#i had a blast writing this one

[bloogers-boogers]

Kyle Brofloski/ Eric Cartman (SP FIC) part 2

/playful project/

Garrison assigns Cartman and Kyle to become class partners for a 'inclusive project' by PC principal.

Slight warning ⚠️ this is Cartman and Kyle you could either expect the worse or the best from them. Okay, with that said, Chao chao:3

I also want to thank for the support I've received for the first chapter, and thank @myst1calx for your words it really cheer me up when I read you, I also have considered publishing in ao3 but I'm still stubborn on not making an account cause I'm too lazy, but maybe eventually who knows? But still, thank you c:°▪︎°♡°▪︎°

~~~~~~

Kyle walked in the hallways being greeted by girls and some other classmates as they commented his appearance, again remarking he looked particularly 'good' that day. Pretty much the same thing pointed out by his friends and family, to be entirely honest he felt the same as always and honestly his appearance looked pretty bad in his opinion, as for days prior he's been healing bruises and scratches from his previously fight from yesterday and a couple of more from the days that started his 'venture' with the fatass and Douglas boy.

Besides that, he feels exactly the same, either they felt pity for his bruised face or they're just bullshittin him for a laugh. Both options could be plausible.

He opened up his locker in search for the books he'll need for the day, packing them inside his backpack before continuing walking to class. He waved hello to some of his friends as he entered the classroom sitting in his desk.

The bell rang declaring it was now time to begin class, he sighed frustrated as he felt sticky rolled paper balls against his neck.

"Goddammit, Cartman! Quit it!," he exclaimed, before turning his way an earning a offended scowl from the other.

He looked to his left and found out it was Bebe being the one who had spit on him, he arched a brow confused, offended.

She gesture with her head towards Stan, with apologetic eyes, "whoops, that was for Stan."

"Me!?," Stan snapped offended, taken off guard by the comment and possible action towards his person.

"Okay, class, settle down now," Mr Garrison greeted as he entered his class, standing in front of the board, "I said to settle down now!," he asserted more loudly seeing how no one payed him attention.

Now with everyone kept quiet he continued, "today will be initiated a parental project," he wrote in the board 'partner a/ partner b' before continuing, "yes, Clyde?," he aked disinterested, seeing how Clyde had raised his hand.

"So that means are parents are getting involved somehow?."

"Fuck no, the last thing that this school needs is to also deal with the idiotic embodiments that we're willingly capable of conceiving you guys!," he cleared his throat, "now, the project would consist in you guys having to parent a baby, you and you're assigned partner will be given a doll specialized for the task, you write your shit down in a powerpoint essay and print it out, being neatly order in the respective day of what ever you did with the baby and how you managed to deal with the doll," he continued blabbering, as he leaned on his desk.

"Like the egg project?," Stan asked.

"Yes, Stan, just like the egg project but with some added adjustments," Garrison roll his eyes, as he took out a clipboard and placed a box full of dolls in his desk, "you see, children, PC principal wants this project to be as inclusive as it could possibly be, AND expects it to go well.

So you assholes better do a good job or you'll ALL will sink with me, you know how PC principal gets," he pointed out threatening.

"Yes, Bebe?."

"Can we pick are own partner?."

"No." He flip through some papers, "I already have it all assigned."

Everyone groaned annoyed. Not only did they have to deal with that stupid project again but they also have to deal with a partner Mr Garrison (probably to spite us) picked.

"Okay, we're gonna start with the trans couple," he took out a blonde white baby, "Annie and Kenny, you're now trans, congrats," he tossed the first baby carelessly to Kenny; who just looked at him weirdly.

"What!? But I'm not trans!," he heard Annie shout from behind them.

"It's just for the project, stop complaining and keep that mouth shut," he grunted annoyed, "lesbian couple one, Heidi and Nichole," he tossed a brown baby with black hair towards them, "lesbian couple number two, Red and Nancy," he threw them a very pale baby with a label that said 'diabetic' and specified instructions.

He scribble down his paper, as he picked up a brown baby with blonde hair, "Craig and Wendy you'd be the interracial couple," he tossed the baby to Craig.

"Tweek and Clyde, you're homos," he tossed a red head baby aggressively to Clyde hitting him in the face, "Eric, Kyle you're the second homos," he tossed a black, browned curly haired baby towards the red head.

"What!? My kid's black!?," Cartman screeched out loud; making Kyle shuddered infront by the agonizing noise. In disbelief as if that was his only concern.

"Sit down Eric, you two are the typical white gay couple that thinks they're ahead of time by adopting an African kid," he rolled his eyes, as he continued naming the couples in his list.

'My god,' Kyle heard Cartman say as he sat back in his chair defeated.

"Serves you right for being a complete racist piece of shit," he commented as he turned to look at him, "now your son is black." He gestured 'their' baby in a teasing manner.

Cartman frowned, "Shut up, Kyle! I don't even want to be married to you," he groaned angrily crossing his arms.

"Stan, Bebe, you two are a divorced co-parenting couple," he tossed them a white freckled, black haired baby, labeled 'paralyzed from it's legs' and other instructions, "Butters and Sofie; Butters you're the alcoholic father going to aa meetings trying to recover both yourself and the lost bond of your child,"

'oh geez' Butters commented nervously, rubbing together his knuckles.

"Sophie you'll be the unfaithful wife who's also secretly into women and currently in process of getting a divorce," 'Oh my!' Sophie exclaimed in shocked as she was then toss a black baby.

"Scott and Jenny, you two are a special case, you'll be raising your baby for a couple of days, then, you'll have to grieve the lost of your child by an accidental death, pin blaming one another becoming the grieving couple," he stated, swinging their white, brown curly haired baby before throwing it to Scott.

'My. God,' Scott commented baffled, as he hugged dramatically his baby.

"Timmy, Lola. Normal straight boring couple," he tossed them a white, black haired baby.

"Jimmy you're a single parent, raising your son with a very low income job struggling barely to buy your kid some food," he tossed a black malnourished looking baby towards him.

'j-j-esus ch-hrist,' he blurted out looking at his now baby.

"Tolkien, you're also a single father, but struggling to raise your baby that has a severe illness, not because of the money but because you don't know how to handle it's condition" he tossed him an albino baby, with a label full of instructions. Before clasping his hands as he now finally sat down in his desk, "Okay, children that's about it, any questions?."

Everyone raised their hands abruptly, but was immediately interrupted by the bell ringing.

"Well, see ya later losers," he blurted out smugly, before leaving to the other classroom his assigned with for next period.

°°°°

He carried the baby carelessly in his arms, going to his locker, Cartman following behind cause they had no choice but to discuss what they'll do with the baby.

"I think Joshua is a nice name," he commented, now looking for a old eraser he swear had.

He truly didn't care about the naming, but they had to discuss it for the upcoming essay they'll have to write.

"That's stupid and basic, Kahal," Cartman complain arrogantly, as he huffed crossing his arms enthusiastically indifferent of the suggestion, "if my son is gonna be black might aswell have a cool name."

"Okay, what better name do you have in mind, fat boy?," he asked annoyed as he slammed his locker, while gripping the half done eraser in his hand.

"Moisha," he responded eagerly, smiling lightly as he looked at the ground, internally contemplating his answer.

Kyle arched a brow skeptical, "Moisha?," he repeated not even fazed.

"It's a cool name, you asshole!," he defensively responded, huffing again, embarrassed.

He rolled his eyes, and saved himself discussing for probably over an hour about the name being jewish, definitely purposely intended to mock him indirectly. Fucking asshole.

"Okay, whatever," he shrugged as he looked around the other students walking by, and some of his classmates also discussing with their partner about their babies.

Before he could try gesturing Stan to come approach them, 'their' baby began to cry.

"Goddammit," Cartman groaned out, as they now both turned to look at the judgmental and teasingly stares from some of the students there.

"Here, try calming him down," he ordered, shoving the baby to Cartman, embarrassed trying not to be seen holding that thing.

"Aye! Why do I have to deal with it!," Cartman whined out, sounding more like a baby than the fake mimicking one.

"Just make it stop crying, fatass!," he whispered frustrated, as he kept glancing at some of his classmates.

Cartman huffed, as he reluctantly hold the baby in his arms unknowingly, struggling to actually make it look like a decent position for a baby. He rock it soothing as some mother would normally do to put to sleep their newborn.

Kyle had to take out some immense power in him to not laugh out loud. Wanting to crackled so badly, pinching his side to prevent himself by actually doing so.

"Nah, nah, nah—nah nah, nah nah nah— go to sleep baby, don't makemeforceyoutoactuallygotosleep, baby nah nah nah—," he singed in a very silent manner, as he discreetly looked to his side cautious if anyone was seeing him.

Kyle's humorous internal conflict immediately faded away, not expecting Cartman to actually try soothing that thing to sleep with a song.

And miraculously it worked.

Stan and Kenny approached them after, Kenny still with his baby in arms while Stan didn't.

"Joseph, these are your idiotic gay uncles," Kenny mimic an old man, as he gestured Cartman and Kyle to his fake baby with a smirk.

Stan snorted shortly, "damn, must be crazy for you guys having to end up together," he continued to add, mockingly, "have you guys decided it's name yet? Mine's name 'Rafael' I swear to God, Bebe has a poor taste in naming."

"Ours named Moisha," Kyle leaned against his locker, arms crossed, "courtesy of the fatass," gesturing with his head towards Cartman.

"It's a nice name, okay!?" He kept defending himself, in his whiney annoying voice.

"I've never thought it my life, I'd ever see you holding a black baby in your arms," Kenny mocked Cartman, wiping a fake tear from his eyes, "you make me proud, I can actually see the resemblance."

Cartman rolled his eyes, flipping him off with his free hand, "he's adopted, you stupid man whore." He tried 'correcting.'

"Careful with your wording, fatass, you don't want your kid to turn out like a fat psychotic racist entitled spoiled brat," the blonde snapped back, making both his friends laugh.

Later that day, during lunch time, it was damn obvious how PC principal managed to make everyone somehow get involved in the project making them take it just as seriously as he'd expect them to do. Which makes the whole thing nerve wrecking, their grades were on a line, so they have to deal with shit like this

"Hey, bigots, you like to take it up the ass so much? why don't get outta town first and take your ugly ass baby with you," some nineth grader mocked.

Kyle frowned, cause it was directly towards him, Cartman and their kid, before almost punching the dude in the mouth, Stan grabbed him by the shoulder moving him towards the cafeteria line.

"Dude, not worth it," he spoked, as he shake his head in disapproval.

Their baby began crying once more, and that added up to his anger.

"Shoo shoo shoo," cartman cradled into his arm, as he gently caressed his cheek; making the baby to whimper less and less, finally stopping.

"Dude, motherhood looks good on you" Kenny teased as he rested his chin in Cartman's shoulder before earning a glare from him.

"Kahal, give me his bottle," he ordered, as he extended his hand towards him expecting him to give him that same thing.

Kyle blink in confusion, "what bottle?."

He groaned out loud, rolling his eyes, not believing what he's hearing, "the baby's hungry, asshole, we need to feed it or he'll starve!."

"Oh," in all honesty Kyle had completely forgot about the baby's needs, but could you blame him? It's a fucking doll. But than again, his grades are at risk, so he has do deal with it.

And it's not like Garrison gave them any bottles, diapers and shit, trying to make it as real as possible, that, or he's just being a douchbag.

He contemplated a bit before being snapped by Cartman, "Dude, go get him a bottle of formula," he blurted out pissed.

Kyle frowned sharing the same sentiment, "why do I have to do it, fatass!?."

Cartman glared back not even bothering to comment anything, pretty much giving him a answer. Kyle sighed defeated, ceasing in, as he kept waiting in line.

"They're probably selling formula in the cafeteria, if this some cheap tactic for the school to earn some extra money," he shrugged, now hands in his pockets like some scolded husband.

Everyone nodded, as that was most likely to happen. And true enough, they were in fact a specific section that was labeled 'baby supplies', there was a pile of students picking up and purchasing up the stuff they needed, some kids from other classe stuck with the same project as them, others from their class, and ofcourse themselves.

Bebe headed towards Stan and pinched him in the arm, "the fuck, dude!?," Stan yelped in pain.

"Go buy the baby diapers and some baby formula," she ordered.

Stan huffed, "why do I have to buy it?," he asked still rubbing his arm.

"Because you're the man, and it's your duty to provide for us!," she yelled at him before joining her group of friends at their table.

Kyle and Kenny began laughing for his dismay, it was hilarious as Stan glared at them offended.

The red head turned to his side, and seemingly enough, Cartman was already listing the things they needed.

"Okay, Kahal, this is all we need for today," he said, as he extended his hand again.

"What?," he asked confused, looking at his chubby hand.

"Give me money!."

"Me!? Why the fuck do I have to give you money?!," he exclaimed, sharing the same tone in disbelief as his best friend had prior.

"Because I don't have jack shit!," he groaned out.

Now both his friends snorted behind them, earning a mocking smirk from his best friend.

Kyle grumble under his breath as he took out his wallet, "that's what you get for hooking up with a alleyway whore," Kenny teased as he protectively hold his baby shielding it, being nudged harshly by Cartman on to his side, earning some laughs.

Kyle glared at the blonde, giving the money to the lunch lady; who was already glaring suspiciously at them. He assumed she thought they'll steal their shit, even though the prices were a steal themselves, my god, everthing was expensive as shit.

A diaper (one single) for 10 bucks!?, he had to purchase three (30$), formula 23 bucks and one set of clothing for 35!?, Jesus christ. He did not bother to buy the clothing, saving himself 35 bucks, cause c'mon! That's all his damn lunch money for a week in one spending.

No lunch for him, if he wanted to save his thirty bucks he must act like he already has nothing on him, making Cartman scoffed as he noticed he didn't receive the clothing he had added to his list.

They sat on the table, Stan also seemingly had brought nothing for himself as he was also broke, Kenny had brought home made lunch so he didn't seem too fazed, while Cartman fed the baby but his tray was on his side.

"This sucks ass," Stan complained, resting his chin on both his hands.

"Tell me about it," he added.

PC principal entered the cafeteria in a extremely dramatic way, with a microphone in hand, standing in the middle of the crowd of students grabbing their attention.

"Okay, kids, as you may know. Some of the students here are now parents, I want you all to treat them with RESPECT, I want cero negative you hear that? I want this procedure to go as smoothly as possible. Which is why, the PC children will keep watch for any offensive behavior against the new couples, informing me for the misconduct.

Also for you, parents, if anything happens to your child, you'll be pressed charges and receive the punishment you ask for, like a realistic scenario. Ofcourse not exactly too realistic, but enough to cross a point to you of having to be a good responsible parent to your child," He threatened, "yes, that'll mean you'd be sent to jail for two weeks being monitored by official Barbready if you kill your infant, if you verbally abuse/ neglect your child you'll be sent to do community service for a week with added group therapy. And lastly be monitored with a ankle bracelet if you physically abuse your child or have addiction problems for two weeks, with added therapy.

Hopefully I got that out of our way, enjoy your lunch," he proceeded to leave out the cafeteria.

Every student their was in shock, some scared, others worried and the rest nervous.

He grunted annoyed, this will be the longest three weeks of his life.

And so it begins, Cartman tugged on his jacket aggressively.

"What!?," he spat, getting out of his grip.

"Give me your jacket," he ordered firmly.

"Excuse me? Fuck off, I'm not giving you my jacket, Cartman."

"Kyel, jesus christ, the baby needs to be wrapped with something," He pull out his phone, showing the following baby tracking status, "he's freezing, asshole, and being you, didn't buy him clothes leaving him butt fucking naked with just his diaper like the cheap mediocre bitch you are, might aswell give me your damn JACKET!," he huff out loud tired, like a whiney ass bitch.

Why is he acting like he has been caring for the kid for years!? It's not like he has done much besides feed him during the pass few hours. He's done more by paying for his needs than just cradling it in his arms and feeding him a bottle of formula HE bought. Technically he'd be screwed with out him.

He grunted before taking off his jacket unwillingly, tossing it back to Cartman, already tired of this bullshit fake marriage and stupid fake plastic doll. Kenny chuckled as he began rocking his baby to sleep, patting it gently.

The day went on, and it was literal hell, Cartman couldn't stop yapping here and there, about how the baby 'needed this' and the 'baby needed that' and so on, he couldn't stand it, he needed a fucking break from both Cartman and that kid.

The final bell rang, and he rushed outside the classroom wanting to run away from his responsibilities. But failed miserably, being stopped near the entrance of school, Cartman called him out before he had place foot outside.

"What do you want, fatass?," he stopped in tracks reluctantly.

"It's your turn to take the baby," he said casually, shoving the baby in his arms and passing some of the things he had bought for it.

He arched a brow, in disbelief, "are you serious right now?."

"Uh, yeah?," he said confused, gripping on to his backpack.

"You haven't done jack shit!, I'm tired, and I'm going home, fatass. I don't see why you're trying to pin all the responsibility on ME," he complained.

"excuse YOU, jew. But I've been changing his diapers, feeding him, keeping him warm and making him fall a sleep since second period! I fucking need a break!," he blurted out, hands extended in emphasis of his annoyance, "You think it's all sunshine and rainbows raising a child while you seat all day doing nothing but writing some notes and looking at some white board!."

"I was in class!," he defended in protest.

"Okay, now stay outta class and take him with you, see were it gets you, asswipe," he grumbled out spiteful, before walking out, leaving him standing there with a baby in arms.

"¡Goddammit!," he screamed frustrated, as he stomped his feet in place.

He got home, tossing his backpack agitated to his side, wanting to straight up go to his room. But again, was stopped. All the way over to get home people 'congratulated' him on his newborn, and his bravery to come out as a 'newlywed gay couple' with Cartman, it was the most ridiculous shit he's ever been put in. Some tossed him slurs and other bashed on their baby, which made him clenched his right fist, holding it together as the PC children passed by him checking he wasn't being a bad father and 'exposing' his child to a bad environment. Like it's not fucking South Park they lived in.

He groaned out loud, "what?."

"Kyle, please take a seat," his father gesture the couch.

Both his parents stood infront of him as he sat down, he watched them cautiously wanting an explanation.

"Bubbie, we just want you to know, that we support you no matter what. And we promise you the struggle won't be too overwhelming for you and your partner," Kyle was left mouth wide open, were they really talking about the damn plastic baby and his fake relationship with Cartman!?, "PC principal has already informed us about the project." His mother explained calmly.

"Yes, and we don't care if our grandson is black," His dad reluctantly added, looking at the ceiling then looking at the ground, "even though, it would've been best if he were white atleast you boys could act out that the boy is actually related to one of you," his mom nudged him with a glare.

