully mask off. the Time-Keepers are in fact fake, the Sacred Timeline by extension is also basically fake, the people who work there are all variants, the ones we know (C-20, B-15, Mobius) show grief and anger over the lives that were stolen from them, Sylvie is arrested as a child who did absolutely nothing wrong (and then put through the same process Loki was in episode 1, which is cool because a lot of it was kinda played for laughs then but showing the same things happening to an innocent child also serves to reframe what happened to Loki as, hmm, not that funny after all maybe!), Renslayer is willing to prune innocent people--friends and coworkers, even--just because they learned too much, all the sinister propaganda WAS SUPPOSED TO BE SINISTER

Loki gets very serious very fast in this episode. he displays a lot of genuine emotion and trauma but he mostly does it in a calculated way that shows just how fast his brain works and how he’s always, always thinking about what other people want/expect from him. (like--even the complaint about too few guards seems to fall into that category, given that he only says it after Mobius insists he must be wanting to make some kind of quip!) his self-image is garbage but through Sylvie he’s starting to maybe work on that. he goes up against multiple armed enemies while completely unarmed and holds his own until he gets a weapon. he pushes back when it matters and doesn’t just accept everything Mobius throws at him. he lies, pretty competently (the fact that Mobius doesn’t believe him is...really not his fault, considering Mobius wouldn’t believe him at first about the truth either, so I’m pretty sure he wasn’t planning to believe anything Loki outright told him), when it actually matters, primarily in what sure seems like an attempt to protect someone he cares about.

and Mobius. says that Loki WAS RIGHT. ABOUT THE TVA. FROM THE BEGINNING!!! I would still love to hear him say explicitly, look, I said a lot of shitty things to you and tossed in some actual physical torture at the end there oops but the vast majority of it was stuff I didn’t really mean and was only saying to get a reaction and/or information and of course it turns out I was wrong about all the TVA stuff, so I want to say for the record that I was wrong about you personally in many different ways and I’m sorry. (which, honestly, would probably be very awkward for both of them because I doubt Loki has much experience receiving genuine apologies.) but I’m mostly okay with it if he doesn’t, because I feel like you were right from the beginning, and by the way you can be whatever you want does a decent job of implying most of that. (...enough for casual viewers to pick up on it? well, I’m not hoping for miracles but sure, probably some of them.)

in other words? all that stuff the casual viewers were missing (not helped by misleading statements from the showrunners), about the TVA so clearly being bad guys, and Loki being a pretty decent person who presents different versions of himself in different situations and also has some shitty coping mechanisms, and the other Loki variant also not being evil just because they were trying to take down the TVA? we were right. that is, in fact, how the showrunners intended all those things to be taken. they didn’t want to come right out with that stuff at first because they wanted to tell a story and have some twists, and the fact that these things were twists for casual viewers is exactly why it was frustrating to a lot of fans, because it felt like obvious things were being misrepresented or overlooked. I still think that’s reasonable, because see above on why Marvel doesn’t necessarily deserve that trust, but at this point I’m a lot more comfortable believing that this specific show more or less knows what it’s doing.

I mean, yeah, there were some cool fan theories that went nowhere, like the whole thing with the broken TemPad, and I agree that was dumb and it’s very annoying that it really was just sloppy writing, but I guess specific things like that just...don’t bother me as much as more systemic, overarching elements like the characterization of Loki and the TVA. and yes, of course I’ll always be annoyed that we’re apparently never going to get explicit confirmation that Loki’s alliance with Thanos was coerced at best. but, you know, what we got isn’t nothing. 

[secret-engima]

spideypoolalways

Does Regis ever ask how Titus has papers for the boys? Whats Cor or Clarus' PoV of this? What are some things (fluff or humor) that the boys get up to? Because I can see them getting adopted into the Ulric Clan because of shenanigans and Nyx going 'Yes, these are my people' since LCs just remind me of Ulrics with magic. And how do the Galatians take to the nephew of the Nif Chancellor and clone of the Crown Prince? Since I'm imagining that Titus told some of them and the

spideypoolalways

rest are guessing anyway. And does everyone assume that Noctis and Nox's magics resonated since they're kinda sorta close to each other/are the same person? How does Regis take the news that the only reason that Noctis got healed is because Nox pretty much felt everything Noctis did? /Both/ of his sons were basically attacked by a daemon and he only knew about one of them at the time and didn't do anything to calm or reassure Nox? (Clarus: Only because you didn't know

spideypoolalways

About him, Regis. Regis: Thats no excuse, Clarus.) Does Iris get to be a Shield or did Nox latch onto Axis or one of his kids? Does Acastus find Prompting and drop him off with Noct/Cor? Does Nox hang out with Noct, Ignis, Gladiolus and Prom all the time or does the memories act up enough to make him feel weird about it? How does Regis take his brother and son's Sick Days? What about Dissidia? The 3 youngest Royals getting snatched and the group watching on Crystal

spideypoolalways

Vision? Dad Titus/Regis freaking out over their kids having been summoned to a death match? And how exactly does Titus see the boys? Sons, brothers, cousins? Oooh, more Trauma. Noct, Nox and Acastus w/others playing and end up in the Crystal room. Cue the boys lighting up, maybe passing out because the magic hits their young system really hard (its why Royals aren't supposed to be Presented until 18) and everyone freaks out, and news makes it to Regis and Titus that they

spideypoolalways

Are in the infirmary and the gist of what happened via panicked guards and rush there immediately and are jumped by panicked kids talking and crying about what happened. I didn't realize I had so many questions. But now I need to know. 👀👀 Please!🙏

spideypoolalways

Oh! Just remembered a little more! Does anyone pick up on the people/places that he shouldn't know? Do they assume that Nox got some of it from Noct, like with the Marelith? Or are they assuming LC/ Oracle DNA mix?

Me: Yes, Regis asks about the papers and Titus doesn’t OUTRIGHT admit he did an illegal but he does grudgingly explain that he needed papers in case the NIfs came looking and he ... knows ... a few people who can help ... “recreate” papers for refugees who lost theirs in whatever fire or tragedy drove them from their homes.

Regis mulls over that for ten long seconds then blatantly pretends he never heard it in the first place. Those “people” likely saved the life of his son and half-brother, he can let it slide this once.

I need Nyx Ulric to adopt these two now JUST so Nyx can tease that he’s related to Captain (then later when he learns that they’re Lucis Caelums he can quietly die in a corner because OH NO HE’S RELATED TO THE KING). Not sure how or when Nyx adopts them, but he absolutely does.

It probably happens when he's just a wee bit sloshed. Not enough to be incoherent or insincere, but enough that he doesn’t feel any fear offering to adopt the pair while babysitting them because Captain had to work late and Nyx is off the combat roster until his ankle heals. Once he’s sober he is a Panic™, but Captain takes it surprisingly well and Nox loves his new braid. Acastus just looks Amused™.

Lib slaps Nyx over the head because IDIOT THINK THIS STUFF THROUGH then gives him another drink because TWO MORE ULRICS. It’s a good thing Nyx is an Ulric Keeper in this AU, because he can teach them most of the Ulric Clan stories and dances and make them proper Ulrics.

Acastus loves introducing himself as Acastus Ulric Drautos, both because it’s fancy like “Lucis Caelum” is and also because it made both Titus and Nyx spit their coffee the first time they hear it.

The Galahdians ... have mixed feelings at first. But the predominant one is that it doesn’t matter that this kid is clearly related to the Chancellor (at first they all think the Chancellor bedded Captain’s Aunt, since they don’t know about the LC blood, and that’s why he looks like Ardyn) because Captain has clearly staked a claim on him. Galahd (in my HCs) is a Very Adoption Heavy culture and big on judging people by their current family rather than any previous blood ties, so ... mostly the Chancellor thing gets intensely ignored. Acastus isn’t an Izunia, he’s a Drautos (and then later an Ulric). So they will treat him as such.

But in private there is some debate on exactly what happened, for the Chancellor to vanish around the time his ... relation (son? They mostly assume son), shows up in Drautos’s care.

No few number of them think Titus stumbled on Ardyn with the two kids and killed the Chancellor to save them.

For Nox ... the Lucis Caelum blood is basically impossible to hide. This boy LOOKS like a literal carbon copy of the Prince but younger and he’s young so his control over his magic is ... not. Not that good. Especially not when there’s so mUCH of it.

All of Galahd listened to the Glaive who was on babysitting duty when Nox had a rare tantrum and skewered the wall with ghostly blades and all privately, immediately agree to Never Tell Anyone. Ever.

Well. To be fair, they do debate whether they have a duty to tell Regis, but again the Adoption Culture comes into play and they decide it’s up to Titus to spill that secret. A few Glaives do ask Titus about it (Titus nearly has a heart attack because SINCE WHEN DID THEY KNOW) and when they ask if they know who the mother was, Titus looks very grim and very, very quiet for a long time, then admits:

There is no mother. There never was.

They stare at him in confusion until Acastus, lurking nearby with too-sharp eyes, gives a smile that could cut and says brittlely that “amazing things that can be done with science these days you know. Truly amazing. Why, get a blood sample and a tank of the right solutions and you could probably grow anything you wanted”.

The Glaives are Horrified™. So is the rest of Little Galahd when it gets around and then is made a Clan Secret by all the Clans unanimously. The secret never leaves the borders of their little slum.

Also yes, people assume that Noctis’s and Nox’s magic resonated because Nox is a clone and it freaks them out.

Regis is Such A Guilt when he finds out how Acastus knew about Noctis’s injury. No it doesn’t matter that he DIDN’T KNOW NOX EXISTED. One of his son’s (his FIVE YEAR OLD son) was suffering. Was screaming in agony and terror and Regis didn’t do a THING about it and no amount of logic can make that better.

Nox latches onto Axis’s triplets in this AU so while Iris will be best friends with him, his Shield, Hand, and Sword are actually all made up of Axis’s three kids. Axis is a BIT of an internal Scream when Nox is at the age people start making noises about him building a Retinue and taking Iris as his Shield and Nox goes, “NO. I have a Shield already! A Hand and Sword too!” And stuff spirals out to reveal Axis as Clarus’s kid (Clarus takes it much better than Axis thought he would, tho Axis didn’t expect to see Lord Amicitia go deathly pale and sit down hard in the nearest chair).

