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7to3sorcerer · 4 years

Text

Of Waltzes and Sugar Plum Fairies

rating: explicit hehe

word count: 11.5k i am so sorry

warnings: fluff! angst! daddy!kink if you squint, loss of virginity, uhhhh sexy times? porn WITH plot because i can. this is truly filthy and totally self indulgent, enjoy at your own risk.

a/n: ok so first fic on here, yay! also, i recommend visiting this page to give you some context about Arkanians if you don’t know about them. idk if the nutcracker exists in star wars, so just go with it. listen to this if you wanna get immersed in the sounds of the dance scene.

ao3 link here

Din Djarin knew exactly what he was doing bringing her to Chandrila in the winter.

His princess - a literal one at that - from Arkanis, had missed the taste of home. Not in so many words, but he could tell by the wistful look on her face whenever they passed a shop with dancing gear or a music store.

He also knew that Life Day was her favorite holiday.

“It’s perfect,” she had said one day in the cockpit, her eyes starry as she watched the planets fly by. “You just spend the day with your family, dancing and eating and celebrating. Some cultures even give presents.”

He didn’t know what to say to that then, just gave a grunt and kept his eyes on the nav chart.

But since that day, he’s thought of what that would be like, spending a Life Day with his foundling and his crewmate who he wished would be so much more.

Ever since she dropped everything and ran off with him and the child, his life has been so much...brighter. Full of color when she skips around the ship, the child in her arms as they play dress up with her seemingly endless wardrobe (Din still doesn’t how she manages to keep her quarters clean). It’s full of sound when she plays her holorecords from her favorite ballets, the child following behind her as she does allégros and arabesques.

When she agreed to join his crew to take care of the child and give her extensive knowledge of cultures and history that she gleaned from university, he also made a pact: he would give her firsthand experiences of the galaxy that her life as a royal had robbed her of.

Her first wish was to visit a cantina, a wish that was fulfilled within her first three days aboard the Razor Crest. Though the dingy, thin clothes she bought from a merchant blended her in well, her stark white hair, white eyes, and ethereal beauty caused a bar fight, one that may or may not have ended with Din breaking a man’s arm, simply because he looked at her suggestively.

In the year that she’d been traveling with him, he’d tried to accommodate her wishes as best as he could, but with the Empire constantly on their trail, their time had mostly been devoted to tracking down the child’s people. But it seemed that the galaxy was on his side for once.

Life Day was rapidly approaching, and Din was scrambling to try and make it special for her, and with the information that Bo-Katan had given them about Ahsoka Tano, Din was torn about what to do. That was, until he charted a path to Corvus and realized it sent them right by Chandrila - the dance capital of the galaxy. A couple of holonet searches later, and he found a showing of The Nutcracker.

He knew it’d make his princess happy, he just didn’t know how to tell her that there weren’t anymore tickets left. He wasn’t surprised really, after all, it was already Life Day Eve, and he knew The Nutcracker was wildly popular, even though it was a Wookiee ballet that was centuries old.

The rapid beeping of the proximity indicator dragged him out of his thoughts. He disengaged and the ship lurched into real time, the blue streaks of stars fading into black mottled with blinking white. He made up his mind in that moment. Squaring his shoulders, Din set the ship on autopilot and made his way down to the cargo hold.

Stopping in front of her room, he could hear giggles and her soft voice as she spoke to the child.

“...and then he transforms into a handsome prince, and leads Masha away into the forest!”

He hears the child giggle again, and can only assume they’re playing with the wooden toys she had crafted once while bored when Din was on a hunt.

Steeling himself, Din knocks.

“Hey, we’re landing...put on something...nice,” he says through the door. He moves to return to the cockpit when the door whooshes open, revealing the princess’s glowing smile.

“Why?” She asks, her eyes wide.

His hand itches to brush the wisps of hair that got displaced from her bun when the door opened.

“I um, I have a surprise,” he says tentatively, suddenly feeling unsure of himself. He shifts his weight as she turns to the child.

“You hear that? Daddy has a surprise for us!” She coos, sweeping him up into her arms as he laughs. She turns back to Din.

His stomach does flips hearing that word come out of her mouth, no matter how innocent the context.

“Well, what is it?”

“That kind of ruins the point of the surprise, don’t you think?” He says, a hint of humor in his modulated voice. He finally gives in to his urges and gently tucks he hair behind her slightly pointed ear.

Din’s heart feels as though it might burst out of his chestplate as she tries to hide her blush behind the baby’s ear, playing it off as though she’s giving him kisses. She hums before looking back up at Din.

“Okay, well what should I wear?”

“I don’t know, something nice.” It comes out a little rough, and Din mentally kicks himself, seeing her face turn into a slight frown.