"As long as he's jewish we don't care, Kyle," she beamed reassuring, as she went to the kitchen, coming out with a box and placing it next to him.

"What's all that?," he asked, still processing the whole surreal conversation.

"It's all the stuff you'll be needing for you son," she said, in a more firmly tone, "you see, Kyle, being a parent is more than just opening your legs and leading a man inside you," she continued, leaving Kyle speechless.

"Yes, Kyle, your mother is right. Though, it's clear as day you're the dominant one in the relationship," his dad then added, trying to assert more pressure on him for being 'the man' in the relationship, "it also about responsibility, raising a child is more then just buying the things it needs and feeding it."

"Exactly, love is also an important factor for a beautiful blossoming relationship with your son, also assuring he'll be raised a right man," now his mother spoke, "he is a.. boy, right?," she winced, tilting her head a she looked attentively to the baby he held.

He nodded reluctantly, still not saying a single word.

"Wonderful!," she beamed excited, as both his parents clapped their hands in victory before rushing out the door.

"You heard that, Donovan! My first grandkid is a boy!," he heard his dad smugly comment in a scream. 'Fuck you!' He heard from afar Mr. Donovan snap back.

°°°°

He grunted, as he confusingly looked at the big instruction manual he held in hand. His father insisted he had to fix up the crib for the baby to sleep in.

"Daaaad!," he groaned out loud, now hearing steps coming from down stairs.

His dad leaned against the frame of his door, with the, now, fully clothed baby in his arms; being dressed up with a green small vest and black pants, probably his mother put on him, while with a dolphin cap, probably his dad added. As he had a glass of wine in his free hand, being left with 'babysitting duty' as a responsible grandfather while he, Kyle, had to handle this shit.

"How the hell do I fix this!? I just can't figure it out," he pleaded in help. He's been in his room for two hours trying to piece things together, but it doesn't budge.

"Well, Kyle, part of being a man and the provider of the household is about figuring out things on your own for the sake of your spouse and children, not for yourself, never for yourself," he chuckled in disapproval of his progress, as he sipped on his wine. Before walking off, "C'mon, little Moisha, grandad is gonna show you the beauty of internet trolling i-i mean, scrolling the web!," he blurted out almost nervously, leaving him behind with all this mess.

He grumbled, as he forcefully tried gluing two pieces together that clearly didn't belong to one of another.

On the other side, Cartman also found himself struggling with his bitch of a mother now nagging about parenthood, as the responsibility he now held.

"You see, poopsikins, if you want to have everything held to you by your husband, you must be ready to provide him everything he needs. Like keeping him full all the time with amazing cooking, pamper him with affection and seductive comments, pretty much luring him with your pretty face and sexy body, love.

Men are difficult to keep around, because they easily get bored with the same thing, so you really have to make sure your man sticks and not try running off with some mistress and leaving you behind having to raise alone your kid," she took out some pans and pots.

"You sound like you're talking about yourself, ma." He commented worrisome.

"Ofcourse not, I was the mistress," she shamelessly added, "now let's start from the beginning."

She continued explaining about certain exquisite dishes, then showing him some manipulative 'harmless' moves he could use on Kyle to do things for him; even though he doubted that'll work on Kyle, he still kept listening, entertained by the whole madness of the situation.

Then they were the seduction strategies, and the boring chores he'd have to do to keep 'his' husband content and keep the little brat alive.

He sighed exhausted as he sat in his couch, his back hurt for no reason as he felt a bad headache.

She came in the living room, opening a bottle of champagne and setting two glases in the dinner table, "I knew some day you'll turned into a housewife like me, didn't think it'd be this soon or even married but—," she poured in some champagne on a glass, passing it to him, "but I'll make sure, sweetie, you DO have your happy ending," she promised assertive, as she now drink from her glass.

She held her glass high expectantly for he to 'clank' it together with his, he reluctantly did, also sipping silently the bubbling beverage; processing his mother's words.

Kyle layyed down his bed with a loud 'thump', exhausted but finally had fix the crib together, he heavily breathe out victorious. Closing his eyes shut, finally feeling his body relax against the comfort of his mattress.

"And what do you think you're doing?."

He snapped back up, now looking at his mother in the door frame, hands placed in her hip in a assertive way.

"I.. was resting? I just finished up fixing the crib," he explained.

"You think that's an excuse to leave both your father and I do YOUR responsibility?."

"Huh?."

"Poor, little Moisha has been missing his father all day, we said that we'd be okay caring for your son, Kyle, but you shouldn't take advantage of our generosity."

"It's been like three hour, ma?."

"¡Those three hours will become days, then years! Moisha would eventually feel your absence," she spat out, before slamming the door shut out of habit, "and you better make sure his crib is place right next to you, and don't forget about his nursery, Kyle!."

"¡Goddammit!," he cursed out, throwing his pillow to the wall unintentionally hitting the crib, now breaking it down once more.

After hours of fixing the baby's nursery, crib and shelf, it was already time to go to bed. He placed the baby in his crib, as he now layyed down on his own bed. Closing his eyes shut, with a small smile creeping in his face, not a minute in before the baby began whining out, as it sobbed, fading away the little joy he had felt that evening.

He stretch his arm out, rocking the crib tirelessly, but the baby kept crying out.

'Shut that damn baby!' He heard Ike scream out from his room.

He groaned, as he forcefully got out of bed, gripping hard the edges of the crib. Holding himself together, not wanting to strangle the fucking doll.

He glared at it, before reluctantly holding it in his arms, avoided shaking it cause it could activate 'shake baby syndrome', and that's some fuck up shit he isn't planning to get involved with.

He nested it in his arms as he sat down on his bed, eyes shut as he soothe both the baby and his uncontrollable anger. As he heard the baby silently lower his cries being now put asleep, he leaned against the headboard as he felt himself knock out.

The next morning, he yawned tirelessly as he didn't get all the sleep he needed, he stretch out his arms, somehow feeling a small weight off his body.

Wait.

"The fuck?," he exclaimed worrisome, as he no longer had the baby with him, he put his jacket on and ran downstairs.

Entering the kitchen, he noticed Ike was feeding the baby while his mother hummed washing the dishes, and his dad read the newspaper.

"Uh.. morning?," he hesitantly greeted before sitting down.

Now relieved that he didn't unintentionally lose the baby while he was asleep.

"Morning, bubbie," she greeted warmly, "sorry for taking out Moisha, but I was worried sick cause I didn't hear him cry much at night. But then I entered your room, saw you were holding him even while you were sleeping I thought it was cute, so I took him from your arms and left you rest, sweetie."

"Uh.. that's okay," he awkwardly said, noticing he was not placed breakfast.

"If you're wondering where's your breakfast is," His dad caught his eye, "you have a spouse, where is he? He plans on you to care for your son AND also feed yourself?."

'Oh brother' he rolled his eyes annoyed, not even bothering to comment back, picking up the baby, getting his backpack and then dashing out.

'Couple these days' he heard his father nag before closing the door.

"Damn dude, parenthood doesn't look well on you," Stan commented, as they were at the lockers.

He was taking out some of his books and placing the ones he no longer needed back inside.

"Yeah, dude, it's fucked up. This thing literally has a tracker for EVERYTHING. I couldn't bash an eye last night," he may had exaggerated a bit, but he didn't care, in all honesty, it's not comfortable holding on to something while you sit your ass down as you sleep, and he can still feel cramps on his leg and has a sore back, "and my stupid parents nagging all day about what it's like to be a parent and shit like that."

"Wow, sounds hard. I'd comment something, but Bebe's been hogging all the parental hours for herself I haven't spend time at all with my son," he commented as he glance at the blonde who smugly showed off their baby to her friends.

"Don't you have visiting hours?," he then added, as he closed his locker.

"I do, but that bitch doesn't give them to me, I may sue her in court or something," He said, as he glared at her, "she's like really pissed over what happened with Wendy the other day," he added.

Oh yeah, he had forgotten Stan had accidentally ditched her in their tenth date of the week to go play videos games with the guys.

"Sucks," he commented back, looking at his phone for the stats.

"Is that the status of your baby?," Stan commented as he took his phone away, "cool, might aswell see what I'll get into ONCE BEBE STOPS BEING A BITCH about it and hands me our kid," he spat out bitterly, loudly enough for the blonde to hear, earning from a far a flipped finger at him 'fuck you, Marsh!.'

"Mornin' fellas," Butters gritted tirelessly, with a bottle in hand.

"Uh.. hey?," he greeted confused.

"Dude, why you got a empty bottle of alcohol in hand?," Stan asked exactly what Kyle was wondering.

He gripped on to Stan's shoulders fanatically, startling both of them, "please, don't tell Sophie! I- I I'm trying okay?," he whimpered dramatically, as Stan eyed him bewildered, "just.. I need time, it's hard when you've been so use to something, and then.. having to let go, for the sake of your son.. I can't.. I really can't lose my baby, but this is hard on me too, Stan!," he slammed him against the locker, before letting go. He turned to look at Kyle then at his baby.

"Raise that baby right, now that you can. He deserves a great father that doesn't waste his time drowning in alcohol," and with that, he left.

"Dude, what the fuck?," both of them commented bewildered.

"Hey gaywads," Cartman greeted, as he approached them from behind, Kenny walking next to him.

Cartman extended his hands, in attempt of holding Moisha, Kyle dismissively moved back, "what?," he asked skeptical.

"Dude, I want to hold Moisha, you've already kept him all day yesterday."

"Why all of the sudden do you want to hold on to Moisha, fatass? When yesterday you were so eager to drop him off."

Cartman rolled his eyes, unfazed by his skepticism, "I wasn't 'eager' but I did watched him the entire morning, jew," he stated dry, as he snatched Moisha outta his arms, "Besides, I don't trust jews taking care of my baby," he spat bitter, side eyeing him, dusting off fake 'dust' from Moisha's clothing.

Kyle groaned annoyed, before clenching his fist, "then you shouldn't have give him to me!."

"Then who'd be the neglectful parent be, hmm?."

Kyle gritted his teeth, wanting to punch him so damn fucking bad.

"Ofcourse, I suppose you forgot to bring a baby bag did you?," Cartman glanced him judgmental.

Kyle shut his eyes defeated, as he in fact did forget it, and his mother had lecture him about how important it was to carry one. Ofcourse his parents pretty much helped him out a big portion by getting him all the things he needed and giving some parental advice for the subject, but what was the point if he kept forgetting to use them?

Cartman huffed getting the answer he needed, "good thing my mom had this old bag in the basement from when I was a toddler," he took out a small bag from his backpack.

Kyle frowned, as that was not only just small but it was old and dirty.

"Before you say anything, Kyel, I washed it yesterday it's just stained like that," Cartman explained indifferent, not spitting out the details that his mother had forcefully made him wash his old baby clothes, bottle and binky, as 'practice.'

She also taught him about how to properly bathed a baby, just as to check it's fingers for any loose hair and also burp the baby, all that extra shit. What he did wonder was why she was insistent on teaching him about washing stains off from sheets, floor, underwear, clothing; he figured it could be because a baby can be messy and spill shit, but then again, it was a plastic fake baby. And how to lure a man on top of a running washing machine that was also one of her priorities for he to learn, that he did not grasp on why. He supposed that it was in the category on 'pleasing' your husband, but he just doesn't get why Kyle could be pleased by being on top of a washing machine.

Kyle huffed unpleased by his answer, his mother was right, men can really be difficult to please when it comes to not getting their way, goddamn. Cartman pouted, as he looked at Moisha 'you're cute for a black baby,' he thought before dashing to class leaving Kyle and the others behind.

"So where's your baby, Ken?," Stan eyed Kenny who kicked nothing but air in boredom.

"Annie's day," he explained with a shrug.

They all headed to class as the bell rang.

First and second period went oddly normal, too normal for Kyle to just shrug it off. Cartman has not once ask him for anything, he was starting to wonder if Cartman was already scheming something. He also had the baby with him, and in the morning he was all sparkles wanting to hold on to him, yeah, suspicious as fuck.

He tapped his fingers looking at the class clock, he discreetly glance at Cartman who was making weird faces to the baby as he heard the fake baby giggle in response. He forgot those things actually make other noises apart from whining, crying and shitting.

Cartman on the other side, was following his mom's advice, 'to make a man get you what you want, don't ask them make them guess by ignoring them and acting indifferent by their presence, but ofcourse dont make it obvious, act natural and don't make it seem like you're mad.

He'll eventually notice something's just off with you and will try to figure it out. It also keeps a man entertained with you,' he was skeptical at first, but he gave it a try and not long after his been getting a positive response, as he felt Kyle glancing at him throughout first and second period. She also had added, 'it'll work best if you refuse on giving your hooha if things just don't go your way,' but he didn't have a hooha so he didn't worry much about that.

The bell rang and both boys dashed off, Kyle actually wanting to chase after Cartman but lost him as they separated between the crowd of students.

Cartman being indifferent twoards him? Cartman running off not even sparring a single glance at him? just like he hasn't teased him in class or when he got out of class like he'd normally do?, yeah, suspicious for sure.

Kyle frowned annoyed, not being able to take Cartman off his mind, 'what is that fat fuck planning now?.'

"Is it me, or is Cartman acting weird?," he asked his friends. Now headed to the cafeteria as the fourth bell had rang.

"Maybe he's cheating on you already," Kenny teased, taking out his wallet then taking out a ten dollar bill, passing it to Annie as she passed by.

Kyle huffed, "Yeah, sure, he's lucky I'm even tied to him," he tried joking back, but it did not came out as well as he thought it would.

Kenny and Stan chuckled lightly before entering the cafeteria.

And sure enough, his eyes landed on to Cartman who was talking with some other dude from another class, who also seems to have assigned the same project as them. He frowned, 'who the fuck is this dude?, Cartman's been ignoring him all day, the FATHER of his child, but his chatting all happily with some random ass dad?.'

"Uff, I heard that dude was assigned as a single father that was divorced for being an homosexual, I'd be careful Kyle, that guy could be a flirt," Kenny warned teasingly before heading in line followed by Stan.

Kyle headed towards Cartman with no hesitation, he was not gonna be seen as a husband who got cheated on their second day of marriage.

"You know, you look ravishing when you smile like that," The boy pampered him with compliments, giving him googly eyes, unintentionally making Kyle's blood boiled.

"Excuse me, but he's already taken," he spat dryly gripping Cartman from his arm and dragging him away, earning a scowl from the boy.

He heard the boy scoffed behind him but he didn't care.

"So now you're a slut?," he complained as he let go of Cartman.

"Don't call me a slut for having a decent conversation, Kahal!," Cartman spat annoyed, as he glared at him.

"Yeah, well being pampered for 'hAvIng a cUte sMile' isn't a decent conversation, fatass. Thats called 'making a move' which you were clearly leading him on," he pointed out his bullshit.

"Maybe I like being pampered, Kahaaal? When was the last time you ever pampered me huh?," he complained, as he placed his free hand on his hip, "ever since we got our child, you've changed, you barely even look at me the way you use to, now, it feels so robotic. The passion, the flame, I can't feel it anymore. You haven't even snapped at me for being a 'racist piece of shit'."

"Oh please! You're the one who's been ignoring me!."

"Well who's that to blame, huh? I'm a human being with needs, Kahal! I need to be provoked and contradicted or I won't feel wanted!."

Kyle groaned annoyed as he crossed his arms, giving him an eye roll.

"See? That's all you do nowadays! Groan and backaway like the pussy you are, not caring about what I feel!."

On the other side of the cafeteria, both Stan and Kenny waited for their turn to pick up their tray.

"You think Kyle and Cartman are doing okay?," Stan asked concerned.

"Yeah, they'll be fine couple problems," Kenny shrugged, before placing a hand on his shoulder, "look, I know you're upset cause you haven't gotten a chance to spend time with your son, but trust me buddy it'll be okay," he reassured soothing.

Stan sighed, "you're right, I'll just try to figure out another way to force Bebe to lend me my rights on Rafael."

"Hey dudes," Tolkien greeted as he stood behind them.

"Dude, you look bummed, what's the matter?," Stan asked.

"I had to leave Tonny at the hospital again, his sick and I'm really starting to feel tired and stressed about the whole thing," he broke down infront of them in ugly sobs, "and I just- i-.. it's too much pressure on me, I think I want to place him for adoption," he admitted ashamed.

"C'mon dude, don't place your kid for adoption," Stan commented pitiful, maybe even envious and spiteful that Tolkien being atleast able to spend time with his son consider bailing on him.

It wasn't fair, there was parents out there who wanted nothing to do with their kids wanting to drop them off in a orphanage, while there he was, desperately trying to get ahold of his.

An unfair, cold sad world it was.

"I'm still gonna have it in consideration," He said nonchalant before leaving.

Now with him gone, they bashed on him behind his back, "what and asshole," Stan spoke.

"I know right?," Kenny agreed.

"Like, why have a kid if you're gonna just drop him off?."

"Totally," Kenny nodded, as they both looked his way like judgmental mothers.

"We should definitely stop hanging out with him, atleast until the project is over."

"Agreed."

They head to a table, and sat with a grumpy Kyle, who rested his chin in his hands not looking at them.

"So what happened?," Stan asked as he sat down, with a very sad looking tray; that had only a apple and fries. He was sucked out broke from Bebe that morning.

"Fatass wants a divorce, I told him it wasn't possible cause we were assigned to be a married couple not a divorced one and he dashed off with the baby," he grumbled out, as he tapped his finger against the table.

"Damn, filing for divorce on your second day of marriage?," Kenny asked, as he shake his head in disapproval, "you should try to win him back."

Kyle looked up, "and how'd I do that?."

"It's fatass, it can't be that hard to please," Stan commented unfazed, as he ate some fries.

"Maybe buy him a gift or some flowers?, chicks like that sorta shit," Kenny suggested as he bit his chicken sandwich.

Kyle arched a brow, "but he isn't a chick though."

"He kinda acts like one," Stan starkly remarks.

They all laugh by that, as it was indeed true, atleast Kyle believed it was. Cartman's had been acting like a complete bitch this entire time, it was starting to get him.

Not that he doesn't get under his skin all the damn time but damn, this time he's really feeling it. But he really doubted a gift or some flowers would make him win Cartman back.

He must recall the ways things were before Moisha came in the picture, it was all punches, schemes and shitty arguments between the two.

Maybe he should punch Cartman for old memories sake? He hasn't been able to do that since the PC children have been vigilantly walking the hallways.

He sighed as he rested his head on his arms covering his face.

Panic surge in his body, as Cartman had not entered sixth and seventh period. He was worried for the baby, what if something happens to it and his grade will flunk because the fat asshole couldn't keep his shit together.