Honestly Iris might be the future love interest in this AU you never know. It would be hilarious if nothing else.

Bold of you to assume Acastus didn’t find Prompto early and bring him home to NOX because “Look Beloved Nibling I Found You A Friend!”. Prompto is a confusion because Nox is like- 4 at the time. But Prompto likes babysitting and playing with Nox and hearing Acastus’s stories and Titus just kinda- sighs his way through the playdates until he realizes that Prompto has been staying in his house for about two weeks with no sign of the parents.

Titus, after much snooping later, sitting at the kitchen table of Grandma Ostium quietly pulling his hair out: HOW DO YOU ADOPT A THIRD CHILD. DOES IT COUNT AS KIDNAPPING IF THEY COME OVER AND STAY WITH YOU FOREVER AND THE LEGAL PARENTS NEVER NOTICE. ACASTUS WHY DID YOU DO THIS TO ME.

Acastus: I regret nothing. Do you want me to fake Prompto’s death? I’m sure there’s enough Prompto’s out there that nobody will notice if you gain a nephew called Prompto Drautos.

Titus, holding his face in his hands while Grandma Ostium laughs at him in the corner: NO, ACASTUS. DO NOT FAKE THE DEATH OF THE CHILD. How do you even know how to do that? Nevermind I don’t want to know.

Roughly a year later when Everything Gets Revealed, Titus and Cor: *intense staring contest over Smol Blond Child*

Cor: You don’t know where he-

Titus, growling like a cranky Behemoth that might very well bite off someone’s head: He’s a Niflheim created clone. I know.

Cor: ....

Titus: He's been living in my house for a year. I’ve seen the barcode. It’s not like I wasn’t raising one already.

Cor: His legal parents-

Titus: Is me. The Argentums were emotionally neglectful and didn’t even notice when he hadn’t come home for a week and a half.

Cor: *guilty angry silence*

Titus: ...Kid could use an uncle. If you want to man up and be part of his life.

(hgfhg this is post is getting long Imma try to speed through the last questions a bit)

Yes, Nox hangs out with the Chocobros when he can because he adores them (especially Brother Prompto and Team Mom Iggy) but he also has his own friend group in the Little Galahd community so it doesn’t strike anyone as odd really. Nox is a naturally loving child for all he’s shy and Iggy and Gladio are Noctis’s friends and Prompto is his adopted brother (and later Noctis’s best friend).

Regis does Not take the Sick Days well. It makes him alarmed and angry because Lucis Caelums aren’t supposed to get sick days from their own magic and it speaks of BAD THINGS that both of the presumably experimented on and tortured LCs have them.

I’m going to have to come back to Dissidia another time (someone remind me) because this post is too long to ramble here but it would be- it would be Great. Honestly. It would either be the 3 littlest, just Acastus, or just Acastus and REGIS for some brotherly bonding and any of them would be Great and Chaotic. Crystal-o-vision absolutely happens.

The Crystal Room is under 24 hour guard so I don’t think the kids could wander in by accident, plus Acastus would actively avoid the area because of his Trauma.

Now Acastus being presented when he turns 18 on the other hand... >:))))))

Short Version: Much shouting, much alarm, much angst from Regis and Titus and everyone and also the first Sick Day Acastus has had since he turned 17 and by far one of the worst he’s ever had in his (second) life.

I might to a longer version later but not right now.

For Nox’s oddities and odd knowledge they kind of assume both? At first they think it’s just him resonating with Noctis so deeply that there’s a transfer (cue angst from Regis because what is going to happen to Nox when Noctis fulfills his destiny as Chosen King???) but then when Nox starts knowing stuff Noctis doesn’t/can’t know, they start to wonder if the scientists ... Tampered with his DNA. If they got their hands on Noctis’s, which should have been impossible, then it’s not all that out there they got their hands on Oracle DNA.

Sylva is ... very alarmed and very confused when Regis secretly contacts her on a secure encrypted line to ask if there were any ... symptoms to look for in an Oracle child. Because- yes there were but WHY DO YOU NEED TO KNOW?

Regis: they wouldn’t happen to be *lists very specific things*

Sylva: ....Have you seen any Messengers nearby lately.

Regis: Carbuncle, a black puppy that disappears into thin air, and a bird woman who can summon wind storms. She calls herself Garuda.

Sylva, having a minor crisis behind her Queenly Facade: I am Very Sure I only have two children so please explain this. Right Now.

Regis: Well............. NiflheimclonedmysonandIthinkmixeditwiththednaofyouoryourdaughterandhehasseerpowersandImayormaynotbepanickingrightnowpleasehelpme.

Sylva, slowly running that over in her mind and figuring out what Regis just said:...

W H A T.

XD Honestly Niflheim might invade Tenebrae only to find the royal family gone because Sylva coincidentally packed her backs and took her and her children on a secret trip to Lucis to have a look at Nox, then since they’re there when Niflheim invades and a spy gets word on what just happened Sylva and Co just- stay there. Oracle Mom Death averted.

Also they absolutely think that it’s Luna’s DNA they used to make Nox because of how instantly Nox gloms onto Luna like a limpet- JUST like he did with Noctis and Regis, and how Luna gets this dazed look in her eyes as their magic tangles and she whispers, “I ... I know you. I know you, don’t I Little Prince? I met you in a dream.” Luna starts crying softly as she pets Nox’s hair and when Sylva asks in alarm why she’s crying, Luna blinks and whispers, “Because he was crying in the dream, and I couldn’t comfort him.”

Acastus lurks in the shadows, watching it all with ... very mixed feelings.

Oracles. He could have gone his entire second life without meeting anymore Oracles. Aera she looks so much like you is that what our daughter would have looked like and oh astrals I KILLED her. I killed the girl with your eyes and your smile and laughed about it later.

[silverandgenosquad]

A History of the Ix (Part 2)

So, after a bit of a wait, here’s the rest of the Ix history and lore. For anything else about Ix biology, one can refer back to the earlier post. For now, let’s get to it!

The Ix would have had a special role concerning one of the main characters in the ComDis storyline: Geno. If you guessed that Geno wasn’t normal even by abnormal Arkan standards, then you’d be right. Geno is an Ixan - half Arkan, half Ix. These are specialized hybrids that have the characteristics of both Arkan and Ixan, although most of these changes aren’t so obvious from the start. In fact, those born Ixan may not even realize that they are Ixan until later in life when more physical traits  - such as wings or Ix colored skin beneath the fur - appear. The more subtle ways to tell is by personality, which coincides with the caste of Ix:

Warrior-type Ixan tend to exude more brutish traits, quick tempered, and much more willing to fight than your typical Arkan. They do show some of the most loyalty however. Geno is this kind of Ixan.

Scout-Type Ixan are more vigilant and tend to be quite studious and have impeccable attention to detail, but may show signs of skittish, if not frightful behavior around others they don’t know. 

Keeper-Type ixan are more possessive, clingy. Those they care for aren’t let out of their sight for a moment, and are fiercely territorial against those that try to do them harm, stemming from the will to nurture (and how Keepers are attached to raising the young).

Picking these out of a crowd can be difficult (especially those Arkans that are seen by some as “eccentric”), and can lead to spotting false imposters and killing the wrong one, leading to the deaths of innocent Arkans. In addition to that, Ixan’s practically are able to blend in a crowd until they reveal themselves for what they are, increasing the risks. Luckily, Ixan are quite rare, even rarer since the original Ix homeworld was vanquished. The Ix Queen herself had a special squadron of these individuals known as the Cataract, who were powerful Ixan individuals that were akin to special forces that were certified Arkan killers... until they too burned alive in the wake of Veryn’s attack. 

Ixan can wield both normal PSI and Dark PSI, which made the Cataract and others like them incredibly dangerous opponents to face. And yes, that means when Geno finally realizes his heritage fully, he can use Combiner and Dark PSI. 

So you may be wondering: if Geno’s an Ixan, how did he get into Homeworld? The answer... well, even I don’t know because I haven’t worked those details out yet. XD What I can say is that he was actually doted on by the Queen, his mother, quite a fair bit because of his heritage. His mixed blood would have been a major source of tension between himself and Silver and Yule. Once he realizes his heritage and accepts his blood, he would help the Ix during the battle against Grimwere and find new ways to sustain themselves in better, healthier ways... and eventually reconcile with his mother. Contrary to some of her actions and they way she leads her people, the ix Queen (and all others before her) care deeply for her children. 

Aaaand I think that’s about it! If anyone has any questions in regards to this, I’m happy to oblige (especially since I may have forgotten something).

[justanobsessedfangirl]

The Sound of Silence - The Maze Runner Newt Imagine

Request from @ausblack: was wondering if you could write a newt x reader where she’s like the new greenie and the only girl. Everyone think she’s mute because she never talked and Newt decides to take care of her since he’s the only one she seems comfortable with. One day another glader attacks her making her scream and for some reason Newt recognizes that it’s her, he gets protective and helps her out. Eventually she speaks her first words to him and they both get together in the end 

Masterlist

Warning: Some mature language

Author’s Note: Sorry I haven’t posted in...a while. If it helps, you can think of me as a turtle. I’m damn slow and it’s pretty frustrating to wait but I’ll get there in the end! I hope I did this idea some justice because I thought it was pretty cool. Thank you for the request, I’m always open! (just remember the turtle analogy.) 

:)

Word Count: 3.6k

You stood in darkness. There was nothing in the darkness except for a quiet hum that rumbled the floor and the walls and the ceiling. It was power, some type of power that was running through this room and making it rise.

You stood in darkness. And you waited.

You weren’t alone, because your fear was so strong it had formed an icy hand, which wrapped around your throat, so tight it was hard to breathe. It took every ounce of your concentration to inhale, and exhale, and inhale again, and all the while the box hummed and rose, and you stood in darkness.

The hum cut off abruptly, the room halting with it. You strained your ears, and, through the loud beating of your heart, you could hear voices. Four heartbeats passed before the roof opened and the room was flooded with light.