The bell rang finalizing school hours, he grabbed his things and dashed out looking for Cartman and Moisha. He looked everywhere and couldn't spot them, 'what if Cartman had left school already?'

He cursed himself inside for not being careful enough, he already had a feeling Cartman had something planned on but not to this degree on putting the baby's sake at risk.

He halted, as he spot in some bench inside the gym a familiar red jacket.

He jolted as he jogged inside, sending daggers at Cartman who didn't bother looking his way.

"Why did you skipped class, fatass?," he asked, as he tried snatching Moisha away, "an why are you here?."

"First, I didn't want to see you, Kahal. Second, one of the perks of having a black son means he could be a future basketball star," he gesture the boys that now entered the gymnasium with basketball uniforms, "and ofcourse, my son will be raised to be famous, it's best to teach them at a young age."

"I think that's for our son to decide, fatass."

"Think about it, kahal, if you couldn't manage to be in the big leagues maybe this is a sign for you to pore your knowledge on to Moisha and see him triumph as the basketball star you always dreamt to be."

Kyle crossed his arms in thought, actually reconsidering the obvious manipulation tactic Cartman was using on him.

Moisha did have all the looks of becoming a star, maybe Cartman wasn't too far off.

Cartman smirked as he watched Kyle consider it, 'time to use tactic 3' he gestured Kyle to sit next to him. Kyle arched a brow confused as he reluctantly did exactly that. His mom was right, using the 'I'll break up with you' method really makes a man chase you.

He flattered his eyes innocently making Kyle look at him weird, he rested his head on his shoulders sighing lightly, "Maybe this is it, kahal.."

"What is?." Kyle questioned dumbfounded, oblivious of his manipulative flirtation. He was too focus on how close they were.

"To reconstruct our relationship," he placed his hand on to his, now looking up at him, "Maybe we can find the flame again," he 'boop' his nose, as he giggle like a high-school girl.

Kyle was baffled by the gesture and tone Cartman used, it was new, but he found himself actually liking it.

"Okay," he blurted out in seconds.

'Bingo,' Cartman thought, amazed that his mother's advice actually worked so well on Kyle.

They sat there for an entire hour, watching the boys play as Kyle would sometimes bring up some strategies to Moisha, actually expecting the baby to listen.

°°°°

Day three

Kyle was wakened up by distraught parents, who found themselves in distress cause they haven't been able to see their grandson for an entire day, as it was Cartman's turned to take Moisha home yesterday.

He doesn't get them sometimes, the other day they were complaining about him leaving his kid for hours with them and now they wanted him back?

"Guys, calm down, didn't you guys wanted a break from Moisha?,"

"No, Kyle, we wanted a break from your irresponsibility never from our grandson," his dad spat in an arrogant tone, sipping his coffee with very displeasure.

"It's true, and even if we did, children don't actually listen to their parents when they refuse to babysit their grandkids; you normally act like you understand then later on manipulate us with emotional manipulation using are grandson to get us to babysit him." His mother explained, now dropping her fork in the salad she was eating.

"Exactly," his dad added, as he groaned annoyed, rolling his eyes disappointed, "Dammit, and I told Randy I'll take my grandkid to the grandparents/grandchildren rally this evening, goddammit Kyle! Thanks for nothing!," his dad jolted up angry, now leaving the kitchen.

His mother also followed behind not before she scowled him with a 'you should know better, Kyle.'

Kyle rested his hand on to his chest, as he groaned heavily.

At class things seemed to go normal, except for Butters; who was called by Mr. Mackay claiming he needed to talk with him, and Butters cursing himself under his breath with a 'crap, he caught me' before storming off the classroom, Sofie glaring at him from her seat with a loud 'huff,' with an added '¡Shut up you stupid whore! I saw you messing around with Nichole the other day!' As he slammed the door, the couple of girls gasped. He was a wrecked of a drunk, he only assumed that's why Mr. Mackay call him in today. That boy needs some serious help.

He and Cartman on the other side talked things out and agreed on trying to make it work again, so he forces himself to snap back at him with any annoying comment he'd say in class, even though he felt too tired to keep it up. But he promised himself he'll win that flame back, even if he had already got tired of it before first period ended.

Maybe Cartman's was right? As hard for it was to admit it, the flame wasn't there, he was too exhausted to keep up with Cartman's shit anymore he can't even recall when was the last time he enjoyed fucking up the fatass schemes or arguing back when he was wrong, or teasing him for being a bigoted fat racist asshole.

He sighed, things weren't this complicated before Moisha arrived.

A week in and the school was absolute chaos.

"So how's things with Bebe?," he commented as he eyed Clyde and Tweek arguing in the hallway of who's fault was it to leave 'Evy' (their daughter) in the window.

And at the end of the hall way Craig and Wendy were protesting for equality, being against racism and shit like that, their baby hanged in a bouncy pouch they had added there to keep him busy.

"Well I finally spoke to PC principal the other day and he forced Bebe to give me my rights on Rafael," Stan answered dodging a couple who fought for who'd go to their child's school play they seemed like a divorced couple.

"Oh, that's great dude," he commented genuinely excited for his best friend.

"Yeah, but.."

"But what?," he arched a brow in confusion, before turning to look at Jimmy who was in floor sobbing with flyers that said '5 bucks for an hour of fun.'

"Well I got my rights, but ever since, I take him home and my parents just bash in and take him away from me. Well my dad mostly, teaching him about the weed industry and all about the farm." He pinched his nose annoyed, "fuck, the other day he called my dad 'dada' and you know what my dad did? He dance victorious while I sat there defeated!."

"Damn, dude, he already said his first word?," Kyle commented in disbelief, "and your dad outta all people."

"I know! It's fucking unbelievable," he spat angrily, as they denied a cupcakes from a hardworking couple who wanted to sustain there baby by creating a baking business together.

Kyle looked at his left and saw Heidi and Nichole yanking their hair off Heidi cussing her out calling her a 'no good whore' while Nichole defended herself while blaming Heidi for her own shit 'you're a bitch! What did you expect!?.'

He then looked at his right where Scott and Jenny were being comforted by the PC children, bawling out about their grief and then blaming each other for who did it, 'if it weren't for you, bitch, he would've still be here,' 'you were the one who left him outside!' She defended before getting into a physical fight as the PC children tried to restrained them from provoking further damage.

He walked pass them leaving Stan behind who'd had stopped to talk with Butters, he was headed to class but immediately stopped his tracks as he saw Cartman being all flirtatious with that same dude that was pampering him not long ago. He had his arm rested in his shoulders as Cartman twirled a strain of his hair as he holds on to Moisha.

That slut.

He stomped twoards them and shove that asshole away from Cartman.

"Excuse me!?," he exclaimed now looking at the fatass.

"Oh, hey Kyle.." he murmured avoiding his glare with indifference.

"Oh? So now I'm just 'KYLE'," he barked back.

The boy long gone not before he snorted smugly and winked at the fat fuck.

"That is your name isn't?," he responded bored, unfazed by his anger, looking at his fingertips.

He slammed Cartman against some lockers making Moisha cry from the harsh gesture.

"Owe, Kyle, the fuck!?," Cartman screeched, as he held protectively over Moisha.

"You're pushing it, Cartman!," he screamed, now long caring for his grade and the stupid act they were doing.

He would rather be sent to jail than to ever see Cartman snuggled against some dude's arms.

"You weren't doing anything what did you expect me to do? Wait for you until you finally decide you want to take me over!?,' he blurted out, red puffed cheeks in anger.

"I THOUGHT we were already in good terms!."

"You thought wrong!," he screeched out loud before letting loose from his grip, "I'm an independent man, Kyle, I can raise our son all alone. I don't need you, when was the last time you payed for Moisha's food hmm?."

"Yesterday morning!."

Cartman huffed, "Bradley said he could do that for a daily," he soothe Moisha down.

"I thought you were a 'independent' man, fatass!?," he pointed out his bullshit once more.

"Yes, I am, which is why I can pick and choose between being one; to get you away and also becoming a house husband if I want it the easy way, making men fall down to my feet and give me money," Cartman smirked smugly making Kyle's anger finally getting to its limit.

Kyle slowly stood infront of Cartman, gently taking out Moisha from his arms and placing him to the ground, before punching Cartman to his face making him fall. He jumped on top of him giving the second punch now starting a fight between the two as they roll over each other one trying to dodge bullets and the other being the one to shoot them.

Cartman slapped him but Kyle punched back even harder, both stumbled as they stood up. Kyle slammed Cartman against the wall now being able to do it more harshly.

"T-that's more like it," he heard Cartman pant out, as their breathing became irregularly irritable.

Kyle gripped on to his collar brushing their nose together, now feeling Cartman's breath against him unintentionally licking his lips by the immense tension between them.

Cartman phone buzzed as he took it out from his pocket still not letting his gaze away from Kyle, then glancing at it.

'Baby stutus: kidnapped'

They both snapped turning to the spot were they had left Moisha, and jesus christ, fuck.

They looked everywhere, running fanatically around the school, also trying to avoid being seen from PC principal and the PC children.

"This is your fault," Cartman panted tirelessly, as he scowled him.

"I- I swear, if I get an F, fatass, I'll kill you," Kyle threatened as he tried recovering his breathing.

"Eric Cartman, Kyle Brofloski," they heard the PC principal called them out, as the were in the the playground.

"Fuck," Cartman grunted.

°°°°

"You must be wondering why a call you in to my office," PC principal said sternly, as he had his arm's crossed.

"We're, so—rry PC principal we didn't mean it," Both said in a rehearsed tone, looking elsewhere avoiding the man's stare.

"For what?," he asked, snapping their attention, "I'm here to congratulate you for the splendid work you've done," he continued speaking, getting up from his seat and grabbing the control remote; turning on the tv.

"No. Way," Kyle murmured in disbelief.

"As you can see, Moisha grew up to be a talented basketball star, one of the most popular players in the big leagues. He was taken away from one of the founders there as he had recognized Moisha's talent in the game."

A montage played in background, showing a old wrinkling man watching Moisha from afar when he was just practicing with Kyle; as he passed him a ball hitting him in the head knocking the baby down, and Cartman cheering from a far in one of the benches, then Moisha being kidnapped by the same man, then later being put in the group of players, then chosen and finally playing in the big leagues."

"My baby's a star!," Cartman whined out in a 'awe,' hand on his cheeks, baffled by the revelation.

Seeing a baby on the screen playing among other players, with a basketball in hand. The screen read 'Moisha Brofloski-Cartman, player 9 (one week old)'

"It's astonishing the capability of you two, but he's now moved on to become big, which grants you two an early ending for you project and earning yourself a A, congrats," He beamed proud before shoving them outside.

"Holy crap," Kyle finally blurted out.

"I know!?," Cartman said excitedly, "we should try contacting him an see if he gives us some money."

"Cartman!," Kyle screeched angrily as they both now walked to class.

Kyle got home, smiling proudly as he got an A, extra spare time and his kid's a famous basketball player. He beamed walking up stairs and tossing his backpack to the bed.

He heard some crying down stairs, probably his parents being all emotional by Moisha moving out. He rolled his eyes as he took out his phone texting his friends.

'Dudes, wanna hang out today?'

'Sorry, dude, I'm trying to prevent my dad from taking Rafael to a death weed battle'

'Whats a death weed battle?'

'It consists on a group of men shoving weed up their nose and shoving a anchor up their ass'

'Oh'

'I think I saw my dad do that shit once'

'God'

'Ik ik. Hey, Kyle, is it me, or did I see your baby playing in the big leagues this evening on tv?'

'Oh yeah, he's famous now'

'Oh shit, cool'

'So no one's available tonight?'

'Srry, man'

'I have work duty, I need to maintain my family and now kid, see yah later'

'Me too, I have to go, ttl'

'I'm available, jew'

Kyle sat on his desk chair, contemplating on actually inviting Cartman over.

Why not? It's not like either had anything better to do, besides everyone was still with the on going project in hand. Though, he must admit, he's actually starting to miss that piece of plastic.

'Did you know our kid ditched us?' Cartman continued texting back.

'I called him, and he told me to fuck off, that he's all big and stuff, and didn't want to feel bothered by us 'gaywad losers', then he had the audacity to ask if I could help him change his diaper in LA'

'Sounds like a Cartman' Kenny chimed in quickly, now logging off.

'Did you go get him changed?'

'Ofcourse I did, he's my baby. Those from the league dont care for him at all, he had his little bum with a big red rash.'

'How the hell are you available then, if you're in LA?'

'I'm about to get on my flight, It'll probably take like four hours before I arrive, maybe like at eleven I'd be there?, just wait for me.'

'K'

In all honestly, he's not surprised their kid ditched them, after all, he did had for a father Eric Cartman. But he kinda feels betrayed, cause he did everything he can to raise that motherfucker, oh well.

This must be what parenting feels like, raising your kids, sacrificing you youth probably even risking your marriage, taking your happiness away then being toss to the side once they grow older and become dependable enough to move out and start their own life, eventually shoving them to a retirement home as they grown older and wrinkled, practically being a burden to them.

He tossed himself in his bed, aiming for a quick nap.

Later that day, Cartman actually showed up at his door, they watched movies eating snacks while bashing on their son like a bitter couple. As they laughed and banter, it was a nice night.

°°°°

Week two

They were standing in the bus stop, Stan finally had a hold on Rafael having blackmailed his dad on exposing something to his mom, he didn't exactly explained them what it was cause he seemingly looked embarrassed himself, but they didn't further question it.

Kenny also had his baby in arms, though, he looked tired as fuck, excessively working for a living. Causing him problems with Annie for being a 'workaholic.'

And both Kyle and Cartman just chilling there with no worries of the world, besides the common bickering between the two.

A limousine stopped infront of them, seemingly not caring they watched as some men tossed Moisha out of the vehicle 'and you better not try on getting in the leagues again' they threatened, before leaving.

The boys still in place looked at the baby simultaneously, unfazed by the whole ordeal.

The now walking baby, slumped in shamed in front of his 'uncles' and 'dads.'

"I'm sorry—," he apologized with his face looking at the ground, "you guys were right, fame and money really gets you in the head and makes you forget of what's really important...," he continued blabbering his apology.

"Hmhm," Cartman said, arms crossed, with airs of superiority. Knowing well the built up apology was made before hand and not really meant from the heart, trust him, he knows when to tell if it's fake.

Kyle share the same gesture but looked at Cartman, sharing the same sentiment 'his words are full of bullshit' before reluctantly accepting his apology.

Both boys had developed a new sense of skepticism when it came to their son, they don't know how it developed but they didn't question it either.

"Awe I love you guys!," he beamed happily as he hugged them by the legs, both boys still unfazed.

Another car stopped infront of them, a successfully looking man looked out from the car window taking off his glasses, "you're Moisha Brofloski?," he asked the boy, earning a nod from him.

'Cartman' Cartman added, bitterly.

"Great, what're your thoughts on joining the Denvers basketball team? I assure you, you'll be rewarded with cash and fame."

The baby's face lit up, shoving his parents aside and running inside the car, "see ya motherfuckers! I'm off to be someone worth millions, screw you guys!," he exclaimed, flipping them off before pulling up the window as the car left their sight.

"Your kid's an asshole," Stan commented unfazed.

Week three, a day before (deadline)

Cartman scribbled in his notebook, not paying attention in class. Things had mellow out by now when it came to the project, some parents had managed to go through it, still with a decent looking baby. Others failed miserably some in jail, others walked in shame with a ankle bracelet, while there were parents who recently recovered from addiction; Butters was one in the crowd, beaming happily with his son in his arms, eagerly ready to be graded.

The chaotic ordeal from last week was now long gone, the actual parents in the town now focused on other more entertaining things no longer caring for their so called 'grandkids', fucking up something else. Everything just began going back to it's normal pace.

He sighed exhausted, he hasn't been feeling himself lately, kinda out of character. He felt his friends acting that way aswell, Kyle definitely stood out from the crowd. And he had feeling Kyle felt the same way.

He looked behind him feeling Kyle glance at him knowingly, then looking away. He scratched the back of his neck, annoyingly sighing once more.

The classroom door open abruptly as the chief and two policemen walked behind them.

"Those two right there, comrades," The chief gesture the two boys, "Kyle Brofloski and Eric Cartman, you're under arrest for negligence and second-degree murder, take them away boys."

"W-what?," Kyle asked bewildered, as he was handcuffed and shoved outside.

"The fuck!?," Cartman screeched loudly before being tased, cuffed and then dragged out.

Their classmates and teacher didn't even bat an eye besides his friends that watched worrisome.

"Goddammit, Cartman. This is all your fault," Kyle pointed a finger accusing, now sitting inside the police car.

"My fault!? How is this my fault? If I don't even know why we're cuffed!," he defended his innocence.

The police men dragged them to a cell, shoving them inside with some other prisoners, unintentionally putting them inside with some buff scaring looking men instead of the cell full of classmates their same age that was place literally next to them.

"What're you two in for," an asian man; buff with big arms that could squash a watermelon, a scar half spread in his mouth, asked.

Cartman acted it out, as if everthing was cool and chill not him pissing himself inside cause he knew his bitch of a mom will ground him by taking the little spending rights he had, "Oh you know, the typical, manslaughter and stuff.."

The men there blinked now avoiding their gazes at them, believing that crap not wanting to get involved.

Kyle roll his eyes annoyed by Cartman's stupidity, both now sitting in the cold cemented bench looking bed.

It's not like they haven't been in jail before, Kyle rested his cheek on his hand, bored. Time went on and they notice how some policemen dragged another couple of children to the cell next door, still not giving them the explanation they needed.

Eventually leading them to play rock paper scissors as they waited.

"Kyle!," he heard his dad speak from behind the cell.

"Dad!," Kyle eyes lighten, as both boys stood up walking towards the cell door.

"Eric!," Liane screamed behind Gerald, as she approached the pair behind bars.

"Mom!," Cartman beamed relieved, holding tight on some bars.

"Your mother and I were worried sick, PC principal called and told us what happened," the man explained now looking at the boys, who demanded an explanation.

"Dad, we really didn't do anything," Kyle spoke, eager to get out.

"I'm afraid it's gonna be hard to say this to you boys but.." Liane began crying as Gerald hold on to her shoulder for comfort.

"What?, what happened!?," Kyle asked, now more eager and desperate.

"You two got an F on your project, and you're grounded young man," Gerald firmly stated, now hands place on his hip scolding the redhead.

"WHAT," they both exclaimed.

Kyle angry as hell and Cartman, well he found it unfair but at the same time he wasn't too faze from it.

"That's not possible, PC principal told us we passed with an A," Kyle declared, gritted teeth, as he gripped harshly the bars and started shaking it pinning his unbearable anger on to it, "our kid is literal a basketball player what else did he expected us to do!?."

"Damn, Kahal, chill," Cartman placed his hand on his shoulder,

"Don't. TOUCH. Me," he spat venomous, still glaring at his father, cursing internally the principal for wasting his damn time.

Cartman slowly moved his hand away, looking at both the adults there in pleading help, cause he knew, if they were left alone Kyle will snap at him.

"Yeah, about that. They found Moisha in an alleyway, he was dead by overdosing with heroine."

"Jesus christ," Cartman blurt out.

"That's exactly why you're charged for negligence and second degree murder. And considering this all happened before the deadline you're grading flunked aswell."

"We didn't know he'd overdose with heroine, we thought he'd be living the dream life as some rich douche," Cartman explained.

"Yeah, but considering Moisha was a minor and a public figure, and you two, as his parents were irresponsible enough to leave your son go alone to who knows where, it's you're responsibility to take the charge," Gerald explained finalized.

"How long are we gonna be in here?," Kyle asked, now more calmed.

"Three weeks of juvenile prison, with the extra charges of negligence; two weeks of community service and force volunteering at the elderly hospital for a week."

Both boy's leaned their faces against the cell bars in disbelief and horror, "Jesus christ," They cursed out loud.

°°°°

Hour in and they were now moved in to a actual prison, luckily for them they were separated to a cell that was empty far from the actual prisoners cause, y'know, they were actually sent in because of some project not some actual crime. Well they did consider it with Eric, as he had a lot of crimes he was never charge for but they shrugged it off because they did not want to grasp on to that big file of paperwork they had to do.

It was pretty much meaningless as they still shared lunch break, patio hours, chore duties and visiting hour with them. But atleast they had the comfort of sleeping with out worrying some prisoner will cut their throat out.

"Homos," some prisoner call them out as they were passed to the lunch room, and the guy was pushed harshly from the guard.

They were targeted for being in there for no actual good reason but some dead doll, and because they were a so called 'couple' during the project for.

The red head sighed defeated, atleast he was grateful for not being put in the same building as Trent Boyett. Dragging himself twoards the table alongside Cartman.

"How long has it been?," Cartman asked with half lidded eyes, poking his tray with a plastic spoon.

"Three days," He responded nonchalant, as he also played with his food, far from hungry.

This was not exactly what they had warned them for, it was way worse. Barbready was probably just in town asking the other students who saved themselves from this type of punishment just by picking up some axes and chopping up some wood, tied up with a rope from their feet, singing along some stupid song as the cop carelessly drank beer.

They were literally in prison, among actual criminals.

Cartman was shoved by some big brunette dude.

"Owe!," he blurted out, rubbing his arm.

"Owe~ the poor fat baby is gonna cry cause the big scarwy bully gave him a wee wee?," he mocked taunting, as some other prisoners joined in with laughter.

"Aye!," Kyle threatened, letting his pin up anger loose, "you better quit it before I actually fuck the shit out of you," he warned.

The boy chuckled, "oweee? Upset that I hurt your butt buddy? Look how scared I am," the boy continued taunting.

Cartman eyes widen, bewildered, looking at the boy then at Kyle; knowingly.

Cartman wince as Kyle launched himself twoards the boy beating him up and starting a whole fight in the cafeteria, many prisoners joining in as they fought against each other. Cartman kept on eating as he glance at his redheaded friend beating the shit out some other two prisoners there, lashing all his anger out on them.

Considering it was an all out fight, they were all punished equally, two weeks with no visiting hours, goddammit Kyle.

Atleast the teasing and slurs lessen after that, seemingly everyone was scared of Kyle. Earning the nickname; 'red beast', Cartman unwillingly had to accept being called 'red's bitch'.

He knitted a lace bracelet as Kyle was sent to mop the bathroom floors, so he was practically alone in their cell.

"Hey red's bitch!."

He heard a prisoner call out, he stopped knitting his bracelet and looked from behind his cell.

It was a black haired dude with tanned skin.

"What." He spat angrily, not caring to offend anyone there, no one dared messing with him anymore.

"How long will it'll take for your call?."

"Why?," he asked suspiciously.

"Do me a favor and call my mom for me," He asked.

"And whats in it for me?," there were no so called 'favors' in prisons, that's what he had learned the first time he was sent to juvie.

"I'll give you two strings a red and green, they're new my mom just sent them not long ago. I need to know if my sisters are doing alright," He pleaded.

Cartman hesitated, "hmm.. alright, those strings do sound tempting. Alright give me the number, your name and the strings, and tomorrow I'll call her."

"Sweet," He heard the prisoner blurt out as he went further in his cell searching for just that.

As that day ceased, Cartman now found himself making a small keychain, he's developed a little bit of insomnia since he's got there but that was okay he distracted himself just knitting bracelets, he figured it could be the change of place, maybe even a little bit homesick. He turned to look at Kyle who was already fast a sleep, then he looked at the strings that were traded to him, he had placed in the ground with not much intention to use them so soon. But he contemplated the colors; red and green.. it reminded him so much about them, maybe because his favorite color is red; and green just reminded him of Kyle, that he did not know, or maybe he refused to acknowledge it.

And in less then seconds, he left half done his keychain to the side, picking up the strings and began knitting a string bracelet. He's always liked doing these type of crafts, they were entertaining and somewhat stress relieving. He also like the variety of colors he could use, and the diffrent techniques and things he could make. Ofcourse he'll never admit it to anyone, cause of how gay it sounds.

"Cartman?," he heard Kyle spoke, half awake.

He looked at him for brief seconds before continuing knitting, "Hmm?."

"You're still awake? you should try to atleast get some sleep, it's almost four of the morning, you know after that you can't drag your ass to bed," Kyle reminded him, he's been tracking his sleeping schedule like some bitchy mother.

"I know, asswipe, but I'm not tired," He groaned, as he now messed up a pattern and have to backtrack.

"Dude, stop doing that and get some sleep," he stated annoyed, more like an order than a suggestion.

Cartman continued to ignore him as he finished his bracelet. Kyle sat down now no longer tired, as he walked towards Cartman's and sat next to him, contemplated the bracelet in hand.

"Okay, fatass what's with all this shit?."

"What you mean?," Cartman act out like he didn't know what he meant, tying the final knot on his bracelet.

With a flat expression, Kyle gesture the pile of bracelets, keychains, little hats, little crocheted animals and flowers.

"I mean, I'm not gonna deny you're actually really good at it..," Kyle admitted, as Cartman looked at him surprised, "but, don't you think it's a little excessive? It seems like you're using it as some sorta copping mechanism."

Cartman gulped nervously, now looking at the bracelet in hand.

They sat there in silence as Cartman didn't find a answer to that, he bit his lip, as he reached out for Kyle's hand, startling him.

Kyle reluctantly let him grab him, as he cautiously looked at Cartman tying the bracelet on to his wrist, his heart pounded uncontrollably as he felt his breathing become heavy.

Cartman slowly moved back, now staring at him, "i- I just think it's a fun way to distract yourself while being bored in the big house y'know," he said casually, avoiding his gaze.

"Right..," Kyle answered back, as he kept looking at the bracelet tied on his wrist. He liked the pick of colors, they complemented well together.

"Y'know what? I think I'm going to sleep," Cartman blurted out nervously as he layyed down and turned around facing away from Kyle.

Kyle took this a signal to move, he went to his bed, smiling lightly as he kept looking at the bracelet.

'Wake up everybody' a police officer pass by with coffee in hand, banging their cells.

"Goddammit," Kyle heard Cartman cursed out, he snorted because he did warned him.

Two weeks in and finally they were allowed to get visits, sadly in this prison they didn't allowed friends to visit them but family was a okay thing to go.

For Kyle's dismay he was also visited by his cousin Kyle, they were the most painful hours of his life, and worse, he couldn't leaving until visiting hours were done.

He'd looked at Cartman, seemingly chatting with his mom, and his cousin Elvin that decided to pay a visit to Liane as she was in distress by Cartman's absence, also joining her for family visits.

Atleast Cartman's cousin wasn't as annoying than his.

He frowned as he listened to his cousin rant about his allergies then about the risk of disease that he could get being in a prison, and being butt raped. He rolled his eyes, as the only things he's done here was just craft shitty string jewelry and play in the yard. Nothing too extreme besides the fight from two weeks ago and some contraband that happened in another cell.

He wished Stan and Kenny could visit them, atleast they could crack some jokes and have a couple of laughs before entering the cells. The only worries he had right now, was just being able to get back home.

As days go on, now ended the last week, they were finally released from prison. But then shoved straight to community service, so they were sent to some dorms near by the prison still not allowed in south park until they finish their time.

They were forced to sweep the front of the prison, behind it, then pick up the trash and littering there, also feed the dogs; he remembered how one in particular bit Cartman's ass and he was howling in laughter by that. It was torturous sometimes cause the sun was beaming hot, and they felt sweat up in their ass. Sometimes they were even assigned to organize some papers there, picking up the supplies for the inmates and discarding some boxes just as taking them out from a truck.

Technically becoming their free janitors/staff.

But atleast they weren't in prison.

My god, he would've preferred prison over wiping a old man's butt crack and dick. Anything but serving for a hospital for elderly, he scrubbed so many wieners he had lost count.

You'd be surprised how many times some old grandpas had tried to force their way on him, grasping on his hair and trying to pin him down twoards their wrinkling hairy damn wiener while he was trying to bathe them. It's not like the nurses didn't warned them before hand, but who knew there was alot of groping, sexual harassment and excessive use of racist slurs in the elderly home?

He'd screamed for the aid of other nurses almost every three hours. Though Cartman seemed to had it harder than him, as some old folks liked to tease him for his big ass, some daring enough to smack it and grab it. He remembered how some of the nurses hold on to Cartman preventing him from starting a fight with a man who had alzheimer.

After finally, a month and a half, they were finally free.

They literally sobbed with joy holding on to each other grasping their freedom, as if they still couldn't believe it.

°°°°

"KYLE!," Stan screamed excitedly as they came out from the bus.

Kyle hugged Stan as Kenny chimed in. Kenny then let go heading twoards Cartman who was just silently watching the whole thing unfold. He hugged him tight making Cartman complained by the immense pressure 'hey, fatboy how was prison' not really expecting a answer.

"Eric!," they heard another voice chimed in, as Butters ran twoards them, wrapping his arms on to Cartman, who unintentionally walked backwards by the sudden weight and force.

"Dude, these past weeks have been so boring with out you guys," Kenny admitted, "like, I never thought I'd be missing Cartman with just a week in."

"Aye!," Cartman blurted out, as Stan hugged him from the side resting his head in his shoulder for brief seconds before letting go.

Butters pat Kyle's back, "miss you too buddy."

Kyle responded with a warm smile and a slight nod.

Cartman yawned heavily as he stretched his back dramatically, "well, see yah losers, I'm going home," he stated before walking off.

"So soon?, you just got here!," Kenny annoyingly commented as he chased after him with Butters tagging along besides him.

"Well, I guess there is something I can agree on with fatass, I'm exhausted and I just wanna head straight back home," The redhead admitted also stretching his back before walking his way.

Stan chuckled as he joined him, understanding his lack of energy, walking him home. As he kept him up to date of what's been going on and what they missed in their absence.

Prev — Next

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

I hope you take this as the compliment it is intended to be, but you strike the same chord of irreverence-as-love, jokes-to-showcase-sencerity that I get from Chuck Tingle, and I adore both of you.

You have bestowed the greatest honour upon me.

[superprofesh]

The Five Times Colt Seavers Almost Kisses You (and the One Time He Does) — Part 1

Pairing: Colt Seavers x reader

Description: The first time Colt Seavers almost kisses you — on set, with lots of paint involved.

Rating: T

Word Count: 2.1k

Tag List: let me know if you want to join! :)​

Author’s Note: This is part 1 of what I hope will be a six-part series, but it can be read as a stand-alone too. I am so obsessed with Colt right now that I can't even see straight, so just take this and do whatever you want with it!

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 

The first time Colt Seavers almost kisses you, you’re not sure it actually happened.

You’ve been on set for about two months now, and your job as set decorator for the biggest action thriller of the decade has ended up being way more challenging than you expected. Every day, it’s a new demand from the director — more realistic graffiti, more subtle light fixtures, more beat-up furniture. It’s going to look amazing, but you’re exhausted just thinking about another day of smearing grime on the set walls by hand.

The one bright spot of every day is Colt Seavers. He’s the best stuntman in Hollywood, so naturally he’s been recruited to perform stunts for almost every scene in the movie. Watching him get thrown against walls, riddled with bullets, and dropped from dizzying heights is heart-pounding for you, but nothing gets your heart pounding as hard as when he leans a little too close to you, so close you can see the dusty brown of his eyelashes against his soot-stained skin.

“Nice sign,” Colt quips, dropping onto the picnic table seat next to you. You’re hand-painting a bright-red Do Not Disturb sign for the next scene, and you barely manage to keep from smearing the paint when you whirl to face him. “Is it for your trailer door?”

You give him a mock glare, laughter slipping through the edges. “Very funny. It just so happens that you’ll be kicking this sign in half in tomorrow’s scene, so show a little respect.”

Colt’s eyes sparkle at your words, all his attention focused on you. He leans forward on one elbow, the other reaching up to ruffle the dust out of his hair. “Wow, a handmade prop just for me to kick in half?” He grins, inclining his head in a mock bow. “I’m honored.”

You can’t hide your return grin, or the blush rising under your skin at his close proximity. Colt always has this effect on you — never pushing the limits to make you uncomfortable, just taking up space with you in a way that steals your breath.

“What’s this?” you ask, using your free hand to tug on the shoulder of his fireproof vest. One side is seriously singed, close enough to his skin to set you to worrying.

Colt shrugs, flashing you a crooked smile that makes his left eye crinkle. “Little pyrotechnics mishap,” he informs you casually, brushing imaginary dust off his arm and onto you. You roll your eyes at him playfully. “Ray got a little overexcited with the stun grenades.”

“What?” You can’t keep the concern from slipping into your voice, even though you try to disguise it behind a joking tone. “You’re working with real stun grenades now?”

“Well, yeah,” he says, as if it should be obvious. “It’s only a stunt if it’s real, you know?”

You narrow your eyes, cocking your head to one side. “I think that’s the opposite of how it works, actually.”

Colt just laughs at that, the golden rays of the setting sun turning his tanned skin golden. His smile is warm and directed entirely at you, heating up the blush in your cheeks again. You turn your eyes back to your painting to keep from completely giving yourself away.

These past few months have been both paradise and torture for you. You thought you could hide your crush easily enough — it’s not like you haven’t done that before. But with Colt, it’s different. He sees through your stoic facades and teases out your laughter, searches for ways to make you smile even on your bad days. Whether it’s pulling a goofy face at you from his rig or remembering that you like sour cream in your soup, Colt has found some new way to surprise you every day that you’ve known him.

The thing is, you’re not sure if he’s actually interested in you or just being flirtatious. Misinterpreting the signals would be awkward and painful for you at this point, so you’ve decided that he’s just going to have to make the first move. You’re too old to play middle-school games with him.

Even if he does give you middle-school butterflies all over again.

You don’t realize that you’ve been lost in your thoughts until you notice that Colt has imperceptibly moved closer to your side, peering over your shoulder as you put the finishing touches on the purposely-sloppy sign.

“So I kick the sign in half tomorrow,” he says softly, his husky voice in your ear sending goosebumps over your skin. “What happens if we have to do another take?”

You risk a glance over your shoulder at him, letting a coy smile slip. “Do you really think this is the only one I’ve done?”

Colt just lifts his eyebrows at you and smiles, returning his eyes to the sign in your hands. Colt has a way of burning you up just with his gaze, and you can’t help breathing an inner sigh of relief every time he focuses his attention elsewhere. Concentrating on anything when he’s looking at you is impossible.

“You know, I could definitely give you some pointers on set design sometime,” he mutters, as if he’s genuinely musing on the thought. You know he’s warming up for a joke, so you let him continue, hiding your smile while he watches over your shoulder. “I have tons of experience in your department.”

“Oh, really?” You grab your black paint and begin the focused task of sprinkling the sign with the darker color for a realistic touch. Realism is the key to making memorable set designs, and you’ve mastered the technique.

“Mm-hmm.” You feel the murmur reverberate in his throat when he leans forward, resting his chin on your shoulder while you lightly dab your paintbrush in your paint bottle. Your heart skips at least three beats when you feel his hair tickling the side of your neck, his eyes still locked on the sign as if he’s studying it. Does he really not know what he’s doing to you, or is he doing it on purpose?

You try to keep your hands steady while you feel his chest rise and fall against your shoulder. Struggling to hide the tremor in your voice, you tease, “What could I improve about this piece, then? I can always use an expert opinion.”

He tilts his head to the side, his chin still resting on your shoulder. You can feel the bristly stubble on his cheeks now. It’s an oddly comforting sensation, one that forces every bit of your self-control to the brink in order to keep yourself from moving your face to the side and nuzzling your cheek against his. You feel his face move slightly as his mouth turns up into a smile.

“If you really want some advice…” he begins, lifting one hand up to trace the edge of your sign.

“Careful,” you warn him, “that’s wet paint.”

Colt doesn’t even get close to smudging your paint, but that doesn’t stop you from lifting your free hand to rest on his wrist, holding it in place while you set your paint bottle down. Colt stills at your touch, and your heart accelerates again at the gentle way his fingertips rest on the edge of your sign.

He lets the moment hang in the air between you for a moment, then comments, “I was just going to suggest a nice artist’s signature. See this big gap right here between Not and Disturb? Your name should go there in big red letters.” You’re already swatting his hand away playfully as his serious tone devolves into snickers. “Just like Bob Ross does on TV.”

“You are so ridiculous,” you laugh, glad to feel the tension slipping out of the atmosphere. Colt lifts his chin off your shoulder now, his hair brushing your earlobe as he does.

“No, it would look perfect,” he insists, his eyes sparkling as his smirk widens. “And then I can aim right for your name when I kick it in half tomorrow.”

He laughs out loud when you slam the sign down on the picnic table surface in mock irritation, your grin making your amusement at his joke obvious. The slam sends a few drops of the black paint from your brush flying up, spattering your jawline.

You reach for a dry rag nearby, still grinning as you prepare to respond, but Colt stops you with a hand on your arm. “Allow me,” he says seriously, placing your hand back into your lap and raising his other hand to the side of your face. You freeze in place, unprepared for the wave of emotion that washes over you when Colt touches the side of your jaw softly.