You cringed away, raising a hand to block the brightness. Through squinted eyes, you saw boys encircling the room, level with where the roof would have been. Their voices floated down, gasps and shouts of “It’s a girl!”, and the sounds of shoving, bodies against bodies.

You took a step back, but there were boys above you there too. They were everywhere. One jumped down, making the whole box shake, and then you were turning around and around, looking for a break in the boys, a spot you could run through, someone to help, anything, anything, anything--

“It’s alright, love. We’re not going to hurt you.”

You whipped around to face the boy. He had his hands raised, and his eyebrows were knit together in sympathy. He had a kind face, with soft brown eyes.

Even so, any words you had were caught in your throat, caught by fear’s hand, trapped. Trapped, just like you. Your breaths came faster, your heartbeat quicker. Your hands trembled.

Across from you, the boy took a step back and looked up at the others. “Right, all you bloody slintheads need to back up!” He looked at one of the boys closest to the box. “Alby?”

The boy, Alby, nodded, then shouted, “Everyone, back to work!”

The crowd didn’t move. Your heart stopped. Your blood went cold.

Then, with a chorus of grumblings, the mob slowly dispersed. Boys peeled off this way and that, revealing grassy fields and large mountains in the distance. You peered closer. No, not mountains. 

Walls.

“It’s a strange story, love, but we’ll tell you all of it,” the first boy said. 

You couldn’t take your eyes off of the walls.

“I’m Newt. D’you remember your name?”

No. You’d realized in the darkness that you couldn’t remember anything. You felt strangely detached, like you were watching some other girl with no memories who was abducted and brought to a strange place. You felt pity for her. You felt sad for her. And you kept drifting along, only half-listening to the boy next to her, the one who said his name was Newt.

Newt stepped closer. You watched the girl watch him, watched his mouth move, watched the girl take light, careful steps to the edge of the box and climb out. You watched her stumble.

It was the feeling of Newt’s hand on your back, steadying you, that brought you back to reality.

“I’ll take you on the tour, love,” he said to you, pulling his hand back. In a soft voice, he added, “Don’t worry. You’re safe here.”

Your lips parted. Words sat on the tip of your tongue. Are you sure and How do you know and Please be right. And, also, lingering in the back, Thank you.

You swallowed and looked away from Newt.

He started walking. He kept a slow pace, both because of his limp and so he could intermittently point out buildings and people. “That’s Frypan, he’s the cook, and there’s the kitchen. Next to that’s the Homestead. You’ll be sleeping there.”

He spoke with such authority that you wanted to ask what his role in this little society was. If there was a cook, there must be a leader, and you hadn’t seen any adults around. But your tongue wouldn’t move, so all you could do was tilt your head to the side and look at Newt.

He scanned your face, then nodded. “I’m Second-in-Command. Alby’s in charge, but he won’t raise a fuss about you sleeping in the Homestead. We…” Newt ran a hand through his dirty blond hair before making eye contact again. “We haven’t…” He sighed. “You’re the only girl here. We don’t really know how the rest of those shanks will react.” Noticing your instinctive recoil, Newt hastened to say, “But you’ll be okay. Most of these lot are good guys. And the ones that aren’t...Well, they know the consequences. We won’t let anything bad happen to you.”

There was that fear again, running its hands along your arms, past your shoulders, to your neck. It squeezed painfully around your throat, so painfully that tears threatened to spring up in your eyes. You gave Newt a quick nod and looked away, into the fields he was leading you toward.

He read you like a book and quickly switched topics. “These are the Gardens. When I don’t have other duties, I like to come out here. It’s good work, but it’s also just a good place to be. It’s peaceful.” 

A short, round boy darted out of a row of tomato plants, cackling madly. Lumbering behind him was a tall boy with a shock of curly blond hair, who shouted, “Come back here, Chuck!” The younger boy, Chuck, gave no indication that he’d heard. He disappeared back into the plants, with the tall boy following him.

Newt sighed. “It’s mostly bloody peaceful,” he grumbled.

The smallest of smiles twitched your lips up. You forced them back down, reminding yourself that you were scared, that you couldn’t trust anyone here, and that the way Newt grinned down at you did not make you feel safe.

“We’ll have you start working here tomorrow, all right, love?” Newt asked.

You chewed on your lip, staring over the plants. Your eyes landed on the tomatoes, right where the boisterous duo had gone through. Flutters of anxiety filled your stomach.

“I’ll be with you. There won’t be anything to worry about.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“Besides waking up with no memory, that is,” Newt added.

Your lips betrayed you again. Newt grinned, and the butterflies that had been flying inside your chest slowly started to settle down.

Newt led you through the rest of the Glade. You saw the Deadheads and the Blood House, learned about the various jobs and Keepers, and, through it all, you didn’t say a single word. Newt never pushed you. Instead, he watched for facial expressions. He responded to any tap on the arm or flick of your chin. He lingered in the comfortable silences.

As you sat in your room in the Homestead that night, knowing that Newt was asleep in the next room over, you felt your shoulders loosen, just a little. The fear was still there. It still held your throat tightly in its grasp. But you felt a trickle of hope springing in the cracks.

You woke the next morning to a knock on your door. Opening it, you saw Newt.

“Ready to get to work, love?”

You nodded. The smile you gave him was uneasy and weak, nervous and gone in a flash, but it made Newt’s eyes shine with happiness. He smiled the whole way to the Gardens. Under the shining sun, you weeded plants, hoed new rows, and picked vegetables.

Newt stuck by your side. He explained more about the Glade; all you had to do was point to a person or a place and he’d run through it, even if he’d already explained the other day. A few times, you found yourself picking out things you already knew, just so you could keep hearing his voice.

“And then Chuck convinced Minho and Thomas,” Newt said between laughs. Behind him, the sun sat heavy on the horizon, haloing him in gold. “He convinced Minho and Thomas to take the rest of Gally’s clothes and--” Newt broke off, devolving into laughter.

You hadn’t met Minho and Thomas yet -- they’d been busy in the Maze all day yesterday and in the Runner’s Hut all last night -- but you’d heard a lot about them from Newt by now. You’d also heard about “Captain” Gally, and you figured he probably deserved whatever ended up happening to his clothes.

Beneath the cover of Newt’s voice, you felt comfortable letting out a small laugh. It was the first noise you’d made in the Glade.

Slowly, Newt’s laughter stopped. He stared at you, eyes soft, his lips pulled up in a small, pleased smile. He didn’t say anything.

You looked down at the basket in your hands, trying to stop yourself from blushing.

After a second, Newt said, “Before we go to dinner, there’s one last place I want to show you.” He took the basket from you and handed it off to Zart, the Keeper of the Gardens.

The pair of you headed off towards the far wall, away from the buggy Gardens, the dark woods, and the noisy kitchen, where a hungry horde of Gladers clamored to get their dinner.

“It’s not one of the really important places,” Newt said as you walked, “so I didn’t show it to you yesterday.” His hands swung awkwardly at his sides, as though he wanted to reach one out, maybe to guide you, maybe to hold you, but couldn’t decide whether he should or not. You couldn’t decide whether you wanted him to or not.

All you did was nod.

Newt continued, “But I think, maybe, it could be good.”

As you neared the wall, you felt your stomach drop at the sheer size. You craned your head back and back and back, trying to see the top, trying to see if any ivy led all the way up. How could there ever be a way out of those walls?

A warm hand touched your arm.

Your head shot back down, eyes landing on Newt’s. The faintest pink burned on his cheeks, a glow from the sunset, maybe, or... You shook the thought out of your mind as he pointed to the wall.

Carved into the wall in front of you were names. Immediately, your gaze landed on Newt’s. Next to his, Alby’s name was done in blocky letters. Thomas and Minho had made their marks. Chuck’s name was squeezed between the two, as he often was in real life, when he’d inject himself into their days. You recognized enough names to figure out that every Glader had been here once and had left a permanent memento of themselves. Some of those mementos, like the ones with a single sharp line running through them, had already outlasted their creators.

“I thought, I don’t know...I thought maybe seeing other names would help you remember yours.” Newt rubbed the back of his neck, looking down at the ground. 

Your heart felt warm in your chest. Yearning took over. You reached a hand out, tracing the closest names, looping through the letters, dotting the i’s, crossing the t’s. You wanted to remember.

Please remember. Remember for Newt. Remember for me.

You pulled your hand away and pointed to Newt’s side, where his knife was strapped. He unsheathed it out without a moment’s hesitation. When he handed it to you, his fingers brushed over yours and you could swear your heart stopped. You had to fight to keep your composure, especially with the feeling of his intense stare as he watched you carve the first letter of your name into the wall.

You felt, rather than saw, Newt step closer to you. Glancing at him out of the corner of your eye, his smile almost took the breath out of you. Your hand stilled as you finished the first letter.

Newt repeated it, sounding almost awed. “Keep going, love.”

Forcing your eyes away from him, you continued carving. Each letter of your name was done with precision, right below Newt’s. It felt fitting to do it there, like he was some guardian angel looking over you, keeping you safe. Being around him made you feel...the English language wasn’t sophisticated enough to describe it. You felt warm. And calm. And the kind of happiness that made your cheeks hurt and your jaw ache, even when you weren’t smiling.

When you finished, Newt said your name, his voice reverent. “Y/N.” He repeated it. He glanced down at you. “Am I saying it right, love?”

He’d gotten closer than you’d thought. His breath nearly hit the tips of your eyelashes. If you moved only a few inches you’d be touching him.

You nodded.

“Can I ask you something?”

You nodded again. He was so close you felt dizzy. You would’ve agreed to just about anything he said at that point.

“Are you able to speak?”

Your nod was more hesitant this time, slowed by dread for his next question.

“Why don’t you?”

You wanted to look away but his eyes had a hypnotic hold on you. You shrugged half-heartedly. How could you explain that every time you tried to speak your throat closed up? That your mouth went dry and you forgot every word you knew? That your heart started beating erratically, and your palms began to sweat, and it felt like walls were closing in, and you felt the fear again?

Newt nodded. He took a step back, the tension in the air dissolving. Jutting his chin at the wall, he said your name again. A smile crept onto his face. It was that soft, sweet smile that had gotten you through your first days in the Glade.