His eyes are still sparkling with humor, and you know he’s about to do something to make you laugh, but you can’t help the feeling that sweeps through your heart when you’re face to face with him, one of his hands holding yours on your lap and the other just beginning to cradle your face. It feels so gentle, so intimate, so right, and your heart aches as you realize that there is no going back from the feelings you’re developing for Colt Seavers.

He hesitates for a split second, his hand hoving on your jaw for practically no time at all, but it feels like a lifetime to you. You watch his dark blue eyes as they dart down to look at your lips, flitting back up just as quickly to latch onto your eyes with a stare that could melt diamonds.

Then the corner of his mouth turns up again into his usual smirk, and he strokes his thumb across your jaw to smear the black paint up the side of your face.

“Now,” he offers, “don’t you think you look more realistic?”

He dissolves into laughter as you reach up and feel the streaks of black now smudged across your face. You immediately reach past him to dip your fingers in your bottle of red paint, giving him a mischievous grin as you slather three fingers’ worth of paint across his nose and cheeks. The combination of his semi-shocked expression and the ridiculousness of his painted face pushes you over the edge into another fit of laughter.

“You’re the one who will be on camera,” you retort, smiling wider than you can remember doing in a long time. “Shouldn’t you be the one who’s realistic?”

“Touché,” he acknowledges playfully, rubbing his face and only succeeded in smearing the red paint further across his face. “Though I doubt Tom Ryder is going to accept any glimpses of my face on camera, so I won’t even have to wash this off.”

You impulsively reach up and drag your fingertip through the splotch of paint on his cheek, resisting the urge to draw a heart and settling on a simple smiley face instead. His own smile resurfaces at that, eyes twinkling as they stay locked on yours.

“If you keep it until tomorrow, you’ll match my sign,” you muse, trying to lighten the atmosphere, which has suddenly grown a bit more intense now that Colt’s gaze is focused on you again.

He doesn’t look away, doesn’t play it off, doesn’t do anything that you expect from him. His breathing seems to slow down, while yours feels like it takes off in a flurry of movement. Colt doesn’t make a move to touch you, but you can feel the distance between the two of you closing infinitesimally.

You’ve never noticed the flecks of silver-gray in his eyes, or the almost-invisible smattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose, or the ragged cut of his hair right beside his ears. Even the brilliant red streak only serves to bring out the golden tones of his skin, the swirls of blonde in his hair. Every detail of his face seems vivid, as if you’re seeing him for the first time.

His eyes seem to drink you in, too, traveling over every inch of your face before stopping on your lips again. This time, though, he doesn’t flick his eyes back up. Words escape you, as do any coherent thoughts. This is it. He’s actually going to kiss me. This is real.

“Seavers, on set, ASAP.”

The squawk of his walkie-talkie shatters the intense moment, and both of you release a breath that felt like it had been held for an hour. Colt swallows, smoothes his hand over his beard, turns to slip the walkie back into his pocket. You turn back to your painted sign quickly, trying to regain some composure.

Uncharacteristically, Colt doesn’t speak as he stands and turns to walk back to the filming set. He does, however, glance back at you the moment you lift your eyes to watch him walk away. Your heart is still hammering, recovering from his closeness to you.

With a wordless smile, he reaches up, swipes a bit of red paint off his face, and presses it onto the tip of your nose in the shape of his fingerprint. Then he walks away.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 

Part 2

[thefrogdalorian]

Ner Aliit

Din Djarin x GN!Reader

Summary: Travelling through the galaxy in the Razor Crest with a formidable Mandalorian is a harsh, unforgiving life. The feelings you have developed for him as you soar through the stars together have mitigated the unpleasant aspects. Still, you know it can't last. After all, you and Din are from different worlds. He follows a strict Creed and you know that you do not have what it takes to be Mandalorian.

Journeying with the best bounty hunter in the parsec has often brought you face to face with danger. It has never fazed you before. Until one day you come face to face with danger without Din's reassuring presence at your side, and everything changes.

Word Count: 5.4k ✯ Rating:  Teen ✯ Content Warnings: Canon typical violence, reader kills someone with a blaster in self defence (Nothing is described in graphic detail) and subsequently deals with anxiety/panic attacks.  ✯ Author's Note: Today is four years since I watched Mando for the first time so I wrote this to celebrate! Inspired by a little daydream I had while looking at my own Mythosaur necklace. It's an AU where Din never had Grogu but still had shiny beskar, allow it ahah. Really hope you enjoyed it, thanks for reading! 🤍

✯ My Masterlist ✯ Read on AO3 ✯

You can already tell from how Din’s footsteps thud a little heavier than usual against the ramp that something has angered him during his latest hunt. Perhaps he will share what precisely has troubled him later when you hurtle through hyperspace towards Nevarro. For now, you head towards the door, ready to help Din haul his latest bounty into the antiquated ship you call home.

Except, the man who stands before you is not Din Djarin.

Instead of the gleaming beskar you had been expecting to greet you on the ramp, a gloomy silhouette moves into view. There is something far darker about your presence than the man you had expected to see. It is not just the grimy, worn clothes he wears that send a shiver down your spine. Nor the way his beady eyes bore into you. They are sunken in his wizened face with a look of pure malice which sickens you to the pit of your stomach.

You are initially so shocked by the fact that the man standing before you is not Din, your eyes frantically examining the features of this stranger, that you almost fail to notice the weapon aimed at you.

Your heart skips a beat when you notice that the man is holding a blaster up at you. He stands unmoving, with his long, grungy fingers curled around the dark handle. The gesture sends a shiver down your spine. However, there is something even more terrifying than the reality of having a blaster aimed squarely in your direction. 

It is the expression on his face.

His glare is unrelenting in his coldness as his finger hovers over the trigger. You do not doubt for one moment that he will pull it.

Throughout your life, you have been exposed to danger many times, even before you met Din. Such brushes with death only increased when you started travelling through the galaxy with a bounty hunter. It was to be expected, of course. You think of the numerous occasions when you witnessed Din becoming embroiled in terrible binds and scrapes while you sat back and watched the carnage unfold. At first, you had been terrified by such violence. Now, you have come to expect it.

Perhaps before you met Din and began travelling with him, someone holding a blaster at you and gazing at you with such viciousness as the man before you would have been utterly petrifying.

However, it seems that the best bounty hunter in the parsec has somewhat hardened you to the realities of the galaxy. 

After the initial shock, you feel yourself accepting your current predicament with remarkable quickness. You assess the man's vulnerabilities and weak points, as Din once trained you to do. You notice a slight quake in his hand, the greyness of his scraggly beard and unkempt, greasy hair. He is not invincible. Soon, the terror you initially felt is replaced with anger; a simmering feeling in your gut as you are incredulous at the audacity of this man to threaten your life in this manner. You are furious at his attempt to intrude into your and Din's safe refuge like this. You are disgusted by him.

You have encountered plenty of unsavoury characters throughout your travels across the galaxy with Din. This pathetic coward does not faze you.

"Where is he?" the man finally speaks. His voice is gruff, his tone sharper than you imagined. It matches his wizened, wrinkly face, seemingly hardened by the decades of experience he undoubtedly possesses.

“Who?” you ask, feigning ignorance.

You know that the man will not buy your plea of ignorance regarding The Mandalorian. Yet, your act will buy you a few precious seconds to execute your plan. Plus, the more you converse with the man, the higher the chance his nerve may waver and that his sympathy for you might increase as you humanise yourself. You hope that by talking to him, his determination to mow you down in cold blood may decrease.

“Don’t play with me and give me a story full of bantha crap,” the man snarls, jabbing the blaster towards you, "I know you know where he is."

“I’m sorry,” you respond apologetically.

You know you must diffuse the situation and undo the damage you have caused with your blatant lies. Without hesitation, you raise your hands in a submissive gesture. Then, when the man does not take issue with a simple movement, you begin backing away from him. Fortunately, he lets you go. You can barely contain your grin as you know what you have in store for him.

Unknowingly, this man is playing right into your hands. 

This old rogue may have thought he could get the upper hand on The Mandalorian by returning to his ship and threatening his travelling companion. Unfortunately, he has underestimated the advantage you gain from knowing the Razor Crest inside out, including all of this old ship's quirks.

When you are satisfied both by the distance you have placed between you and your assailant and your relative proximity to the control panel, which is the key to your plan's success, you fake a stumble backwards. Your hand collides with the button that, when depressed, rapidly releases a cloud of pressurised gas into the hull. The jets that shoot out of the walls soon fill the Razor Crest and form a temporary barrier between you and the man that obscures you from his view. The distraction gives you just enough time to grab a blaster from Din’s workbench and aim it towards your surprise visitor. 

Then, without really consciously thinking about the consequences, you squeeze the trigger.

The sickening thud of the man’s body hitting the floor is the last sound you hear before you retreat up the ladder to the cockpit and seal yourself inside behind the secure door. You are pretty sure he will no longer prove a threat to you, but you have no desire to stick around and find out for definite. The reinforced door will provide sufficient protection, hopefully long enough for Din to return. 

Given that someone managed to reach the Razor Crest and callously threaten your life, you cannot imagine that Din will be far away. If the man has accomplices, you do not doubt Din's capability to take them out before he returns to ensure your safety.

Yet, as the minutes pass by Din is nowhere to be seen.

You are unsure how long you sit on the hard floor with your back to the door, trembling as you sit there. At first, the tremors that have overtaken your body may well be thanks to the frigid metal. Its coolness certainly does not help. As the adrenaline wears off and the realisation of what has just transpired dawns on you, you rapidly become reduced to a jittery, trembling wreck. 

Your state of mind following the skirmish is made worse by the paranoia which overtakes you. 

Initially your primary concern is for your own safety. You brace yourself for the companions of the man whose body lies below you to barge in and finish the job their ringleader started. You wonder which weapons they may possess. 

Would you try to fight them off, or should you flee?

You wonder whether you could even begin the launch sequence of the Razor Crest and fly away in search of Din. He has attempted to teach you how to fly the ship for emergencies such as this, but to your presently terrified brain, the dashboard looks like a confusing conundrum of buttons.

At the first thought of him wandering through the forests which cover the planet’s surface, your overactive imagination now runs away with the worst scenarios of what could be happening right this instant, elsewhere on this planet. 

Visions of the Mandalorian you love, lying in a ditch somewhere on this forest-covered planet, injured and frightened after being ambushed by the same band of dastardly scoundrels overwhelm your senses.

The fear that Din will never return to you, that the depth of your feelings towards him will remain unsaid forever, shatters you. 

You are unsure how long you sit there. Each creak and noise of the ship, noises that you are usually so familiar with and accustomed to now work against you, startling you each time. It is a constant cycle of alarm as your breathing rate picks up and your pulse rate thunders in your ears each time there is a faint thud. You feel your resolve draining with each disturbance.

So when you hear the sound of the Razor Crest's ramp whirring as it lowers to the ground, you barely have the energy to react. Instead, you are relieved that you are now seconds away from meeting your ultimate fate. One way or another, you will finally be put out of your misery. Whoever enters the Razor Crest will not be met with much fight from you, whatever their intentions.

When you hear footsteps this time, you believe that the thuds are indeed the familiar rhythmic, certain sounds of your favourite bounty hunter. Until you lay eyes upon him, however, you will not allow yourself to believe that fact.

Fortunately for your anguished soul, you get confirmation of Din’s return before ever laying eyes upon him. 

“Cyare?” Din calls, his deep voice cuts through the ship up to the cockpit where you continue to cower in the cockpit, “Are you alright?”

You are so relieved to hear him that you could almost burst into tears. Before that happens, you must give him some acknowledgement that you were unharmed in the skirmish.

“I’m up here in the cockpit, Din,” you respond, alarmed at how your voice trembles as the adrenaline has worn off, “I’m alright.”

You push yourself up on shaky limbs to stand and prepare to reunite with the man you have grown so close to. You aren't entirely sure when it happened, falling in love with Din. You certainly never intended it, nor did you imagine that the aloof bounty hunter who was so stoic and barely spoke could reveal himself to have such a beautiful soul beneath his cold, metallic armour. Yet, somewhere along the way, as you hurtled through hyperspace together, you did fall in love with Din. 

It was not one moment but rather a collection of smaller fragments which, when pieced together, form the warmth that spreads in your chest each time you think of Din. It has been the late-night conversations sitting in the red leather chairs of the cockpit, reminiscing on your past lives. The ability that Din possesses in never failing to make you laugh. Even on days when you feel despondent. It is how considerate Din is of you; he never fails to check on your well-being and ascertain whether you can handle one more job or whether you should return to Nevarro for a few days of rest.

All of those moments and more contributed to your present feelings for Din.

You realised how deeply you cared for him when you first noticed your overwhelming desire to please him. The fact that, without even realising it, you had learnt how he liked his ration packs prepared even if you could never enjoy a meal together, given the helmet restriction. You realised that you had attentively watched how Din polished his weapons and studied how he stored them so that you could alleviate some stress when he returned from another hunt and needed to rest. You have noticed that, even though your lives are in many ways different, you both retain the same core values and principles. Honesty, integrity and loyalty are traits you both hold dear.

Only moments ago, it had crushed you to think you would never get to enjoy such moments with Din again.

Now, you stand here, practically bursting with joy as you realise you will soon be back with the man whose presence you yearn to always be in. You can hear his feet hitting the rungs of the ladder that leads up to the cockpit and take a deep breath to steady yourself, even though your entire body quivers with the last dregs of adrenaline and the anticipation of seeing Din again.

The door opens. The familiar glint of the Beskar you had been expecting to see earlier finally comes into view, soothing your nerves instantly. Din surges towards you. You barely have time to react before his arms are around you. He brings a gloved hand up to your chin, holding your face in one hand while he secures his other arm snugly around your waist. You are grateful that he is holding you so tightly. Without his strong arms, you are unconvinced whether you could remain vertical. 

“Oh, cyare," Din exhales, his voice trembling under the weight of his emotions. "I was so worried when I saw the body down there. What in Maker’s name happened here?” Din asks, deep voice full of concern.

“I heard footsteps that I assumed were yours, but when I got there, the door opened. You weren't there, Din. I was so scared," you confess, your voice trembling too.

"Dank farrik!" Din harshly exclaims. You startle in response, and he tightens his hold around you, bringing your chest flush to the cold metal of his armour, before apologetically adding, "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to scare you."

"It's okay, Din," you whisper in reassurance.

"Forgive me for my outburst. I was just frustrated that I couldn't be there for you. The same group, I assume, ambushed me. It took me a while to fight them off. I should have been here," Din shakes his head, "Anyway, do you want to tell me about what happened?"

You nod, your bottom lip trembling. You take some breaths to steady your nerves as you try your best to ignore your reflection in Din's helmet. If you pause for too long and perceive how fragile and broken you appear, you know you will crumble entirely.

"Well, I stepped up to the top of the ramp expecting to see you. Instead, that man was standing there. He held a blaster up at me. I was so scared that he was going to shoot," you squeak, voice barely above a whisper now. Din moves his hands up and down your back in soothing motions, comforting you enough to continue: "I managed to distract him enough to retreat with my hands up. Then I pretended to stumble and push the button on the control panel, which discharged the pressurised gas. It gave me the cover to grab your blaster on the workbench. And then, well, you saw...” you squeak out as you feel hot tears trail down your cheeks.

You permit yourself to fall apart now, knowing that Din is here to pick your pieces up and place you back together. He brings a hand to your cheek, wiping your tears away with his gloved fingers. A smile ghosts across your lips at the sensation of the buttery texture against your skin.

“You did so well, cyare,” Din whispers. "I promise you, you're safe now. No one will hurt you," he adds soothingly.

Din brings your head into his cowl. He gathers you to him and protects you from the anguish. From this position, you can faintly feel the warmth which emanates from the man beneath the beskar through the coarse yet soft material. The dark brown material is a sharp contrast to the hard, coldness of his armour, a sliver of humanity amongst the many facets of the formidable Mandalorian warrior. You never feel safer or more protected than when Din takes you into his arms and holds you close. The relief is immediate, but it does not stop the emotional outburst. Tears continue to stream down your face.

“I was so scared Din,” you manage out between the sobs that have suddenly overwhelmed your fragile state of mind.

“I know, I know. But I’m so proud of you,” Din says.

His ordinarily steady voice trembles with emotion except when he emphasises how proud he is of you. To know that Din Djarin himself is proud of you makes your chest ache with joy. You have made this strong, stoic warrior proud. It makes your head swim with glee. Yet, it only adds to the myriad of emotions which overwhelm your trembling body.

Din holds you close, but you cannot stop crying. The embarrassment you feel at your outburst further contributes to your distress. The tears flow in earnest now, Din’s cowl surely becoming damp with the moisture that has escaped your swollen, irritated eyes.

“Shhhhh my love, ner kar'ta,” Din soothes as he rocks you, “You’re safe now. I've got you. You’re safe.” 

With his comforting words and the way Din holds you, your sniffles eventually subside. Still, Din holds you until you can barely stand anymore.

When you can stand no longer, when your body finally succumbs to the emotional toll of the day, Din is there to coax you into moving. Somehow, 

Din manages to skillfully manoeuvre you into descending the ladder. You are too tired to question quite how it happens. The next thing you know, you are tucked up in the bunk. There is barely enough room for Din, yet he manages to lie beside you, holding you until you drift off.

Finally, you allow yourself to fall into the warm embrace of sleep…

✯✯✯

You remain confined to your bunk for most of the return trip to Nevarro. The skirmish took its toll on you. In your lethargicness, you struggle to have the energy to do anything other than sleep. Din is patient and attentive with you, taking care of all the maintenance jobs and meal preparation that you usually assist with.

Yet, it is not just the stress of events and the inescapable fact that you have claimed your first life which weighs on your mind. It is trying to figure out what the future looks like for you and Din. 

You have never met anyone like him. He is intelligent, caring and skilled in anything he turns his hand to. He provides for you. Since you began travelling together, you have wanted for nothing physically or spiritually. Din is diligent and attentive, always on hand to pick you up if things prove too much. He makes you laugh like you never have with anyone else you have met. Until your ribs ache and your cheeks hurt from grinning. You think of the hours spent together sitting in the red chairs of the cockpit as the blues and silvers of hyperspace streak outside the windows, illuminating Din's armour in a way that leaves you mesmerised.

When you first started travelling with Din, you were sceptical that you would ever grow close to a man who kept so much of himself a mystery. His face was hidden behind a helmet and you knew him only as Mando. How could you ever form a bond with someone so elusive?

Now, you understand that you do not need to see a person's face to know them entirely. There is no doubt that you completely understand who the man underneath the beskar is. You trust Din Djarin with everything you have. 