It got you through the next week, too. A week spent trying other jobs, where your lack of communication proved rage-inducing for a certain captain and ultimately landed you back in the Gardens.

It was rare that Newt wasn’t by your side. Today, though, he and Alby were caught up in meetings with the other Keepers, trying to figure out how to discipline a Glader who’d been making inappropriate comments and trying to instigate fights.

Newt had told you the basics the other day. You hadn’t wanted him to go into detail. He’d seen that on your face and quickly switched to telling you about the first crops they’d tried to plant, which had been such a disaster that the Creators sent up multiple books on farming the next month. The conversation was much lighter from then on.

Being with Newt was so easy. Most of the others pushed you too hard to talk, which only made your throat dry up and your tongue feel like lead. You wanted to talk with them, sometimes, but...you couldn’t get the words out. You couldn’t think of them when it came time to speak. You had a mental block, barricades set up to keep you from feeling too comfortable here. Part of you needed to feel the fear that came with trying to speak. If you stopped being afraid, you’d start getting complacent.

The sound of the Walls grating to a close struck the same feeling in you, even though you were safe in the Gardens, well away from the terrors of the Maze.

“Y/N.” Zart’s voice broke you out of your thoughts. “Good job today. Some of the other shanks left a bunch of tools out, could you bring them to the shed? I have to track down Chuck.” His normally placid expression morphed into a scowl as he shook his head, his blond mop of hair flopping over his forehead.

You nodded. The two of you split off among the rows, Zart’s cursing fading as you approached a scattering of trowels and rakes.

You pursed your lips in disappointment before stooping down and trying to gather everything. You ended up with two rakes and a hoe tucked under your right arm, a few trowels held close to your chest, and a sharp hand pruner held carefully in your left hand.

Boys.

You huffed as you headed for the shed. It was a crudely constructed building that was made in the first few weeks of the Glade’s existence. You’d heard some other boys say that the first Gladers originally slept here, but Newt hadn’t mentioned it so you weren’t sure how true that was. If they had slept there, you didn’t envy them. It was smaller than your room in the Homestead, which was a far cry from large. You supposed it was in a nice enough location, though; it stood on the edge of the Gardens, close enough to the woods to catch some shade, but not so deep that you were alone.

As you neared the shed, you saw that you actually weren’t alone. A figure paced next to it, head bent low, features hard to make out.

You purposely tried to walk louder as you came closer, hoping you wouldn’t scare him. At the sound of a twig crunching under your foot, his head shot up.

You’d definitely seen him before; he had thick, dark eyebrows and a strong jaw. The bruise forming under one of his eyes was new, as was his now crooked nose. You were pretty sure his name was Connor.

“Y/N,” he said, stilling in his tracks. He made no move to help you carry the tools.

You nodded, gave him a tight smile, and headed for the door. One of the rakes almost slipped from under your arm, but you squeezed it tightly and took a few hurried steps.

Connor crossed in front of you. You veered to the side. His arm shot out and grabbed your shoulder, hard enough to jostle it and send the rakes and hoe tumbling to the ground.

“You think you’re better than me or something?” He was speaking quickly, too quickly, you didn’t have a chance to respond or adjust the trowels that were slipping through your grasp or push him away. In one quick movement, he turned and slammed you into the shed wall. Two trowels dropped. You clutched the rest closer, your breaths turning into nervous pants.

“Is that why you don’t talk? You think you’re better than me? Than us?” Conor loomed over you. He glowered at you, his eyes afire with rage. “Answer me.” He slammed you back again. Your head cracked into the wall and you let out a soft whimper.

“So you can talk.” His grip was vice-like on your shoulders. His nails dug into your flesh like he wanted to tear you apart. “So why don’t you talk? Why don’t you fucking talk?” Again, he slammed you into the wall.

Were you crying? Were you talking? Were you making any noise at all?

Were you even breathing?

“You make this place even harder to be in. We don’t need some fucking mysterious mute bitch when we have to solve the Maze. Don’t you get it? You’re a distraction!” Every few words were punctuated with a slam. The air whooshed out of your lungs in a pathetic cry for help.

You’d never tried harder to talk.

But now there was so much fear in you. Not existential fear -- real, in-your-face danger.

One of Connor’s hands released your shoulder. It ached in relief until his fingers wrapped around your throat and he leaned in close to say, “Fine. Don’t talk.” And he squeezed.

Each second was an eon. Your lungs screamed for air. Blackness lingered on the edges of your vision, closing in, closing in, closing in, leaving only a pinprick of light. Your legs went numb, as if they’d just fallen asleep, and the feeling worked its way up your body, down your arms, to your hands, where the last trowel and the hand pruner were about to fall.

Hand pruner.

You had no more air, you had no more energy, and yet your body was moving and you were thrusting the sharp end of the hand pruner into Connor’s gut.

He let you go with a cry, curling over and holding his stomach. Air rushed into your lungs, only to leave a second later as you screamed, “Help!”

Connor groaned and straightened up enough to launch a clumsy fist at you. You twisted to the side. Your foot caught on a gardening tool, sending you sprawling to the ground, clambering away on hands and knees, still gasping for air.

A wet hand grabbed your ankle. You kicked, connecting with something solid, and yelled out, “Someone help!” The hand left your ankle for a second, then you heard something heavy moving in the grass, and the hand clamped down on your calf.

You tried to wriggle away. People were coming from the Gardens, you could see their black silhouettes as the sun set behind them. You heard your name, shouted by your rescuers and growled by Connor. You kicked at him again. His other hand caught your foot, using you to pull his body further onto your legs.

He was heavy. He slammed a fist into your back, knocking you flat.

“Get off of her!” Your rescuers closed in. They wrenched Connor off and surrounded him. Warm hands, soft hands, gentle hands, helped you stand. Connor’s blood rolled down the backs of your legs.

“Are you okay?” Newt asked, his voice frantic. He held you, his touch like feathers on your arms, as he scanned your body up and down, looking for any injuries. “Is that--” he started to ask, staring at your legs. Mid-sentence, Newt turned away, calling for a Med-jack.

“It’s not mine,” you interrupted him. The words were hoarse and quiet but audible, and Newt whipped back around to face you, eyebrows raised in surprise.

His touch slid down your arms, his hands enveloping your own. “I knew that was you yelling,” he said. His eyebrows lowered and his face grew serious. “I knew it was your voice. I knew it was you, love.”

Words hung on the tip of your tongue. Words you’d meant to say your first day in the Glade. Words you’d wanted to say every day since. Words that you could never get out. “Thank you,” you finally said.

Newt smiled, so wide and so bright that your heart started beating like you were sprinting. “I’ll always be here for you, love.”

The distance between the two of you was quickly fading. “I know you will,” you said, and then, again, “Thank you.” A second later, your lips met. And you felt like thanking him all over again.

[pensivetense]

A List Of (Mostly TMA) Fic Recs Sorted By Vibe

Not an exhaustive list by any means, just a few favourites that caught my fancy. I shortened many of the summaries for space.

I’m going to pin this here and update it as I go.

Also, I’m pensivetense on ao3

MELANCHOLY VIBES

for when you want to feel comfortably muted

(sad but not utterly bleak endings here)

Hope, Etc. (Dickenson, et al.) by yellow_caballero

Jonathan Sims, six months after the Unknowing, wakes to find himself without a daemon - without humanity, without a soul. It’s a cursed half-life, but existence as a shell without a heart isn’t so bad: between solving the mystery of a persistent illusion cast over his friends and some light pseudo-cannibalism, a life as a monster is better than no life at all. At least, it would be, if it wasn’t for the fucking Owl.

A freaking. Amazing. Daemon au. Ties the lore of Dust with TMA lore very satisfyingly, but is mostly about Jon navigating what it means to be human, or, in the absence of that, a person, and doesn’t require prior knowledge of His Dark Materials. Cannot recommend highly enough.

after one long season of waiting by nuinuijiaojiao

Annabelle is not used to having nice things. or, Annabelle heads to Upton House, muses a little, and gets some well-deserved rest

I love survivalist Annabelle and also the concept of the Web as kind of a horrible Patron, actually.

i love you. I want us both to eat well. by SmallishWormMasterOfTheUniverse

At the safehouse with Martin, Jon decides it's time to quit statements once and for all. The Eye disagrees. Martin just needs Jon to be okay. It's quite possible that nobody is going to get what they want.

Scottish Safehouse Era, Jon and Martin coping with their respective Entities... really, really good.

the friend by doomcountry

He always greets a new spider when he meets it. It’s instinct, born in childhood, the same way he instinctively counts magpies, or flicks salt over his left shoulder. A little harmless superstition. A bit of politesse.

A great Martin character study with eldritch spider horror included. The imagery regularly haunts me (in a good way).

autumn’s rare gift by bee_bro

Annually, the two meet, renewing the binding ritual where it had all started. The procedure simple: a waltz.

Singlehandedly made me ship Gertrude/Agnes so there’s that. It’s so bittersweet and bee_bro’s writing is, as always, incredibly poetic. (I’d recommend everything they write, actually.)

smile, you’re trending by Goodluckdetective

During an encounter with another Avatar of the Eye, Jon faces his past, Martin takes a turn at playing Kill Bill and Basira has a second look at the monster she’s determined to see. For three people associated with the Eye, they could all use some perspective.

Features an original Eye Avatar character who’s a YouTube personality; she is infuriating and inspired and genuinely frightening and I cannot say enough good things.

Humility by The_Lionheart

have you no idea that you're in deep?/i've dreamt about you nearly every night this week,/how many secrets can you keep?

An OC centric story but don’t let that put you off, it’s amazing. Very heavily focused around Jonah Magnus and the other Avatars as they change through the years. Also, I’d die for the OC.

oh, for one sweet second without the eye series by faedemon

Beholding does not like in the way humans do, but it likes its Archivist all the same.

I’m just so fond of the way this is done stylistically. I have a great weakness for dialogue only/dialogue heavy writing, not to mention all of the wonderful character beats and interplay of humanity/inhumanity for Jon and Melanie.

Rewind by WhyNotFly

It takes eight days of forced confinement for Jon to start hallucinating. [...] It’s Martin, though, that his exhausted brain conjures, because of course it’s Martin. After all this time, of course it’s Martin.