Although it took him long enough to honour you with knowing that name, now you speak it often. While he vows that he will know yours eternally, for it is the Mandalorian way to say, “I love you.”

You cannot imagine your life without him. 

However, as much as you care for Din and are certain he cares for you in return, you know you will never have what it takes to become Mandalorian. It is why you have held back from your feelings, never permitting yourself to return the sweet words and affectionate nicknames. Your destinies lie in opposite directions. You will never be truly worthy of his love.

It is a thought that leaves you thoroughly despondent as you lie in the bunk. If you are this distressed after taking a life in self-defence, how would you ever be able to participate in his culture, his identity, which is so dear to him?

Without that fighting spirit within you, you are sure you would never be able to be Mandalorian. Without being Mandalorian, it will be impossible for Din to build a life with you.

Whatever relationship the two of you have is more than likely fleeting. You will part when it becomes apparent that you are too fundamentally different to prove a compatible pairing. You know that. 

Yet, it does not stop the melancholia that such a fact provokes in you.

You understand that one day, Din Djarin will leave your life.

Knowing that evidence of your fundamentally opposing ways of life will become evident once more shortly leaves you inconsolable. Once the Razor Crest lands in Nevarro so the bounties can be offloaded Din will leave you alone for an indeterminate amount of time to be with his covert. 

Since you are not Mandalorian, you are forbidden from joining him. 

The thought of not being with him devastates you. Yet, the prospect of being alone on a planet without Din downright terrifies you after your brush with death.

Although you are frightened, you are determined not to let him see your discomfort. 

After all, it would be unfair of you to hold Din back from spending time with his tribe.

You know you will never be able to join him, yet you still respect Din's creed. You admire his devotion to his Way. You do not judge him for it, even if you are baffled by some rules Din must adhere to.

Yet, there is another reason you keep your emotions to yourself. 

You do not want to worry Din any further.

Following your brush with death, Din has been fussing over you so much that you almost feel smothered. He is watching you intently to check that the fact you have taken another’s life does not leave a scar on you. He constantly reassures you that it was self-defence and that you did the right thing. When you wake up screaming after terrible visions haunt you, Din is there in an instant to soothe your anguished soul.

Even though you are grateful for how much he cares, you want to be left alone. You feel guilty, as though you are a burden to him. Here you are, taking up so much of his precious time and energy when you are not even a member of his tribe. 

So, when Din informs you he will depart the Razor Crest to join up with his covert after the old ship finally touches down on Nevarro, you are glad to see him go.

Even if being on such a skughole makes you unsettled. You wish that you had Din’s comforting presence around to soothe your soul. But non-Mandalorians are not permitted to enter the covert’s hideout, and you respect that rule. 

So, you are alone. 

You pass the time polishing and reordering Din's assortment of weapons so they are exactly how he likes him upon his return. It is penance for the tremendous amount of extra effort he exerted in taking care of you during your journey here.

After you finish cleaning Din's most prized possessions, you stand before the weapons locker, adjusting each blaster and rifle until they are arrow straight. Din is fastidious when it comes to organising his armoury. You want to please him.

It is a task that you are still engaged in when you hear the ramp whirring. The noise makes you panic initially. Until, for your benefit, Din calls your name to reassure you that it is him returning; no one is here to harm you.

Your initial anxiety is soothed instantly by the sound of his deep voice. The apprehension is replaced by a smile at the way the syllables of your name warble through his vocoder.

You hastily close the doors to the locker. You weren't quite finished with your task yet. You do not want Din to catch a glimpse before everything is perfect.

"You're back quicker than I expected," you observe, greeting him with a look of surprise across your features.

"There was only one matter I wished to settle," Din shrugs.

"Oh?" you raise your eyebrows, wondering if it is connected to the drawstring pouch made of dark material he carries in one hand.

"Concerning you," Din simply says.

You are rendered speechless. Your initial concern is that Din has confessed to travelling with a non-Mandalorian. Perhaps it is forbidden for his tribe to befriend outsiders. Your stomach drops as you panic that Din has been forced to leave his covert in disgrace.

What if, after the skirmish, Din decided to leave you behind here on Nevarro and simply needed to ask his tribe's leader for advice so his nerves did not waver?

Your frantic train of thought halts at the thuds of Din's footsteps approaching you. Mercifully, it seems you are about to discover the nature of their conversation.

"I have something for you," Din explains as he reaches into the drawstring pouch and produces a shiny object attached to a string.

You are curious about the mysterious relic before you. You do not hesitate to reach your hand out, your palm up, ready to accept it. It glints in mid-air before Din places it into your palm. 

The sensation of the cool metal of the mysterious object

proves to be an intriguing yet comforting presence in your hand. It soothes you instantly. It is a grounding sensation you badly need. Especially after the dark places your mind has wandered to. Terrible visions and eventualities your imagination has frequented a lot recently since your brush with death.

You realise now that it is in your hand that Din has brought you a necklace. Peculiar. You wonder what in the galaxy an item of jewellery could have to do with his covert.

The metallic pendant is a shape you do not recognise; there is a long, thin strand of dark brown leather attached to the charm.

“Do you know what this is?” Din finally asks after he has left you alone to survey your gift.

You shake your head, looking up at him questioningly.

“This is the Mythosaur, an ancient creature our ancestors once rode. It is a symbol that belongs to all Mandalorians,” Din explains, gesturing a gloved fingertip at the shiny object.

You see now that the metallic outline appears to be the skull of a creature you have never heard before. With its sunken black eye sockets and intimidating, sharp features; the Mythosaur is a little intimidating. Still, you are mesmerised by its pointy teeth and long tusks. It is quite unlike anything you have ever seen. You run your thumb over the ridges, enjoying the sensation of the metal in your hand.

"I had it forged by my tribe's Armorer from the excess beskar of my new armour," Din explains, "The chain is taken from a strip of my bandolier, too."

"The craftsmanship..." you whisper, awestruck, "It's beautiful."

Then, Din says something which catches you completely off-guard. 

“I want you to be part of my Clan, cyare,” Din announces.

Your mouth falls open. You look up at Din, stunned at his declaration. He does not want to leave you behind or cast you out. He wants you to be with him forever. You begin to feel the rumbling of tears somewhere deep inside your gut. You almost allow yourself to smile.

Almost.

Your moment of happiness shatters when you realise joining Din's Clan likely comes with an expectation to be Mandalorian. You hope the necklace does not come with the assumption of committing yourself to something you remain unsure that you want for yourself. 

Yet bringing that up to Din would surely disappoint him, a terrible prospect. His Way is of utmost importance to him.

“But, Din… I’m not Mandalorian,” you whisper, your eyes filling with tears as you remind him of your differences.

“It doesn’t matter,” Din shakes his head.

"Are you sure?" you breathe, stunned.

"I'm positive, cyare. You can take this necklace to any Mandalorian and say my name. If you present this to a Mandalorian covert and tell them Din Djarin set you, they will ensure you are protected and safe for as long as you need. No matter where you are in the galaxy.”

“Even though I’m not Mandalorian?” you whisper, astonished. 

“Yes. One does not have to walk The Way in order to be protected by us," Din nods.

You are stunned. For so long, you had mistaken Mandalorian covertness for exclusion. You had believed they disliked and distrusted anyone who did not follow their way of life. Now you realise that you had entirely misconstrued their seclusion. Mandalorians, it transpires, are fiercely protective over anyone they care about, an honour not restricted to their own kind.

"After what happened, I want to feel reassured by knowing that you would have somewhere to turn to for refuge if something like that were ever to happen again. More than that, I want you…” Din sighs, steadying himself. “I want you to be part of my Clan,” he adds, his voice full of certainty.

“I couldn't possibly be worthy of such a thing,” you shake your head, unable to meet his gaze, "I shot one nerfherder in self-defence and look at the toll it took on me," you scoff, fiddling with the necklace and avoiding Din's gaze.

Din is unsatisfied with your words. He brings his hand to your chin and tilts it upwards until your eyes are level with the steely gaze of his dark T-visor.

“You are absolutely worthy,” Din adds with finality and certainty in his voice that causes your chest to constrict, “You have shown as much fight and resolve as any Mandalorian warrior would be proud of. You may not be Mandalorian, but you have our spirit. Our manda, our soul. You do not have to be Mandalorian to be loved by one. So, it would be the honour of my life if you would join my Clan, cyare,” Din adds solemnly.

He takes his hand from under your chin and balls it into a fist. Then he raises his clenched fist to his chestplate and holds it over his heart. He bows his head in your direction, wordlessly demonstrating his affection for you.

With his beautiful words and deferent actions, how could you refuse such an offer?

“Then, I will happily join your clan, Din Djarin,” you whisper.

You watch with curiosity as Din takes the necklace from your hand. Then, he softly places a gloved hand on your shoulder and gently turns you around. You realise what he is doing when the pendant slides down over your chest. You smile as you feel the cool metal make contact with your skin through the cloth of the simple clothes you wear. The thin leather is a comforting presence around your neck, especially when combined with the weight of the Mythosaur.

You turn around to face Din once again. You are unable to prevent the grin that spreads across your features. For the first time since that terrifying encounter with that ghastly man, you feel a true sense of tranquillity. You no longer find yourself plagued by fear for the future.

You realise that you should probably make some profound speech of gratitude. Instead, you sigh in contentment as you stand before Din. You are too happy to find words, perfectly content merely to stand before the man you adore. A man whom, thanks to the necklace you wear around your neck, you are now bound to. 

Din brings his hands to your sides, resting them against your body as his thumbs rub fond circles into your hips. There is no fear, no uncertainty anymore.

The future for you and Din is bright.

Din eventually sighs fondly, cupping your chin with his gloved hand.

“It suits you,” he nods in approval.

You smile at the gesture and turn your lips into his fingers, placing a kiss on the soft leather there. Then, Din brings your forehead to his helmet in a gesture he has assured you is akin to a kiss in his eyes. For now, at least, it is the only way he can kiss you.

You stay like that for a few moments. 

Eventually, Din's deep voice breaks the silence. 

“Ner aliit,” Din whispers. Then adds in basic, for the benefit of your ears:

“My family.”

[shady-tavern]

Perfect Nemesis Part Two

Part One Here.

***

You woke in the hero hospital, feeling like you had gotten run over. Aches and pains seemed to fill your entire body. You peeled your eyes open to see Peony across from you, asleep and bandaged, with some stitches along one temple. He wasn’t wearing his mask and you saw his face for the first time since you met him.

Your brows furrowed briefly as you groped for the button that called the nurse. Was it the first time you saw his face? Your head hurt and felt stuffed with cotton.

The nurse working for the Society appeared a second after you sloppily pressed the button, only for your eyes to fall closed halfway through her explanation of the severe overextension of your abilities and how that had translated to damage on your joints and tissue. How you would have killed yourself had you used more of your powers.

When you woke a second time you were just barely more coherent and it was the middle of the night. A dimmed light across from you let you see that Peony was awake, speaking softly with Endless, who sat in the open window, also without his mask.

They both paused and looked over when you made some kind of low sound. Your mouth felt dust dry and your limbs heavy. Everything hurt, but in a bone-deep bruised way and you instinctively knew right away you’d do some serious damage to yourself should you try to use your powers again anytime soon.

"How are you feeling?" Peony asked hesitantly and cautiously, voice quiet but clearly audible in the silent room. You blinked at him, weakly and sluggishly patting around to call the nurse again. You were barely capable of stringing a single thought together.

It was only when your hand bumped the button that you realized you weren’t wearing your ring. You weren’t wearing it and you felt…fine. You felt like you were whole and very much not cursed.

You blinked at them. "Huh," you croaked and passed out again just as they straightened, attention firmly fixed upon you.

When you woke a third time, your mind clear enough that you could actually cling to consciousness, it was to your mentor sitting in a chair beside you.

"Thank fuck," she said the moment you blinked your eyes open and focused on her. Her relief was strong in her voice and openly visible on her face. "You were out for nearly a week. What did you do, kid?"

"Not a kid," you mumbled, but that only made her smile a little. She’d never drop that stupid nickname. Instead of answering, you made yourself move your heavy arm until you could look down at your hand.

Your mentor sobered immediately and you let her take your hand, looking at the spot where a dinged up iron ring had sat for years. You hadn’t taken it off once, not for training, not for bathing and especially not for your last boyfriend who had hated the damn thing. Not that you had liked it, but you had needed it. It had been vital for so long.

"What happened?" your mentor asked quietly. "Did they manage to break the curse?" You shifted your head slightly to peer past her, only to see Peony’s bed empty. "Ah, your buddy is getting a check-up and then he’ll be released later today." 

Your mentor leaned forward a little, turning serious. With more emphasis she said, "Kid."

You had never once been able to hold back when she used that tone of voice. The story spilled forth just as every other story had back when you had been a sidekick and later a fledgling new hero. But you were safe, here and now. 

Your mentor was one of the safest people you knew, she’d go to bat for you at the drop of a hat. You had grown into the hero you were today under her protection and guidance after all.

She was silent for a long moment after you were done and you found it hard to keep your eyes open. 

"I’ll go talk with Peony," she said, giving your hand a parting pat. "Sleep, kid. You really fucked yourself up this time. It’s going to take a while for you to recover."

You mumbled something that was some kind of vague agreement, your eyes falling closed.

*.*.*

Peony was gone when you woke again and you continued to sleep more than you were awake. Sometimes you had visitors, sometimes not, sometimes you woke to people having left gifts at your bedside table.

The time you fell asleep to your superior berating you for destroying 'six and a half fucking buildings you goddamn unbelievable idiot' you were glad to get out of the harsh reprimand. You hadn’t cared about the damage when you had been without empathy, but that hardly mattered. Not when you had caused nearly five million in property damage.

You were very relieved that no one had died. That the people who had gotten caught in the crossfire had been rescued by Peony and, to everyone’s surprise, Endless.

You hadn’t seen your colleague or the villain who had been so eager to be your nemesis since that night in the hospital. You had no idea what to feel when it came to them, but every time you found yourself thinking about them, you touched the spot where the ring had been.

The curse was gone entirely.

The magical expert the Society sent to examine you confirmed that as well, clapping you on the shoulder and congratulating you on getting rid of that horrible thing. You got questioned extensively, but you found yourself skirting over details, citing that you didn’t remember much. 

Your mentor had spoken with Peony once and had said that he would explain himself when and if you were ready to see him again. She had given you a card with his private phone number on it.

"And that Endless fellow will be there too for the conversation, if you want him to be," she had added. Then she had paused, looking at you. "You made quite the impression on him. He had nothing but praise for you."

You had looked away, shrinking bit into yourself. You had too many questions to not want answers, even if everything was kind of a mess. You had no idea if you still wanted to be Peony’s friend or…whatever Endless and you had had previously. 

But they had gotten rid of your curse, even if things had become a bit ugly after they had taken off the ring. Still, that moment of intense betrayal kept hounding you, your ignored pleas, how you had been tied to the ground, utterly helpless.

You found yourself touching your hand over and over, startled alarm finding you for a split second when you didn’t feel the ring, before you remembered that it wasn’t necessary anymore. It was both the greatest relief of your life and something you still had to wrap your head around.

It took some time to adjust to living without a curse after so many years with one.

When you were released from the hero hospital at last with strict orders to take it easy for another month before you could be allowed back to active duty, you were glad to go back home.

You unpacked the bag your mentor had brought you for your stay in the hospital. She was puttered around your home, opening windows to let in fresh air. Your mentor at last opened your fridge and immediately closed it again.

"I’ll go shopping," she said and left briskly with a little wriggle of her fingers.

You tentatively opened your fridge, only to immediately close it again yourself. Well. Taking a deep breath, you rummaged around beneath your sink to get gloves and cleaning products and you got to work, removing food that had had plenty of time to go and rot and mold.

You were just finished with that very disgusting task when your mentor returned and she shooed you away, grumbling that you had to take it easy.

You did take it easy the rest of the day, barely getting up from the couch. Your mentor made sure you had food and left some meals you just had to heat up in your fridge.

"Call me if you need anything," she said after dinner. "I’ll stay in a nearby hotel for another night before returning to work."

Even then you knew she’d drop everything in a heartbeat if you said you needed her help. You resolved to find a good gift for her, to thank her for all her care and her sometimes no-nonsense encouragement during your recovery.

You hadn’t known that overextending your powers could result in a month of bedrest. Then again, apparently you had badly damaged your body in the process and there had been quite a bit that had needed healing.

Empathyless-you was an asshole in all regards.

As you sat alone on your couch you found yourself fiddling with the card Peony had given your mentor. You wanted answers, but you had no idea if you wanted to see him or Endless again.

Maybe a part of you was afraid of what those answers were. Of finding out that the friendship and flirting and banter and easy companionship had only existed so they could trick you.

But, in the end, you wanted to know why they had tricked you more than you were afraid. Why they hadn’t just told you about their plans to remove the curse. You would have let them. You had no idea how much you still trusted them now, if at all, but you had trusted them that much before they forcibly removed your ring.

You leaned back with a sigh and fiddled with the card a moment longer, before you drew up the sort of courage that let you step into costume on a bad day, that made you face villains that sometimes, secretly, frightened you.

The sort of courage that let you keep your head held high the two times you hadn’t been able to save civilians, carrying their limb bodies.

Peony picked up near immediately, his voice tentatively hopeful. "Imagination?"

"Yeah." You were glad that your voice sounded steady even if your heart was beating faster nervously. "You said you were willing to explain?"

"Over the phone or in person?" he asked, voice going a bit softer in a way that made your throat tighten a little. "Whatever you’re more comfortable with. I’ll make sure to get assigned to another city too if you want. I have the paperwork ready to be submitted."

You closed your eyes for a moment. That was all a bit much at once. "Just…why?" It came out more hurt than you had intended.

Peony was quiet for just a second. "I’ll answer, but it would be best if Endless were here," he suggested, voice going a bit tentative again.

"Aright. Sure. Call me back when he’s there." You ended the call before he could say anything else, rubbing a hand restlessly over your face. Your emotions were kind of messy, but at least you had those feelings. You were rid of your curse and that…that meant so fucking much.

It was in all honesty the only reason you were willing to hear them out.

Peony called back quicker than you had expected and from the slight change in audio quality you could tell that he had put you on speaker.

"Hello," Endless said, voice soft and hesitant in a way you had never heard or expected to hear from the confident villain. "I hope you’re doing well?"

"No smalltalk," you found yourself croaking out, your voice cracking a little despite your best efforts. You grimaced and took a breath before you continued. "Just tell me why."

"Why the deception and trickery and why we used your trust against you?" Endless asked and you swallowed past your dry mouth. "It was the only way to lift the curse."