Jon willingly allows himself to be confined rather than hunting for statements, and examines his relationship with Martin.

for a firmament series by supaslim

There is beauty in destruction. There is art in becoming. In which Jon becomes the Archive, and the Archive becomes Jon.

Part two posted this morning and uhhh. Good. Also if you’re here for weird eldritch body horror (I am), this one’s for you.

ONES THAT JUST HURT

for when you want to feel sad

(somewhat bleaker endings here/everyone is NOT okay)

Feste by yellow_caballero

If asked, Martin would say that he became the shadow director of the Magnus Institute by accident. But nobody ever asked, and nobody ever cared, and it was in this way that Martin stopped lying to himself. Or: break free, Martin. All you have to lose are your chains. And your sanity.

Oh, this one totally didn’t go the way I expected it to. A study in isolation. Could go into the category above, as the ending is not bleak, but the tone of the whole is somewhat more depressing than most there.

Ghosts of Love by RavenXavier

Nothing made Martin more grounded in the world than yearning for Jonathan Sims.

Lonely!Martin that really captures a sort of visceral ache. Hurts me and yet I keep rereading.

i do desire (we may be better strangers) by godbewithyouihavedone

For ages, it only knew how to worship, taking human bodies and living off the fear of those who remembered. It never knew love until it became Jonathan Sims. Now it must fight against every instinct to save Martin Blackwood. Archivist Sasha, Not!Jon/Martin, and the worst kind of Fake Dating AU.

Oh, this one just made me sad. The poor not!them, which is something I never thought I’d say.

Apple Of Your Eye by fakeCRfan

In which the Eye is fond of Martin. Perhaps a little too fond for comfort.

Somehow manages to be both sweet and horrifying—the characterisation of the Eye is incredible. ‘The Eye loves Martin’ is a scenario that’s so utterly doomed to failure and yet the writing is packed with so much pathos that I just want them all to be happy. A fantastic use of themes of agency and choice, and the single best use of Beholding as a source of horror I’ve read.

The Last Press by copperbadge

Jon Sims is awake, and has begun preparations for the Rite of the Watcher's Crown. Peter Lukas, who woke him, would be content to rule at his side. Martin is very upset about all of this, and the Lukases aren't thrilled with it either.

I really can’t say anything without spoiling the end and it’s so good. An alternate take on the Watcher’s Crown. Not a pairing that I ever thought would work for me, but this made it work.

watch the blood evaporate by 75hearts

It starts, like so many things in Jon’s life have started, with a nagging itch of curiosity. Jonathan Sims uses his healing abilities throughout s4. Read the tags.

Dear God please read the tags. But this is some high quality pain if it’s for you.

the lighthouse series by low_fi

Peter Lukas is a lighthouse keeper. One evening, he gets a call from a cryptic overseer tasked with monitoring his work.

This is such a vivid and yet subtle story—from the setting to the emotions portrayed, it creeps up on you slowly. The ending was like the gentlest possible gut-punch. The sequel just completed, and yeah, just as wonderful. This one is very much LonelyEyes but I listed it here because it is just exquisitely painful.

SATISFYINGLY HOPEFUL VIBES

for when you want to feel cozy

Clutching Daffodils by Gemi

Martin has always liked the idea of love at first sight. It’s such a romantic idea, the whole thing of it. Seeing someone and instantly feeling that strange, twisting feeling deep inside that every single media likes to obsess over. Of knowing you are in love within the day, petals falling from your mouth and warmth filling your chest as love burrows deep, vines twisting through your lungs. He always liked the idea of it. And then Jonathan Sims starts working at the Magnus Institute.

Somehow manages to be lighter and fluffier than most hanahaki fare, despite the setting. I’ve reread this one a lot.

the least he could do by Prim_the_Amazing

Martin should in fact not pick this man, specifically because of how attracted he is to him. It would be the responsible thing to do. Except he’s already following him. And he’s hungry.

Fluffy vampire au which everyone’s probably already read, but was too good not to mention.

rather interesting by bee_bro

Jonah Magnus realizes that, for some reason, when he comes in contact with weed, Elias Bouchard's consciousness will come into his life banging pots and pans.

Oh boy. So these are all favourite fics but this one is a favourite amongst favourites. The way Jonah is characterised (i.e. incredibly sensitive to scrutiny) is my favourite depiction of him, and the slow-burn between him and Elias is far sweeter than it has any right to be. Also, it’s hilarious.

The Magnus Records series by ErinsWorks

In a world parallel to that of the Archives and the Institute, a supernatural sanctuary stands against a cruel and uncaring world: A world of bureaucracy and tyranny, of murder and carnage, of loneliness and surveillence, of plague and death. But in this world of fear and misery, 14 entities born of the hopes of the world have emerged. And one of them has made their home here, at The Magnus Sanctuary. Perhaps, the employees within may lead happier lives than their counterparts did in the Archives.

This is just so goddamn pure. The author writes a really imaginative, fleshed-out alternate world and alternate Entities with engaging, well-written short statements. All of the character voices are absolutely on point, and it’s overall absurdly hopeful without ever feeling overly saccharine. I love this series so much, you guys, you don’t even know. I want to print it out and paste it on my wall. I love it.

HARD APOCALYPSE

for when you want to feel dark and angsty (and eldritch)

Most of these are shorts/oneshots because it’s just that kind of genre, y’know?

Ashes to Ashes by marrowbones

A conversation at the end of the world.

Oliver Banks is one of those minor characters that I am overly attached to. Love him here.

Employee Benefits by equals_eleven_thirds

The Magnus Institute offered some normal employee benefits: a pension plan, holidays, travel subsidies, free lunch on the last Friday of each month. Rosie makes it work.

This manages to hit that perfect sweet spot of satisfying and hilarious. Rosie gets to torment Elias, as she well deserves.

a rose by any other name by Duck_Life

Part of Jon blooms in Jared Hopworth’s garden.

This one was sad and honestly too gentle to really belong in this category, but I love it.

Eye to Eye by Dribbledscribbles

In which Jonah Magnus attempts a post-apocalyptic pep talk.

Unreliable narrator at its finest, and the implications are suitably horrific.

commensalis by doomcountry

The tower is endlessly, impossibly tall, but Jon’s work is taller.

If you’re here for the eldritch imagery, then this has some of the best.

SOFT APOCALYPSE

for when you want to feel gently triumphant

apocalypse how series by sunshine_states

Humanity adjusts. The Entities have Regrets.

Some nice vignettes set in a kinder apocalypse.

ceylon series by Sciosa

The one in which Jonathan Sims decides that no, actually, he isn't going to let the world just end.

I include this only for the sake on completeness, as everyone has no doubt already read it.

rituals by doomcountry

Martin is the first person to knock on the Archivist's door since it arrived, fully, into its little waiting temple. The Archivist saw him coming from down the hall, but decides to feign interest when the knob turns, and Martin—still a little bit smaller, a little more translucent than before—stands uncertainly just outside the room.

This one’s a little less focused on the world at large and more on JonMartin specifically.

we raise it up by savrenim

Jonathan Sims reads a book and saves the world; although maybe the real salvation is the friends he makes along the way; (although perhaps the world itself and the darkness that exists behind it isn't quite as out to get everyone as it seems).

More ‘soft revolution’ than ‘soft apocalypse’, but has the same vibe. A time travel fix-it. Incomplete but worth it if this is a mood that appeals to you.

Scarred Ground by DictionaryWrites

“You see," Elias said softly, "people always have this idea that only living things can be scarred - and they're right, of course. But a building is a living thing, Martin. And the ground can be scarred, too." "I don't have any scars," Martin said. "Yes, you do," Elias said. "You just need the right light to see them.”

Falls somewhere between ‘Apocalypse’ and ‘Soft Apocalyse’ but I’m putting it here because I feel like it. Also technically a LonelyEyes fic. I found it hard to follow at first but it’s worth sticking with; things will eventually begin to make sense and come together.

LONELYEYES

for when you want to feel lonelyeyes

marrying anguish with one last wish by procrastinatingbookworm

In which Elias isn't Orpheus, and Peter isn't Eurydice, but Elias brings Peter home anyway.

Lives in my head rent free forever. My favourite lonelyeyes fic.

ouroboros by Wildehack

“You know,” Jonah says, a muscle in his calf quivering agreeably where it’s slung over Mordechai’s shoulder, “it’s really quite--fortunate--that I don’t care for you at all.”

Oh, this one hurts in the best possible way. The endless cycle of their relationship, the way it comes full-circle... yeah, good. Actually, no, this one might be my favourite. It’s a tie.

Breaking all the Rules by Thedupshadove

Elias proposes a somewhat...unusual wager.

Soft lonelyeyes? In my recs? It’s more likely than you think. Short, sweet, and... sweet.

Threefold by Sprinkledeath

Peter Lukas breaks three rules.

I’m just a slut for mythology allusions I guess.

Luck Be A Lady Tonight by prodigy

In 2014, Elias Bouchard takes a rare trip outside of his comfort zone. Peter Lukas wastes a bunch of money. You'd be surprised how many things can go wrong for two beings of cosmic power.

I love the sense of the history of them you get while reading this.

love is just a word (the idea seems absurd) by kaneklutz

"Something's wrong. It's stopped hurting" An avatar of the Lonely and an avatar of the Beholding walk into a bar relationship. It was bound to blow up in their faces.

Short, sweet, painful. Excellent exploration of their priorities.

Victor by penguistifical

elias tries something with his powers that he hasn't attempted before

The one where Elias tries to raise the dead. Not incredibly LonelyEyes centric but that’s still the pairing.

Simon Says by penguistifical

“Peter asked me to drop by and have a word with you, and, so, here I am.” Simon chuckles at Elias’s disbelieving stare. “Well, he asked in his own way. He’s not a complicated man, you know. He either comes from your arms looking like a stroked cat that’s been given a dish of cream or looking like he’s been in that toy boat of his out in an unexpected storm. He was far angrier than normal, so I daresay you weren’t cream today.”

I mean personally I’d just go ahead and rec all of penguistifical’s LonelyEyes fics but this is a standout for me.