Thankfully, he continued before you had to ask him to elaborate. "The villain who hurt you once met up with my old mentor, ranting and raving. I overheard a lot that day and in all fairness, I had mostly forgotten that day until I met you." His voice turned a little softer. "It took me a bit to remember that you were the hurt sidekick in that public trial."

"What do you know about the curse?" you found yourself asking, worrying the hem of your sleeve between the fingers of your free hand.

Endless made a low, dark noise. "It’s one of the vilest things I’ve ever encountered and that says a lot. The curse isn’t particularly complex, but it’s removal is. For one, it cannot be removed if you want it removed by the person in front of you. As long as you let someone try to take it away, it would not work."

Which was why none of the Society heroes or independent vigilante with magical abilities had been able to do anything.

"We could not tell you about what we had planned," Peony said quietly, regret thick in his voice. "I’m so sorry. I wanted to tell you, but just one mention about it would have made you expect the removal sooner or later. We would have had to wait years to make you actively forget about it for it to work."

"I’m so very sorry as well," Endless said softly. "I wouldn’t have done anything if you hadn’t minded your curse, but it was clear you hated it for both of us. If you never want to see me again, you won’t."

You closed your eyes as the two men fell silent, giving you a moment to work through everything. You ended the call, rubbing your hands over your chin before pressing your face into your palms to just breathe.

Your emotions were all over the place and you had no idea what to think or feel for the longest moment. In the end you texted Peony 'give me some time' and shoved your phone under your couch cushions.

You did not sleep that night, staying awake until the first hint of dawn, staring out across a city you had been protecting for years with Peony at your side. Your friend, your companion, your partner.

And then Endless had shown up. The exciting villain who had shaken your world up in the best of ways for months. Who had made you stop worrying about that damn ring on your finger.

A ring that was no longer needed because of them. You had no idea where that ring was now, but you didn’t want it back either. You never wanted to see the damn thing ever again.

In the end you called your mentor and, as so many other times, laid your troubled heart at her feet.

"That’s a right mess, kid," she said with sympathy and you couldn’t help but snort before, at long last, you found yourself crying. Pent up stress and relief and confusion all poured out in a mess of tears. "There, there, let it all out." And quieter, so you barely heard her, "Maybe I should go rogue and kill that asshole in jail after all."

And then you were laugh-crying and when you calmed down again, you did feel better.

"I’d say let them grovel a while," your mentor said. "If you think you can ever trust them again."

Could you? You wanted to, you realized as you ended the call and sat curled up on your couch, watching as the city came alive the more the sun rose. You wanted to trust them, because…because they made your life better, both of them. Meeting them had brought so much good into your life.

But you couldn’t forget the betrayal and being pinned to the floor. The panic as your ring got stripped away, your pleas ignored. 

You understood why they had done it, considering the nature of the curse. But the mind and the heart were two different beasts and you were in the very fortunate position that neither of them seemed to be able to come to a proper decision.

So you puttered around for a few days, mulling things over until you realized you were just turning in circles. So you called Peony again after staring at your dirty dishes for a long moment, mind far away. He picked up and from the voice in the background that immediately became easily audible when you were put on speaker, Endless was with him.

Despite all the things you wanted to ask and say, somehow the first thing out of your mouth was, "How do you two know each other?" 

Peony huffed softly, "We’re childhood friends, actually. I always knew he was Endless and he always knew I was Peony. I, uh, I was the reason he switched cities in the first place. I had some trouble that he helped me with. Civilian trouble," he added quickly and you felt an unexpected, fresh stab of hurt fade again.

It was Society policy to not share your private lives with each other when you hadn’t been told each others identities. You had always made sure to respect that, never prying and not commenting on slip-ups from Peony or yourself.

"After helping my friend out I didn’t want to go back to Imperia," Endless added. "It was easier to establish myself here than go through the hassle of clearing my old territory from the rabble. And, well, Imperia didn’t have you either."

You had no idea what to say, so you changed the subject. "Why were we in the same hospital room, Peony?"

"You don’t remember? My mask got eaten by the void," he said and it took you a moment to recall, that, oh, yeah, he was right. Your memory was a little blurry, especially with how fast it had all happened. "Along with half my outfit. Any longer in there and I probably would have lost some pieces of me too."

Endless was audibly grimacing when he added, "I tried to negate the damage as much as I could, but the void really, really doesn’t like anything that’s not me."

That didn’t surprise you. Every brush of the void during fights had told you as much, even though you had trusted that Endless wouldn’t use it against you.

"Was my mask still in place?" you asked, because the nurses would not have unmasked you without your permission, no matter if your partner had shown you his face or not. Both men made a low, unhappy sound.

"The glue we used apparently couldn’t withstand the amount of power you put out in order to make that dragon," Peony explained. You blinked in surprise, you hadn’t even noticed that. "Which, by the way, what the fuck? I didn’t know you could do that."

"Neither could I," you admitted after a moment. "Having no empathy meant I didn’t care about you or myself."

Peony’s mirth noticeably fell away. "I can’t tell you how sorry I am. About ambushing you and making you think we betrayed you. We tried to come up with so many different ways to get that ring without you catching on, but you always guarded it like your life depended on it. Which, knowing what we know now, it actually did."

His words gave you pause. "Wait, what?"

"Oh, you didn’t notice?" Peony sounded surprised. "My frie- I mean, I stole your gloves on multiple occasions, but you always had backups. I tried to 'stumble' into you a couple of times if they got damaged in fights too when Endless was nearby to try and yank the ring off. Endless tried to tug them off too."

"I also tried to remove them with my powers, but that was too finicky while we fought," Endless admitted. "I’m not really good at that delicate stuff when it comes to my powers. It takes so much concentration that I usually just get a headache."

You stared at the opposite wall and the framed artwork on the wall, baffled and unsure what to say. All this time you had thought that you had just forgotten your gloves, especially since they always turned back up. You had thought Peony had just been tired or injured whenever he had tripped and you had adjusted to catch him.

"I couldn’t invite you out to drinks either or I would have gotten you wasted enough to let me pull the ring off," Peony added after a moment. "Which would still have been a major asshole move, I know that, believe me. You were always very firm on not telling each other who we were, so that plan would have never worked."

"And I didn’t want to ask you out knowing I was going to do…that," Endless said, voice lowered and laced with a quiet sort of ache. "Doesn’t matter that I have no chances now, I never wanted to taint whatever we had that way."

You struggled with finding your voice for a couple of seconds, Peony and Endless waiting patiently for you to speak again.

"Why didn’t you trick me sooner?" you asked and they were silent for a long moment.

"I like you, you know," Peony said at last, his voice heavy. "As does Endless."

"More than that, really," Endless added so quietly you almost hadn’t heard him. You suspected he actually hadn’t meant to be heard by you at all.

Peony continued, "We care about you and the more we did, the more we hesitated. It became harder to go through with it the longer we waited."

You slumped back against your couch, feeling conflicted all over again. 

"I’m truly so very sorry," Endless said softly. "If you are willing to let me I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you."

"As will I," Peony said firmly. "But if you never want to see us again, one word is enough and we’ll vanish from your life."

"We’d still see each other during seminars and Society meetings," you found yourself pointing out and Peony hesitated in a way that made you frown and sit up. "What?"

"I would leave the Society," Peony said. "I’ve wanted to go independent for a while now, so I plan on going somewhere else to open my own office. Just, uh, just so you know, you’d be welcome as my partner. If you want."

Independent hero offices existed everywhere, they worked together with the Society and the government as well as companies. They could be quite successful if done well and you didn’t doubt that Peony was quite capable. He’d make it work.

Peony hesitantly added, "In all honesty, I think I’ll go independent regardless. I’ve been a bit unhappy with working for the Society for a while now."

The Society wasn’t perfect, that was true, and you could admit that the idea of being your own boss was an unexpectedly interesting and, well, rather tempting. You would have said yes, you realized, before this entire mess with the ring.

A part of you still wanted to say yes.

As you tipped your head back to stare up at the ceiling, you came to a decision. You had no idea if you would regret it, but it felt like you’d regret it more if you just…gave up. Ran away. You shifted your fingers to press your thumb of the same hand against the spot where the ring used to sit.

"No more secrets," you said at last. A high demand in your field of work. Secrecy was a big part of the business, both for villains and heroes.

"Anything you want to know, I’ll tell you," Endless said without an ounce of hesitation.

"Aren’t you scared I’m going to use that against you?" You couldn’t help but ask, pushing just a little, because if he told you everything you wanted to know you could easily sell him out to the Society.

"You are a truly good person," Endless answered, voice firm and once again without a hint of hesitation. "And should you decide to betray me in the end in answer for my transgressions, I will only bow my head and call it fair."

He sounded like he meant it. 

"Why don’t I start," Peony said and you heard the careful hope in his voice, could imagine the little smile that curled in the corner of his mouth. Like a small flower yearning to bloom. "Hello Imagination, you know me as Peony, but my real name is Florent Quill and I visit hospitals and nursery homes in my free time to leave bouquets for the people there."

That was so very Peony. Florent. You turned the name over in your mind and found it fitting.

"And my name is Ashton Bach," Endless answered, a smile audible in his voice. "At your service. I’m not nearly as nice as Flori, but I do enjoy making share holders and PR teams panic over stocks on the weekends. But I think you already knew that. Oh, I have a cat, Powder, she’s very sweet."

You found yourself smiling a little at his description and the way his voice grew fond and warm.

"Also, I’m deathly allergic to peanuts," Ashton added. "And I cry every single time I watch Pride and Prejudice."

"I can attest to that," Florent answered dryly and Ashton barked out a brief laugh, raspy and brightly amused.

You curled up against your couch, hiding a smile against your knees. You were still quite upset, deep down, but something about this conversation eased your heart a little. Took away some of the ache and that unsure uneasiness that you felt around them.

"Anything else you want to know?" Ashton asked.

"Not now," you said and hesitated. "But maybe we can talk again later?"

"Anytime you want," Florent promised. "We’ll be here."

You said your goodbyes and hung up and slumped sideways into the pillows. You felt better and even hesitantly hopeful. You fiddled with your phone and wondered if rebuilding trust was that easy. 

*.*.*

It was not that easy, not at all, but slowly, with every conversation you felt less hurt, less backstabbed, less unsure. You knew that they had only wanted to help, but sometimes you woke up from a nightmare where you got the ring ripped away, frantically searching for it. It always took you a moment to remember that you didn’t need it anymore.

Sometimes you dreamed of tearing them apart and it didn’t matter. Not even in the nightmares where you died too along with them. A lack of empathy meant a lack of…anything, really. Anything that mattered, that made you human and kind and stupid and passionate and lazy and all the things that made up this existence on earth.

You had hard conversations with them and it helped that they never shied away from you when you allowed some of the hurt to bubble to the surface. You still hadn’t seen either of them, but bit by bit you allowed your closed off heart to open up again.

And before you knew it, you were ready to return to active duty.

"Don’t worry, I’m taking time off," Florent had reassured you. "You won’t have to see me until you’re ready."

It felt weird to return to work alone and changed. To no longer need the intently protected gloves and to walk the streets with only some occasional fights against a handful villains who wanted to test their mettle against you.

You used your powers faster than before, imagination leaping to your fingertips, eager and hardier and bigger than before. You created things quicker than ever and every creature was just a tad more dangerous than before.

Florent and Ashton did stay away like they had promised. And as one week turned to two, then three, you noticed their absence more and more. The break room remained empty, no friend and colleague there to greet you with smiles and flowers. No powerful and genuinely fun to fight villain seeking you out and handing over the off-switch for the world for a little while at the same time.

No warm hugs and friendly nudges, no promisingly lowered voices and excited grins, no flower crowns on your head and no murmured words that were promise and flattery all at once. 

You ended up calling your therapist and you had a long, tough session. When you left, your eyes were swollen from crying, but you felt like you could breathe properly for the first time in far too long. Your mind and heart felt blown clear at long last and you knew what you wanted.

"Hey," you said when you called Florent, the call getting picked up nearly immediately. Ashton was present too today, he wasn’t always, but often enough that calling Florent first was just easier. "Let’s meet."

*.*.*

Seeing Florent and Ashton again, entirely out of costume, was a little strange, but you were glad to see their faces. They smiled at you and Ashton’s faintly glowing eyes were soft and hopeful, never once straying from you.

A small flower bouquet laid on the table of the café, all your favorites rolled up in pretty paper.

"Hey," Florent said, the faintest of nervous undertones to his voice. "It’s good to see you."

You sat down across from them and realized that seeing them out of costume helped. You were still rather more nervous than you had expected, but the hurt was only a quiet ache now, no longer the fresh, bleeding stab that it had been previously.

"I still want to say sorry again," Florent admitted with an apologetic smile. You had told him to stop apologizing after the sixth time and you pinned him with a look.

"I heard you," you said. "I just…needed some time."

"You are entitled to that and more," Ashton agreed easily and waved over a waitress. "Order whatever you like, it’s on me."

"On you or the businesses you like to rob?" you couldn’t help but ask and his grin got delighted, his eyes going a bit sharper, a bit more intense like they did when you fought.

For a brief moment you wondered what battling him felt like now with your powers having grown fiercer. You wondered how far you could push, how little you’d have to hold back with Ashton. If you’d have to worry about actually hurting him at all when you fought him or if he’d meet you every step of the way.

Florent just sighed in fond amusement. "Don’t get him started," he said in a conspiratorial tone, though he didn’t bother to lower his voice. "He is quite passionate about that topic."

"They are just so stupid," Ashton said as though he couldn’t help himself. "And quite awful, really. Besides, I don’t touch the businesses that are actually good to their employees, you know."

You did know. You knew more about both Ashton and Florent than ever before now. The waitress arrived and you ordered and she left with a smile and brisk steps.

There was a beat of silence, before Ashton leaned forward and asked, "Have you seen the newest announcement for Janet’s books?"

You couldn’t help but light up, as did Florent and before you knew it, you were deeply in a discussion about your favorite book series. A book series Ashton and Florent were big fans off as well. And now those books were supposed to become a TV show and it was rather exciting.

Your conversation moved naturally without much issue at all, rolling from topic to topic as you ate and drank. You laughed and smiled and before you knew it, Florent excused himself.

"I’ll be meeting up with my mum in ten minutes," he said regretfully. "I’ll see you soon?"

"Yeah." You found yourself smiling up at him, then hesitated and you bumped your shoe lightly against his. "Come back to work, alright?"

His face lit up, relief and something warm and bright making him look as happy as you had ever seen him. "I will. And just so you know, the offer of partnering up still stands if that’s something you can see yourself doing." He glanced at his phone when it pinged and winced. "Shit, she said she arrived early. Please excuse me."

He briefly touched Ashton’s shoulder as he got up, sent you another smile and hurried out of the café.

"Want to go for a walk?" Ashton offered, gesturing at the good, if a bit cold weather outside. "We could talk more privately if you want."

You considered the offer, then nodded. Ashton paid and left a generous tip, before you got up. You made sure to take the flowers along and you soon found yourself walking through the nearby park with your former nemesis. Or maybe still nemesis? You weren’t quite sure what the two of you were now.

"You know, I still want to apologize too," Ashton said, looking ahead, his hands buried in the pockets of his jacket. "I know it sounds like I’m feeling sorry for myself, but I just can’t forget the way you looked at me."

Your light mood turned serious and you looked ahead yourself, watching some teenagers jostle each other, laughing at whatever one was showing the other on her phone.

"I wish you would have done it sooner," you found yourself saying at last. "Before I got so attached. Maybe then it would have been easier."

He winced. "Yeah, you’re probably right. I just…" He hesitated, then sighed and his shoulders slumped a little. He smiled a little as though he couldn’t help himself and it was the softest smile you had ever seen. "I think you don’t know how amazing it is to fight you. How you light up when you get to cut loose a little or how little you are afraid of my powers. You never were. Most people run away the second they get close to the void."

He huffed a soft noise, amused and so warm it made the slight chill of the early autumn air disappear. "And then I got you to talk to me, to banter with me. You’re so quick on your feet and you are so damn funny." His small smile faded. "But you are right. In my desire to hold on to those moments for just a little bit longer I ended up hurting you worse."

He tipped his head to look at you, those faintly glowing eyes serious. "I’m usually a pretty selfish person and petty as fuck too, but I messed up here. I shouldn’t have let my feelings get in the way." 

He looked ahead, a wry twist to his mouth. "When I realized what you meant to me, I knew I’d never get to be close to you again if I went through with our plan. That I’d never get to talk with you like that again."

You fiddled with your phone in your pocket, shifting your other hand to once again press your thumb against the spot where the ring used to be.

"I don’t want you to stop," you found yourself saying quietly. Ashton beside you jolted, his surprised gaze meeting yours. Hope made his eyes a little brighter, even as he visibly tried to reign himself in.

"Are you sure?" he asked softly. "I will respect your choices, no matter what." His expression turned hard as he looked away, his shoulders tensing and hunching a little, making him appear smaller. "I will never again ignore what you say."

You looked ahead and took a deep breath, exhaling slowly.

"If this is going to work, we’re going to couples therapy," you said and you heard the sharp breath he took. This time his hope was almost painful to look at.

"Of course," he said. "I’ve been seeing my therapist about this mess myself. Do you have a couple’s therapist in mind? Or should we go to one of ours?"

You mulled that over. "Let’s try ours first, if they agree," you said. "If that doesn’t work, we’ll look for someone specialized."

Ashton nodded with an open, still so very hopeful smile. You noticed the way he pulled his hand out of his pocket, as though he was about to reach out, when he immediately pulled back again. Without much thought, you offered your own hand, not looking at him.

His skin was warm and his palm and fingers calloused when he took your hand as though it was the most precious thing in the world. It made your chest both feel tight and too full.

"Can I still flirt?" he asked after a moment of silence and you found yourself laughing briefly, softly.

"Don’t you dare not to."

"Nicknames?" Ashton asked, that excited, wild-edged smile appearing on his face as he shuffled a step closer to you, still holding your hand so very gently.

"Let’s hear it," you said, unable to stop yourself from smiling back.

He lit up as though he had waited for this moment for ages. "Darling Treasure, brilliant Menace, amazing Foe, my lovely Nemesis -"

You couldn’t help but laugh and duck your head at the same time, flattered and flustered. "Those are just compliments."

He leaned forward a bit to meet your gaze, that wild smile looking downright, well, downright goddamn besotted. "Maybe," he said. "But they’re all true to me."

You had no idea what to say, but whatever expression was on your face, he seemed quite happy about it.

"So, darling Nemesis," he said, that wild-edged smile still on his face even as his voice turned soft and low, the way it used to during your most exciting fights when he’d murmur right by your ear. "Will you let me take you out to dinner?"