AROMANTIC AND ASPEC MOODS

for when you want to feel Seen

The Aro Archives series by WhyNotFly

These are all just really really good. From Aro!Peter to two different aro-spec versions of the Scottish Safehouse to a long and beautiful aro hanahaki fic, this series is uniformly wonderful. The two Scottish Safehouse ones (Torn Edges and Murky Water) are my comfort fics.

and now all fear gives way by j_quadrifons

Before he can think it through, he murmurs, "Is that what it feels like? Being in love?" Martin's hand stills in his hair and Jon's stomach drops.

This one just. Wow yeah this is how it be. Another absolute comfort fic of mine.

Sweet As Roses by Prim_the_Amazing

Jon takes Martin by the shoulders, leans up on the tips of his toes, and kisses him.

I’m going to be honest—I didn’t know where to put this one. But it ended up here because the real standout of this fic for me is the portrayal of Sasha, and especially her portrayal as an aro character. So I’m putting it here. Mind the content warnings with this one!

HUMOUR

for when you want to feel delight

The Torment of Sebastian Skinner by Urbenmyth

After the Eye's victory, the statement givers are trapped in their horror stories, living them over and over again. Naturally, this works out better for some then for others.

Premise? Delightful. Execution? Fantastic. I read this one to cheer myself up when I’m sad.

Unlucky by VolxdoSioda

Jon’s dice betray him

Short, sweet DnD au, and the reason I cannot get DM!Elias out of my head now.

Voracious by beetl

A bird hits the window. Jon experiences The Flesh's thrall.

“Dead Dove: Do Not Eat” but make it literal.

The Stupid Endings by Urbenmyth

There are a lot of very deeply thought out and creative AUs on this site. These aren't among them. These ones are how the story could have ended, if Jonny Sims was a dumbass.

These are just uniformly hilarious, I cannot recommend them highly enough.

PODCAST CROSSOVERS

for when you want to make one of those “if I had a nickel for every time...” posts

The Sabbatical by morelikeassassin

Nicholas Waters is in need of an all-knowing eldritch entity beyond the confines of human imagining to help with his latest ritual. He'll have to settle for Jonathan Sims, who happens to have nothing better to do.

Crossover with Archive 81 (s3, specifically). Both fun and bittersweet.

The City And Its Sorrows by cuttooth

“What makes you think your friend is in Eskew?” David asks. He feels he can risk the scrutiny of the city that far. “I read that this is a place people end up when they get lost,” says the man. “This is a place people end up,” David agrees./The Archivist comes to Eskew.

Contemplative piece, and I love the way it presents David’s relationship with Eskew, the way he finds it horrible and hates it and yet belongs to it, is almost proud in the way he shows to to Jon. Great little vignette of two people oppressed by eldritch powers, intersecting.

Hiatus by bibliocratic

My name is Jonathan Sims, and I am in Eskew. (Jon gets lost in a Spiral city. It is not as easy as escaping.)

This one is far more focused on Jon than David, and is honestly more Eskew-weird than Spiral-weird. In the best way. Told in Eskew episode style, and is very good.

Sweet Music by Shella688

Eskew has a music to it, if you know how to listen. The percussion beat of thousands of footsteps, the melody in the squealing of the trains overhead. Today, the music of Eskew comes in the form of nine musicians, playing outside my office. My name is David Ward, and I am in Eskew.

Not TMA, but since a lot of Mechs fans go here—this one’s a Mechs/Eskew crossover. Short and simple, mostly David Ward centric, just a little well-written one shot I had to mention because I enjoyed it but it doesn’t have much traffic. Nice portrayal of the Mechs from an outsider’s perspective, and how genuinely strange and frightening they’d come across (especially if you’re already being haunted by and eldritch city). If you like Eskew-style storytelling, check it out!

NOT TMA

...but good enough that I physically cannot make a recs list without including them. Here!

[di-kut]

Please give us more backstory! I will eat it up! Even if we don't fully delve into reader's background I would like to know what lead to her meeting Mando! She obviously worked before but what exactly made her turn to crime?? Had she been in trouble before? Like petty theft and stuff? She obviously saw the consequences of her actions but continued on. Why did she side with the Empire first? Was it because that's all she knew? Was it easier than accepting the alternative? Please gimme, gimme!!

Ask and you shall receive! This was originally written to be the beginning (or near the beginning) of this story however it was abandoned long ago. It doesn’t fit the storyline or the mood of the rest of the story very well but... well! Here it is. Thank you @namay for always showing this story so much love and support! 💕

Rated: T 

Summary: A series of paths crossing when our Reader meets the Mandalorian for the first time while working in a mech shop on Batuu. This is not their full backstory but it is a little piece of it. 

Batuu is a warm planet, but that day is a particularly hot one. The suns are beating thick and heavy through the market outside and through the canvas covering over the back room of Staf’s shop. You can hear the sluggish sounds of the day from the street. The crowded street moves like through oil, slick and slow. Three years was enough for you to acclimatise to warmth, but sweat stings your eyes and collects in a salty line alone your top lip. You can hear voices from the front of the shop where you sit, separated by crumbling walls and a curtain. You stare at a light patch against the plaster where Staf had drilled off the old Imperial insignia, listen to the whirring of BG-719 in the shop with the customer. Fight the temptation to close your eyes and lean back against your work bench.

The curtain pushes back. You glance over at the droid as he comes through it, track his progress out of the corner of your eye. He stops in front of your workbench and waits as you place the part you are rewiring down on it.

“There is a Mandalorian here looking for you.”

You stare at BG-719 blankly.

“There’s a – ”

“A what?” You say.

“A Mandalorian.” BG puts his hands up like goal posts. “They are a warrior race native to – ”

“I know what a Mandalorian is.” You lean around him to try and peer into the front room but the curtain has fallen back into place. “What do you mean, there’s a Mandalorian looking for me?”

“It means on the other side of this curtain there is a heavily armoured man with a very large gun who is asking for you.” The droid whirred slightly, a gimmick which has developed into something of a sarcastic sigh in the time you’d known him. “He’s asking for you by name. Not your normal name, it’s a different name. He says you’re the same person.”

You stomach drops. “Are you sure?”

“Well let me just go and check, shall I? I’m sure he’s the kind of man used to repeating himself. Won’t be a minute.” BG-719 drops his hands and turns like he will make good on his threat. You catch him by the arm and haul him backwards. He whirs again as he stumbles. His armature is hot, you think vaguely, you need to talk to Staf about installing a better cooling system in the front for the droids.

“How does he know my name?”

“Your real name? I didn’t even know your real name. I didn’t ask him.”

“What does he want?”

“I didn’t ask him that, either.”

You sigh and drop your hands to your sides. “Great.”

“Do you think he’s here to kill you?” The droid asks.

“I hope not,” you mutter. Can’t really be sure, because you know your bounty doesn’t require you to be alive for the credits. Hope he isn’t here for the bounty but know there is only one way he got your real name. “Kriff.”

“If you would like me to go and question him, I will put in a request now that the repair works on my head after he’s shot me be done by you, and not the WAC units, please.” BG doesn’t move again though. “I don’t think he likes droids.”

“What gave you that idea?”

“He threatened to shoot the WAC units. And me, not that it seems to matter.”

This time you rub your grease covered hands down your face as you sigh. “I won’t let him shoot you.”

“I doubt you’ll have much say in the matter, but I appreciate the sentiment.”

The Mandalorian is waiting for you in the front room when you finally emerge. The WAC units are nowhere to be seen, but there is a hovering durasteel orb which certainly hadn’t been there that morning. The Mandalorian steps in front of it as you approach the back of the counter. His armour glints in the shaded shop, brushed smooth and meticulously maintained. Beautiful, or it would have been if it wasn’t so terrifying. He seems to take up the whole room. Your eyes slip between him and the dome. He just stares at you, or you assume he does, unnerving in his silence. You note the handle of a rifle which peaks over one shoulder, another holster on his thigh. You feel the weight of the small blaster you had tucked into the back of your trousers against you spine. It takes you several long moments to build up the nerve to speak.

“Can I help you?”

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. Just stands there, silent and imposing. You run your gaze the length of his armour, taking stock. You can see catches in the metal, almost invisible indentations. They aren’t poor workmanship, any mechanic worth half a credit would be able to see it, they are buttons. You know enough about Mandalorians to know you don’t want to be in the firing line if he decides to push any of them. You work your jaw, tap against the countertop for something to distract yourself from the buzzing in your fingertips.

“You threatened to shoot the droids,” you say.

His helmet tilts slightly. A nod, maybe – you aren’t sure.

“Well.” Your tapping grows faster.

He just – keeps standing there. Staring. You can’t see his eyes through the visor of his helmet, can’t guess at the shape of him beneath the armour. But you can feel him looking at you, feel the assessment happening beneath the surface. Some sort of conclusion being reached. Your hands twitches towards your blaster.

“Are you here for a repair?” You try. You point at his floating dome. “That, maybe – ”

“That’s fine. That’s not why I’m here.”

You jump. His voice crackles slightly through the vodocor in the helmet, but it is deep and calm. You feel the hairs along your arms stand in response. “Oh. Oh okay. I just – ”

“I’m looking for information.”

Immediately you are wary. You step back from the counter and fold your arms in front of you. “Information about parts?”

“Information about Empire records. You are ex-Empire, aren’t you?” He doesn’t expect an answer. Already knows the answer. You think of the fob somewhere with your name on it. Your face projected in blue above it. Some miniscule number which defines your life’s worth. Traitor. Your punishment for aiding the rebellion. The Mandalorian just stands there, waiting. “I’m trying to find a planet.”

“Maybe you should try a map,” you say. Sharp. Testy.

“The planet I’m looking for isn’t on a map.”

“Sounds like you’re in trouble then.” You lean back against the workbench behind the front counter and uncross your arms. Try not to make it obvious you were thinking about reaching for your blaster. Your heart is beating so fast it almost hurts. “If there’s no mechanic work I can help you with, then I’ll be getting back – ”

He does know your name, as it turns out. Not the name you had told people on Batuu. Not the name BG-719 called you when a customer needed help. Not the name Staf had stared dubiously at on your holochip when you’d given it to him, looking for work, three years ago. Not the name you had boarded ships under, heading for some forgotten planet in the outer rims where you thought the remnants of a dying Empire wouldn’t look for you. You hadn’t heard the name the Mandalorian calls you in years, but it feels like dropping out of hyperspace too fast when you hear it through the modulator in the empty shop on Batuu.

You know, suddenly, even if you manage to get to your blaster first there was no way you’d beat him. “What do you really want?”

“I’m not here to turn you in for the reward, if that’s what you’re asking.” The Mandalorian says. “I don’t do Guild work. Anymore.”

“So.” You grip your hands together so hard your knuckles turn white. “What do you want?”

“I’m trying to find a planet.”

.

You don’t know the planet he needs. Have never heard of anything like it. But you worked for the Empire, and on Batuu, and you hear things. You tell him about a small planet on the edge of the outer rim, close to the unchartered territory. Tell him there is an alien there who may be able to help him, untouchable by even the Empire and the Republic before that. A keeper of reliquaries and ancient knowledge. You tell him you only handled weapons orders for the Empire and you don’t know anything about finding lost, ancient planets. But that maybe this alien will. You send him with a warning to be careful and feel silly for it the second it leaves your mouth. He tilts his helmet, and you think he is amused beneath it. He offers you a small bag of credits. You refuse it.

“Why?” He asks.

“Didn’t really do anything, did I?” You shrug, keep wiping down a greasy piece of engine.

He stares at you, this time you see the helmet move as he scans you up and down. And then he is gone. You think you will never see him again. And your life goes on in much the same way as it had. You rise before the suns can begin to bake the ground hard and make your way to Staf’s shop. BG-719 doesn’t mention again that the name the Mandalorian had given for you was not the name you went by, and the whole thing is better forgotten. You wonder, one day weeks after meeting him, if he had ever found his planet. And when you dream that night you dream of gleaming armour somewhere deep in space, of death and blood and the smell of smoke. The next morning you try your best to forget it.

It is almost two months later when he reappears. Is inexplicably leaning against the wall outside the shop before it opens. The street is pale in the early morning light, and in the grey he looks almost like a ghost. You stop before him, close enough that you could touch the Beskar if you wanted. He just watches you, the same as before. There’s the scoring of recent blaster fire on his chest plate. He seems otherwise exactly as you remember him. Calm. You stay there, toe to toe outside the shop. You don’t say anything and neither does he. You just punch in the code to the shop and stand back, hold out your arm to gesture for him to go in first. He stares at you a moment longer, like he is trying to place some thought, and then steps out of the street. You pause at the door behind him. And then you follow him inside.

“He’s back.” BG is powered up and looks at you accusingly around the bulk of the Mandalorian.

“I know,” you say.

“Why is he back?”

“None of your business,” the Mandalorian snaps.

BG whires in distinct irritation, picks up his tray of parts and sets them down firmly on the front counter. The Mandalorian’s hand twitches over his gun and you roll your eyes. “I’m not leaving,” BG-719 says. Incensed.

“You don’t have to. If any work comes for me just leave it out the front, I’ll come and get it in a while.”

“Trust me,” the droid has begun to aggressively unscrew a broken piping cover from what looked like a shot hyperdrive. “I won’t be coming near him.”

“Good,” The Mandalorian says as he follows you through the curtain.

You pull out a measly breakfast from the shelving unit in the back room. Your tiny quarters in the block of rented rooms further back from the main streets of the market come only with a bed and a toilet, and barely enough room for that. And Staf didn’t seem to mind you keeping some personal items out the back, so. You stare down at the wrapped fruit and dense bread and then offer them unsurely up to your companion. You aren’t sure if he can eat in front of you, but it feels too rude not to ask. He shakes his head and leans back against one of the walls, crosses his arms in front of him.

“So,” you sit at your workbench. Start into your breakfast.

The Mandalorian tilts his helmet ever so slightly. “I have a job for you, Gotabor.”

“I don’t want work. I have a job.” You tear a piece of bread off the loaf and chew it slowly. Narrow your eyes at what you can sense is a name. A title maybe, from the way he says it. The word is unfamiliar. “I’m not supposed to take under the counter jobs. Staf doesn’t like it.”

“It’s just once.” The Mandalorian pushes off from the wall and walks towards you. Pulls out a holodisk from the pack strapped to his side and holds it out for you. You can’t see his eyes, that hasn’t changed, but you can still feel the lifting sensation along your shoulders of his eyes on you. When you don’t take it from him and places it down on the only clear part of the bench, right next to your breakfast. “Can you get into this?”

You eye the disk. “That’s Pre-Empire records.”

“I know.”

“Super illegal.”

He tilts the helmet again. You think he might be laughing at you, is he hadn’t been so still. He sounds like he’s smiling. “No Empire anymore.”

You know you shouldn’t ask. You should just give the thing back to him. You should ask him to leave. But. “What is it?”

“I don’t know.” He backs up until he is against the wall again. Leans back, crossed his arms and sits into one of his hips, crosses his legs at the ankles. “That’s why I’m here.”

“And here I thought it was for BG’s company.”

You aren’t surprised when he doesn’t laugh. You pick up the disk, inspect it briefly, and put if back down. You shake your head at him. “I don’t want another job,” you say, but you haven’t looked away from the disk. The Mandalorian doesn’t say anything. He just lets you sit there and wrestle with your better judgement. You look at the disk, then back to him, and then down to the disk again. “This is a bad idea. You know some of these had trackers in them.”

He still just infuriatingly stands there.

“I might not even be able to get into it. I never dealt with the Pre-Empire stuff. That was a different level of classified.”

Silence.

“And there’s all sorts of ancient coding and programming in this. I mean look at it. It’s a relic.”

The Mandalorian shrugs his shoulder slightly, rolls them back. A silent yawn.

You groan and swing out of your chair. “I’m not doing this,” you mutter. You dig around in the mess of found parts and tools. You will have to make something to hook the old Republic system up to a holopad, so you could read in the information. You toy with the idea of trying to just convert the file system onto a new holodisk, but you aren’t even sure how the data output would work. “I’m not doing this.”

“How long will it take?” The Mandalorian asks.

You throw your hands into the air. Wave the tools you were collecting at him. “I’m not helping you.”

“I have to get supplies. My ship is running low.” He moves towards the curtain, places a small bag of credits on the table. “This is for last time as well.”

“You might want to move your ship to long term docking,” you ignore the credits. “I’m assuming you have a ship.”

“It’s already in long term docking,” he calls as the curtain swings back into place.

You click your tongue against the roof of your mouth. It should be in irritation, but you can’t stop the small smile. Shake your head. “Confident.”

He returns late that night, after the droids had powered down. You had planned to be home already. But he finds you there anyway, hunched over your work table in the back room. He lips under the curtain into the dimly lit room and lowers himself into the chair opposite you. You don’t look up from the work you are doing, two pliers in your hands, holding back wiring from the inside of the old holodisk. It isn’t as complicated as you had suspected, but it would be slow and tedious work to extract the information without corrupting the whole disk. The Mandalorian watches you for some time, so still that you think maybe he had fallen asleep.

“I hope you didn’t break that lock on the way in, Mandalorian.”

“I didn’t, Gotabor.”

You hum sceptically, continue to work. Ignore the new name. “I think I can do this. But I’m not sure. I’ve never done this before, not with a disk this old.” You cast a glance over towards the silent warrior. “It’s still gonna take time.”

He nods and leans back into the chair. Shuffles to get comfortable and seems content to just sit. You watch him, take him in, hulking in the tiny room, seemingly completely at ease. You are surprised how easy you feel with him. How comfortable. You feel him watching you back and wonder if he is thinking the same. You break and look away, shake your head. Return to trying to piece apart the holodisk in front of you. You see his helmet tip back out of the corner of your eye. He strikes his legs out straight in front of him and crosses them. You scoff slightly and settle into your work. You stay there together late into the night.

.

It takes you three weeks to finish the task the Mandalorian has given you. The days are reserved for your work at the shop. Staf visits you to check up, he takes his time going through inventory with you. Checking through the WAC unit work. He doesn’t bring up the Mandalorian until the end of his visit, when you are standing alone in the front room. Staf is a small man, wiry with something of a gut, and no hair. He is missing an ear from what looked like blaster fire, but you had never asked. It wasn’t the kind of thing your asked about on Batuu.

“I heard there’s been a Mandalorian coming in,” he says. You feel your arm jolt at the comment, but do your best to keep your hand steady screwing a bolt out of a fuel covering. You shrug, can’t tell from his tone whether he is suspicious or not. Know he is paranoid about you skimming the tills. “Mandalorian’s get talked about, you know.”

“His ship is busted,” you decide to play dumb. Not mention the holodisk.

“And he doesn’t want it worked on at the yard?”

You shrug again. “He doesn’t like droids.” You hope that lie will cover it. You have not asked the Mandalorian where his ship is, what kriffing model it is. You wish you had thought to now. “It’s mostly the hyperdrive anyway. Unwired it, brought it in. I thought he was gonna shoot BG.”

“He pay good money?”

So it was the money. You feel the relief instantly. You aren’t sure exactly why you are so worried about Staf finding out about the disk. Not sure what you’re protecting yourself from, the Mandalorian from. Staf doesn’t care about Empire laws, defunct after the collapse and never really enforced in the out rim besides. But whatever instinct which had told you to trust the Mandalorian told you not to spread knowledge of the disk. You don’t even really debate the lies before they start.

“It’s alright. I figure a guy like that can afford to pay a bit above average though. With all the Beskar. Looks real new.” You finally get the rusted screw loose, drop it into the tray on the counter. “He gave me credit chips. Here.”

You step out the back. Have to close your eyes and breathe for a moment before you retrieve the bag of credits. You dig around for the bag of credits he’d left there, glad now you had never moved them or given them back to the Mandalorian. You push back through the curtain and toss the bag to Staf and let out a shaking breath. Your hands are miraculously steady as you retrieve your fuel covering and begin on removing the next screw. Staf makes some sort of pleased noise and you hear him pull the drawstring of the bag closed again.

“Well you just tell that Mandalorian he can bring in any part of the ship he likes. You know what, if he wants, if he doesn’t like the droids are the yard that bad,” Staf rubs a hand over his jaw, “you just tell him we can send you out there to work on it for him.”