You looked up at him and your smile took on a teasing note. "Should I?"

His smile grew into a grin, eyes glowing just a little brighter. "I’d say so. I could take you somewhere cozy and private or fancy and expensive. I do have company money to spend." His grin got a little toothy at those words. "Or I can go and cook you something, set up my little backyard with fairy lights and flowers and in the end we’ll still eat on the couch because Powder will trap one of us the second we dare to sit down inside."

You felt yourself softening. "I haven’t had a good home cooked meal in forever," you said, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. His hand shifted, his fingers interlacing with yours. 

For once you didn’t need a reminder that the ring was gone and no longer needed, not when his skin pressed warm against yours, his hold secure. There was no space for dinged, cold iron.

"Then I better do my best," he said softly. "Maybe I’ll even get you to fall in love with me one of these days."

You didn’t tell him that you were halfway in love with him already. That you had been for months and that, once you had worked through a large part of the emotions of the ring incident, those feelings had slowly, gently, bubbled to the surface again.

"Maybe it won’t take as much effort as you think to get there," you said and when you glanced at him, his expression was so open it almost hurt to look at.

"Darling Nemesis," he said, quiet and reverent and so very lovingly. "You are truly the brightest, most amazing person I ever met." He reached up with his free hand and you realized you had stopped walking. His fingertips brushed your cheek, leaving streaks of warmth behind.

"My perfect nemesis," he whispered. "If only you knew how brightly you shine in my eyes."

And when you tugged him a little closer, shifting up to meet him, he pressed a warm, smiling kiss against your cheek. Maybe not everything was perfect, you certainly had some shit to work through together, but you knew you could do it.

His hand was gentle, his touch loving, his fingers elegant and strong between yours and you smiled at the lack of rings you felt, the warmth that was there instead.

Yeah, things were going to be just fine.

*

Taglist:

@permanentlydepressedpigeon @thesaltofcarthage @those-damn-snippets

[mossy-paws]

Lightblox (PHIGHTING!)

“And I’m floating in a most peculiar way, And the stars look very different today.”

alt versions:

[jimlingss]

two years!! :D it’s been two years since my final curtain call and seven years since Jimlingss began! Seven years!!! Now that’s a crazy yet meaningful number!

Hello to everyone reading this message :D hopefully you remember me (it’s ok if you don’t) and for those who care, hopefully this is a treat! just a quick update on my life — I successfully completed my first year of law school and what a whirlwind it’s been. 

I’ve had so many ups and downs in the past year and I honestly feel like I’ve changed a lot. like evolved from pichu to pikachu. It was my first time moving away from home, away from my parents, and making so many friends. it’s been 20% bitter and 80% sweet. overall, I feel like I’ve learnt so much about myself and became a lot more stable in who I am.

school is hard but completely manageable. luckily, I don’t think my choice was wrong. there are days I quite enjoy what I’m learning. I got 2 years left in the game. soon (hopefully) I’ll be making the big bucks $$$ and I’ll be able to fund my sugar baby dreams (except I’ll also be my own sugar mommy). Although my dating life is as stale as always with 0 movement, I’ve become close with a handful of folks that I hold dearly to my heart. guess I’m in my friendship arc hahahaha

funny enough, I actually came back to this blog out of my own volition 2 weeks ago and re-read some of my stories. I feel so nostalgic. some of my stories really slap ngl. anyway, I really miss creative writing so much. Fortunately, there’s a few extracurriculars at school that allow me to write creatively so it’s somewhat of an outlet for me. it’s not fully satisfying but it’s something!!

I regularly come back to tumblr to check messages and do plagiarism checks lol. Speaking of which, I’ll take this time to answer some messages in my inbox.

unfortunately, i don’t have any socials that anyone can follow me on. my socials are pretty private and only the people who i’m close to, I follow and vice versa. but no worries because I will always come back to this blog to do a yearly update so you’ll hear from me! I will satiate your curiosity if you’re every curious about what I’m up to!!

for anyone who ever messages me compliments to my stories and/or missing my presence, no worries, I read them all :) your messages and feedback is never lost! it’s very sweet and always warms my heart.

if you can’t reach my masterlist, it’s here lol

I’ve kind of fallen off my fic reading game so if you ask me if I know a specific fic, I won’t be much of help unfortunately ://

if my fics ever help you through hard times, then I’m super glad!!! life can undoubtably be downright terrible. life can really really suck (understatement). but I think it’s comforting to know that everyone at some point thinks the same. it’s a universal sentiment - and in that, you’re not alone.

anyway, that’s it for now! you’ll hear from me again!

I’ll be back! And I hope you will too! :>

[moregraceful]

my hot take as a person with an english degree and a library degree is that some of the dorkiest fiction and poetry ever committed to paper in the english language came out of the iowa writer's workshop so it is at best goofy and at worst completely futile to argue that your average amazon unlimited writer is having a more deleterious effect on literacy and literature.

[non-plutonian-druid]

[ID: A drawing in the Paranatural au of The Umbrella Academy, of Diego and Luther getting into a fistfight. Both of them are glaring at each other and winding up to punch. Luther is wearing a green t shirt with a rocket on it and khakis, and Diego is wearing a purple Prime 8s t shirt and basketball shorts. End ID.]

trying something out where i don't dump everything I'm drawing for the paranatural au onto tumblr at once to make writing IDs easier. The con to this plan is remembering to regularly post the stuff I've already finished. We'll see!

luther and diego don't have reggie pitting them against each other in this au - well, luther still has to deal with reggie, but not specifically in this case - but im sure they can still find something to have a rivalry about lol

[hijackedhoneybeeez]

Refusing to yawn, Chilchuck drags his sorry ass to the campus’ coffee house. It wasn’t the classiest of joints, filled with slightly sticky tables and overstuffed couches, but it was the only place that sold a decent cup of coffee within a 5-mile radius. It would have to do. A bell jingles overhead as he pushes into the coffee house, the trill mingling with the smooth instrumental music playing over the speakers. He expects to see the manager, Senshi, behind the counter like usual, and almost comes up short to see someone new fiddling with the register. The guy presses a couple buttons until the cash drawer pops out and hits him in the stomach. Chilchuck fails to hold back his laugh. 

(Written for Day 6 of Chilaios Week - alternate universe!!)

[thisfrailheart]

prompt: limb | july 6 | jegulus au | suggestive and mature themes, swearing | word count: 773 | @jegulus-microfic

***

"Hi, I'm James. Marlene's out sick, so you're stuck with me today."

He's in hell, Regulus is sure of it. This is punishment. Cause he definitely wants to be stuck with that man somewhere. Preferably not at physical therapy, though. And without those horrible gym shorts in the way.

"Regulus?"

Regulus tears his gaze away. James is looking at him expectantly and he realizes he wasn't listening at all. "I'm sorry?"

"Can we get started?," James repeats with an easy smile and Regulus is sweating.

He swallows, nods. "Yeah. Mhm. Yes."

James claps his hands and moves a bit closer to the massage table Regulus is sitting on. "Awesome. Are you comfortable with me touching you?"

So comfortable. So fucking comfortable. "Ungh-"

"Pardon?" Fuck fuck fuck.

"Uh-huh, yes. Definitely. Go for it." What the hell am I saying. James seems a bit confused as well but does reach for the arm Regulus holds out to him. James' hands are pleasantly cold against his overheating skin and Regulus shivers.

James' brow is furrowed as he assesses Regulus' wrist and forearm with deft fingers. "Any pain? Soreness?"

That cologne you're wearing is agony, actually. Sweet, sweet agony. "None."

"How about range of motion? How does it feel? Any issues with tightness?"

"Never had any complaints." WHAT.

James freezes. "Sorry?"

Uh-oh. Regulus coughs. "I don't have any complaints."

James nods and continues, but his gaze lingers a bit and there's a drop of sweat trickling down between Regulus' shoulder blades.

"Can you push against my hand? Yes. Now a bit harder?" LORD.

"Make a fist for me? Yes, just like that. That's good." It is. It really is.

When James finally steps back, his scent lingers right there for a few seconds and Regulus actually has to bite back a moan.

"Alright. The healing process is going well, from what I can tell. You're definitely on track and should be right as rain in no time. I'd like to do some strengthening exercises and finish off with some stretches. How does that sound?"

"Brilliant!," Regulus says and it comes out a bit too loud and a bit too forceful and he blushes. But James laughs.

"I like the enthusiasm. A lot of people are quite peeved about being here. And rightfully so. Who wants broken bones?," he shrugs and hands Regulus a variety of brightly colored balls to squeeze. "But PT after a fracture or trauma is really very important to hopefully avoid long-term issues. Not that you have to worry about that. You'll have your arm back soon."

James switches him to another exercise and Regulus almost drools when the man demonstrates and the veins in his arm pop.

"I don't miss it. I'm left-handed so I don't really use it anyway," Regulus babbles, unable to stop the word vomit.

A grin from James and Regulus' heart flips in his chest. "It's good that you're not struggling too much while you're healing. But you should still take care of your non-dominant hand, especially a broken one. Never know when you might need it." And when he reaches for Regulus' hand and guides him through the stretches to end their session, Regulus has to bite his tongue to keep the whine from tumbling past his lips. "Hmm, exactly like that. Slow down a bit. Yes. Very good."

Blood is rushing in Regulus' ears and threatening to rush other places, too. He's actually thinking about throwing himself down the stairs at home and hoping for the worst. Broken leg, maybe? Might also go all out and try to lose a limb. Longer recovery time.

What the hell am I even thinking. I'm worse than Sirius when he met that teacher and wanted to go back to uni.

"Earth to Regulus?"

"Huh? I mean…sorry?" Get a grip, god.

"We're done for today. Your next session will be with Marlene, as per usual. I hope I won't see you here again," James says and it sounds like something he tells patients but he fucking winks before he ducks out of the room.

Regulus grins. We'll see about that.

Six weeks later and Regulus is demonstrating just how well his wrist has healed by shoving his hand into James' jeans in the alley behind the club. "Thought you didn't want to see me again?"

"Not as…a patient," James pants, breath hot on Regulus' face.

"No?" A quick twist and James moans.

"Definitely— Definitely not."

"Good to know. But I might still need your professional help."

James' blinks, immediately concerned. "What's wrong? Is it your wrist?"

Regulus smirks. "My wrist is fine. I'm about to ruin my knees, though."

[caliburn-the-sword]

emma made me viscerally uncomfortable from season 3-6 and the reason is because it was like watching a barbarian multiclass as a cleric. like girl stop with the magical energy blasts!! just hit him with your sword!!! punch him in the face!!!!

[frankenjoly]

hi hello may i interest you in some misc ships both rare and not <3

"i want her back" + higumitch

"none of us go on forever." + fukufuku

"what? sorry, i'm a bit tired." + mushiango

"we can beg for forgiveness later" + lemon futon

*cracks knuckes*

higumitch + “i want her back”

“Gin!!!” Higuchi called out, running towards them so fast she basically collided against her friend when finally getting there. In fact, if Gin wasn’t strong enough to counter such a speed with ease, the two would have ended up on the floor. “I need your help, please! It’s… an emergency.”

Gin let go of her and took a step back so there was enough space to motion, then signed a simple ‘Context? Please.’

“Okay… I’ve just met a very pretty girl, and I’ve also totally made a fool of myself and…” She let out a deep, embarrassed sigh. “I stumbled so badly. Then I panicked and fled, and almost tripped with my own feet too and… fuck. Bet she thinks I’m a complete idiot.”

‘No. Doubt it.’ Gin replied, stretching a hand to readjust one of the clips on Higuchi’s hair, and before she could ask how anyone could be that sure, the answer manifested in the most literal sense.

Margaret was approaching them.

“Hope I’m not interrupting anything.” She said when arriving, a polite smile on her face. Gin instantly shook his head, which wasn’t much of a save but didn’t count as throwing Higuchi under the bus either (as if her friend would actually do that, but well, she was nervous). When she mirrored the gesture, Margaret continued. “Then I want her back.”

“O-oh! Of course, yes.”

Said and done: tapping her shoulder in encouragement, Gin quickly took her leave.

lemon futon + “we can beg for forgiveness later”

“And if something goes wrong and we get caught?” Katai asked, already dreading the answer he might get.

“Ah, don’t worry! We can beg for forgiveness later.” And… there it was; just as he was expecting, Kajii didn’t exactly reassure him. In fact, he was so nervous he might be about to puke at any moment. Still, he didn’t let go of Kajii’s hand and let him guide them both to the place. “Have you never ever risked getting into trouble just ‘cause the thing you were gonna do was fun?”

“Uh… no, not really.” Growing up, Doppo had been his only actual friend, and the only one of the two who ever got into trouble as well even if it was about defending certain causes and not looking for fun per se.

“Oh! In that case, will you let me show you, my dear Katai?” Instead of seeming upset in any capacity, there was a glimmer in his eyes hinting at how the possibility appealed to him greatly. He even stopped for a second, now taking both of Katai’s hands and smiling from ear to ear. It didn’t take a genius to notice the silent plea that accompanied the gesture, nor could he resist it.

“I--” A smile tugged at Katai’s lips. “Alright, I will.”

fukufuku + “none of us go on forever”

“None of us go on forever, I know.” Fukuzawa said, after only a brief moment in silence; it felt like, if he left anything unsaid, it would be like that permanently. And given how they had to return from the book’s space eventually, the feeling was rooted in something very real. “But I wish things had been different.”

“Me too, Yuki. Me too.” Gen’ichirô replied, and something stirred inside his chest at the sound of those words.

‘Yuki’ was a remnant of way simpler times, where they could be just kids and their first separation was still so far ahead none of them could have predicted. And getting called like that, now they were heading for their last…

Without even thinking about it, he held out his hand to the side, and shortly after their fingers were entwined. They way it had happened many years ago, as Gen’ichirô led him towards his latest discovery (a new bakery, a stray cat, the train they shouldn’t miss). The way it had also been when they became a couple.

“I wish we’d had more time, too.” Was the last thing Fukuzawa heard before the moment was broken.

mushiango + “what? sorry, i’m a bit tired”

“What?” Ango said, finally moving his eyes away from the documents he had been… glancing at, saying he was paying attention at that point would have been quite the overstatement, and Mushitarô knew it. “Sorry, I’m a bit tired.”

“I figured when you didn’t answer the first three times.” He answered, scrunching his nose a little before letting out a simple sigh.

“Sorry, really. I thought I could get this done before heading out and now it’s been… how much time has it been?” As he finished speaking, Ango moved to reach for his phone and check the hour. But instead of letting him proceed, Mushitarô basically shoved the screen of his own towards Ango’s face. And, upon reading the clock’s numbers, his eyes went wide. “Holy shit…”

“Yeah. Anyway, you’re going home.” Mushitarô turned the phone screen back so he could face it again, and started looking some things up. “And I’m going to cancel the reservation for tonight’s restaurant.”

“What? Wait!” Ango grabbed his wrist, pleading, but he didn’t yield.

“No. If you’re as exhausted as you look, there’s no way having dinner out is going to be as enjoyable as it could be. So you’re going home, I’m going with you, and we’re ordering takeout instead.” 

At what was very clearly the realization of how Mushitarô wasn’t calling their date off but rearranging the specifics, Ango visibly relaxed.

“... Oh. Alright.”

(Also on ao3.)

[the-raging-tempest]

🌹 Love on the Bloodstone Rose - Ophenia Thwait 🌹

💕 Lariel and featuring @aelyosos’ lovely lad Ocean 💕

[gilears]

it's so hard to believe (but i'm trying to change)

1.4k, fig missing scene, canon-compliant

Fig follows Quincy home after warlock class for two reasons and two reasons only—the first reason is because he’s suspicious and may pose a security threat for (future) President Applebees. The second reason is because he’s a narc and a shitty bitch. (or: fig goes on a walk and thinks about gilear.) (read on ao3)

this week's follow up is about the fact that gilear still hasn't, like, even reached out to fig at all to let her know that hes gonna be gone for... a year? because what the fuck, man.

[deejadabbles]

@sinfulsalutations @dystopicjumpsuit Alright, you guys asked for it. @blueink-bluesoul you should be part of this party too

Thank @corrieguards and this post for starting all this

Warnings for: being complete filth, hair pulling, marking, praising, dirty talk, and Tup most definitely NOT being a shy virgin.

EDIT: I posted a full length version of this ficlet, so if you like this, check out the full fic <3

You were fairly certain the sheets were going to rip if you gripped them any tighter.

His lips, his teeth, his tongue, they were working in perfect harmony against your skin. A almost violent moan left your throat when he bit down yet again, another addition to the marks he left across your shoulder and neck, his marks.

"Love it when you moan like that, mesh'la," Tup whispered against the blooming blemish, hot breath fanning over it like a feather light touch. "Love it when I can mark-" he paused and raised his head a little, eyes on the fingers curled into the sheets.

A soft tut tut noise sounded from his tongue.

"Mesh'la," this time, it was almost a scolding, "you know that's not where your hands belong."

Your throat was so dry as you tried to swallow, his words making the ache between your legs pulse. Fingers slowly uncurled from the fabric and reached up to him. With loving care you traced his temple, and tucked some stray curls behind his ear.

Tup closed his eyes, humming at the contact with sensual delight.

Slowly, you started threading fingers through his wonderfully soft locks, letting your nails graze his scalp, and relishing the little moan he let out.

The moan turned to a delighted cry when you grabbed the hair and pulled.

"Yes!" Tup's voice almost cracked as his head snapped back, hips jutting forward as if on instinct, and you hated that your panties got in the way of his already hard cock. His grin was wide, wolfish, even, as he looked down at you through half lidded eyes. "That's my girl," he praised, "so good for me, giving me what I like."

That's when he started moving.

Careful to keep your hands in his hair, Tup started at a teasing pace, lips now trailing down your body. Grazing between the valley of your breasts, nipping over your stomach, and kissing across your hips.

A flash of white teeth met the waistband of your panties, pulled it back, and let it snap against your body with a small slap. Then, he was gazing up at you again, that familiar haze of need and adoration darkening his eyes.

"You gonna hold on tight while I enjoy you?" His tone was just as wicked as his eyes, "Gonna use my hair to take what you want from my mouth?"

"Yes! Maker, yes- Tup, please," you couldn't even care how needy you sounded, not when he was looking at you like that, not when he was telling you to abuse his curls in the filthiest ways.

Tup's fingers hooked your panties and began dragging them down, down. "That's my good girl. Don't forget to use your nails too, love it when I can still feel them on my scalp the next day."

Then those lips and tongue and teeth were diving into your wet cunt. The fingers tangled in his hair did not disappoint him.