You look at your employer. He’s pocketing the bag of credits and rubs his bony hands together. “You know I don’t like working out of the shop.”

“You will for money like this. I’ll give you a cut.”

You shake your head, make a show of being unimpressed. Staf walks around the shop a few more times, patting the jingling purse of credits in his pocket all the while, whistling a tuneless song and not listening to anything else you say. You even bring up a cooler for the droids and he makes some noncommittal answer. He doesn’t stay long afterwards.

Later, when it is dark again, the Mandalorian returns. He sits in his usual place across from you, has his hovering durasteel dome with him. You want to ask about it but resist the urge. The Mandalorian is more relaxed, lets you get close enough to it to touch. You have barely finished your work from the shop, but he has brought you food from the stalls in the market. A spiced meat and a tough, flat bread. They are warm still, and delicious. He assures you he ate before coming.

“Eat, Gotabor.” He insists.

“What does that mean?”

“Eat? It means put the food in your mouth, chew and swallow.”

You shoot him a look. “Not that.”

“It means Engineer.” He says. He has his feet stretched out again, propped now on a box of spare parts. Seems tired. He had cleaned the armour after the first day he had reappeared, so it had been free of wear and the signs of blaster fire. But it sports new, different marks now. “Eat.”

You do, and you enjoy it. Even think you will ask him which stall he had bought it from. Instead you ask, “How many credits were in that bag?”

“What?”

“In the little bag you gave me. How many were in there?”

“You didn’t look?”

You shove another piece of bread in your mouth and pull the holodisk out from the compartment under the false bottom of your tool drawer. “Didn’t get a chance to.”

“Where is it?”

“Staf – he owns the shop – he came sniffing around because he heard about your visits. There’s a Mandalorian coming in,” you attempt a terrible impression of your employer’s nasal tone. You shrug. “So I told him you were paying me extra to fix the hyperdrive ‘cause you didn’t want the droids at the yard doing it.”

The Mandalorian drops his feet off the box and leans forward in his chair. Braces one of his forearms across his knee. You can feel his gaze again. He’d been in enough times now, not all nights but most, that you know he is studying you with some forcefulness behind it. You get a tingle ripple across your shoulder blades from the attention.

“Where is your ship, by the way?” You have almost finished rewiring an old ship holodisk reader to accommodate the technology sitting on your workbench. It had been a lucky find, one of the droids Staf sent out scavenging brought the whole console back. Pre-Empire. It even had an old Republic logo emblazoned over the top, some old embassy vessel long abandoned. Your mother would have said the force is with you. You were just relieved. It meant you could fix the temperamental wiring in the holodisk and not try to extract the information. Not risk corrupting it. “I should probably know,” you continue. “Since apparently now I am fixing your hyperdrive, if anyone asks. Staf said I could go work at the ship in the yard after I gave him the bag, so I figure there was probably a bit in it.”

“You just gave it to him?”

You can’t place if he sounds relieved or angry. Maybe somewhere in the middle. Certainly sounds disbelieving. “Yes? I figure it’s the best way to keep his nose out of your business.”

The Mandalorian shakes his head. “And now you’re coming to work on my ship?”

“I don’t want to.”

“Thanks.”

“No offence. I don’t like working out of the shop.”

The Mandalorian hums quietly and relaxes back into his chair. “Why did you give him the credits? Did he ask about them?”

“No. He asked about you.” You inspect your work carefully. Bite into the bread again and put it to the side. You still have your goggles around your neck and you pull them up over your eyes. Tuck a spare rag up underneath the bottom edge of them to protect the lower half of your face. The soldering required was small and quick, and the final touch to finishing. Soon it won’t matter if Staf sent you off to the Mandalorian’s ship, because it would be long gone and his holodisk with it. “There.”

“Why not tell the truth?” The Mandalorian asks. You pull the rag down. “That is going to catch fire.”

“I’m careful.”

You pull the goggles down as well and hold your work up to the light for a last check. Twist it back and forth before giving a small satisfied nod. The charges should all match, the circuit is closed. Everything was where it needed to be.

“Why not tell him the truth?” The Mandalorian asks again.

You replace the covering on the reader. “I don’t know. Seemed like a bad idea. I figured the less people who know the better.” The holodisk fits perfectly into the waiting slot. You pull it back out again and find the portable generator under your bench. Plug the reader in. You hold your breath as it flickers to like. The projector unit at the top takes longer, whirring slowly until finally a rim of blue lights around it. You hold the disk up to the Mandalorian. “You ready?”

He pushes himself to standing. You insert the disk slowly, heart in your mouth, knowing if it doesn’t work or the system shorts you will be left with nothing but a melted pile of metal and a ruined disk. The whirring is awful. For a few terrible seconds you think it is blown, and then there is a gentle hum and the projector plate flickers to life. Blue light bounces around the tiny room, static balls of light hover through the air, numbers and letters appearing beside them. You scramble for the shop lights, the detail of the projection are too pale to make out, and once you turn them off the projection begins to slowly rotate. The Mandalorian stand the in the centre of the room, a tiny galaxy turning around him.

“It’s a map,” you say together.

You move slowly, weaving through planets and star systems. Each one has a floating label beside it, but in an unfamiliar alien language. There are numbers too, but what they represent you aren’t sure. The Mandalorian has begun pacing, occasionally prodding at some planet or other. Some respond, longer paragraphs of the same alien language appearing beside them, until the Mandalorian touches them again with a gloved finger, and they blip back out of existence. You try the same to some of the planets near you. Nothing gives any signifier of which part of the galaxy you are looking at, which systems. You wander through your floating galaxy for what could be hours, until finally slumping back into your chair.

“Know what it means?” You ask him.

He heaves a heavy sigh. “No. But it’s something.”

“You think one of these is your planet?”

“Maybe. Don’t know.” He presses the power on the projector unit and the tiny galaxy disappears. The room goes black without the floating blue light, and you swear and fumble for the switch. When they flicker on you feel suddenly drained. Are tempted to put your head down on the bench and sleep. It must be well into the early hours of the morning. “I’ll find someone who knows.”

You nod. Too tired to do more.

“It’s time for us to move on.” He says. “We’ve been here too long.”

Your stomach drops. Only hours ago you had been glad at the thought of him leaving, and taking the threat of outsider eyes and Imperial trackers with him, fallen Empire or not. And now you are nervous. “When will you go?”

“Soon as we can. Tomorrow.” He taps the projector unit. “Can I take this?”

“Well, yeah. I’ve got no use for it. It’s for you.”

He nods, rests his hand on top of it. Looks back towards his floating dome. You had forgotten it in the excitement of a breakthrough. He stares at it for what feels like an eternity. And then, “You could come with us.”

You blink at him. “What?”

“I’ll pay your for the work. And I could use someone who knows how to do repairs on the Crest. And this,” he turns away from his dome, back to face you, and taps the projector unit again. “Whatever that piece of Bantha shit boss is paying you I can promise it’ll be more.”

“I – I’m – ” You close your mouth and try to gather your thoughts. “Go with you?”

“Yeah.”

“On your ship?”

“Unless you have your own and want to follow us.”

You spare him a look. “Out there?”

“Sure.”

You stare at your reflection dumbly in the helmet. As dark blur against the shining Beskar. You think about it, briefly. Living on a ship with the Mandalorian. Stuck in there with him, in space. Travelling to strange planets. The centre of attention everywhere you go, next to him. You know the talk circulating the markets on Batuu every day he stays, think of the greedy way Staf pocketed his credits. About the danger. He doesn’t wear his weapons for nothing. Of the new smudges of blaster fire on his chest plate. You shake your head slowly.

“I’m… No.”

He tilts his head. “No?”

“No. I – I mean. I’m sorry. But no.”

He stare6s at you, more intense even that the first time you’d met, so that the tingles which normally live across the backs of your shoulders spread out along your spine and around you ribs. You wonder if he’s ever been denied something like this before. Then wonder if he’s ever asked anyone. You swallow thickly. He shrugs, finally, and you let out a sigh of relief.

“Okay.”

You don’t sleep the rest of the night. You stare at the dark ceiling of your room and strain to hear the sound of a ship taking off in the distance. You hear nothing. He’d walked you back to your room, through the empty market. A quiet walk. When he turns to leave, the last time you know you will ever see him, you almost catch his arm and say you’ve changed your mind. That you do want to come with him. But you don’t. You watch him turn and leave. His hovering dome following behind him. You watch until he turns a corner and is gone.

You lay there until the suns begin to peak over the horizon and colour the world in pale grey. You force yourself back out of bed. Dress slowly. Fold your night things. Make your bed. Pass through the motions of your morning and make your way to the shop with dragging feet.

The droids are still powered down when you arrive, and you leave them, glad for the time alone. You pass into the back room and reach for your breakfast. Slump into your chair. You don’t eat anything. Just wrap it up again and replace it on the shelf. The sounds of early arrivals in the market begins to fill the air around you, the sounds of life continuing on, marching ahead and pulling you with it.

You knock over a nearly empty box and it crashes to the floor. You rub at your forehead and bend to pick it up. The generator is where you left it, under the table, but the projector which you had been keeping on top of it is gone, but you have no time to grieve the loss of the Mandalorian, whose quiet company you realise you looked forward to every night. Because in place of the projector unit there is a gleaming welding mask, staring up at you. You stare at it. Hesitate to reach for it and lift it towards you, crouched on the ground behind your work desk. Something falls from the back of it and lands at your knees with a heavy thunk. You scoff and then find yourself laughing. The sound has an edge of hysteria to it. You pick up the bag of credits. It is bigger than the last one, much heavier. You slip it into your pocket and turn back to the mask. It has a proper strap and padded interior and a switch next to the visor.  

That rag is going to catch fire.

Your eyes well with tears. You know it is from him. Have no idea when he would have found the time to conceal it there. Wonder if the whole night he had been hiding it and placed it there without you noticing, or if he came back later. The mask a work of such fine craftsmanship you do not know where he would have found it on Batuu. It gleams in the brightening early light. It reminds you of the Mandalorian’s Beskar.

. 

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