“Din, I’m a...” she pauses, covering the child’s ears before continuing. “I’m a fucking princess, Din. You can’t just say ‘wear something nice’ expect me to know exactly what you mean by that.”

He huffs. “Move.”

She complies, and he enters her small quarters, stepping over the various toys that litter the floor. He opens her closet, running his gloved fingers along the plethora of lush fabrics inside.

Life Day, Life Day, Life Day, he thinks to himself. What colors go with Life Day?

He pauses on a silky green gown, thinking about how good it would contrast with her skin tone. He hesitates a moment before removing it from the hanger and holding it out to her.

“Here.”

She sets the child down before taking it from him and examining it, a slightly confused look on her face.

“Din, this is...this is one of my nicer ones. Are we doing something quite fancy?”

He says nothing for a moment, watching the way her milky eyes scan the dress before deciding on his answer.

“I just think...that it’ll look good on you,” he says, so quietly that the modulator barely picks it up.

Her head shoots up to stare him straight in the visor, the very faint grey of her irises making her expression unreadable. Everyone likes to think he’s intimidating, but they’ve obviously never never made eye contact with an Arkanian. Arkanians that belong to the oldest bloodlines have pure white eyes, but if you catch them in the right light, you can barely make out grey irises and darker grey pupils.

Experiencing second thoughts, Din quickly exits her room without another word and the door whooshes shut again.

He leans on the wall next to the ladder leading up to the cockpit feeling like he’s just run a marathon. His heart races as he begins to worry that he was too forward.

“Fuck...” he mutters, leaning his head on the wall behind him. “Too late now I guess.”

Sitting back down in the cockpit, he guides the Crest into the docking bay that air traffic control instructed him to, and sets the ship down as gently as possible, not wanting to disturb anything the princess may be doing to get ready.

If she’s even getting ready at all, his conscious supplies. She’s probably gonna bolt as soon as the cabin depressurizes.

But as he descends back into the hold, he’s pleased to hear her puttering around in her room. He checks the time on his chrono.

“Hey, I’m going out for a few. I should be back in a bit...make sure you’re ready by then, okay?” He calls out, holstering his gun and attaching his jet pack.

Something in her room clatters to the floor, causing her so let out a string of curses. He hears her give the child an apology, who just giggles in return before he himself gets a response.

“Yeah! Sure, sure, yeah I’ll be ready!” She says from behind the door, but her voice is unsteady, like she knows she won’t be ready in time.

Din just huffs out a slight laugh before exiting the ship.

...

He returns to find her heels click clacking back and forth between the ‘fresher and where the child sits perched on a box, wiping his face down with a rag and the spots of food on his clothes. She turns to Din, who stands just inside the ship, a dumbfounded look on his hidden face.

Her hair is in a low, loose bun with a few pieces of hair framing her face that he can only assume came out while she was getting the child ready. The matte maroon lipstick she wears gives the allusion that she’s much older than 23, but the subtle blush and highlight adorning her cheeks and nose do well to bring back her youthfulness.

“I tried to get him cleaned up as best as I could. I also fashioned this little hat to fit his head as best I could. I don’t want him to be spotted, and I know it’s cold out there,” she rushes out breathlessly, running back into her room and grabbing the beanie and smushing it on the child’s head. “I know it’s not perfect, but I just want us to be able to have one night where we’re not constantly looking over our shoulders.”

She runs back into her room and returns with a small scarf, wrapping it around the child’s neck. Din wants to reassure her that everything’s okay, but he’s speechless, admiring the way the silk hangs on her body, accentuating her curves. His eyes are first drawn to the slit that exposes her leg almost to her hip when she bends down to pick up a toy the child dropped.

She speaks again, but he still can’t answer. He’s transfixed by the way the neckline plunges down her sternum, just shy of where her ribs start. Her tits are unbound, supported by the fabric that stretches up and over her shoulders, turning into yards of thinner fabric that cinch the dress up across her back. The straps criss cross her exposed back and end in a bow just below the dimples of her lower back, highlighting the expanse of tight muscles that she’s earned in her tenure as a crewmate, and from her earlier days as a dancer.

He watches as that enticing triangle of missing fabric on her chest gets closer and closer until it’s right in front of him.

“Hey, laser brain! Are you listening to me?” She says, waving her hand in front of his visor and snapping him out of his trance.

“What?” He asks, his voice cracking and making it sound like he hasn’t had anything to drink in days.

She huffs, before saying “I was asking if you were ready to go.”

“Oh,” he coughs out. “Y-yeah, I’m ready. Let’s go.”

“Are we taking the pod, or just carrying him?” She asks, holding the child on her hip.

He thinks a moment before saying “The pod.”

The princess sets him in his pod before slipping on a long black coat and following Din out of the ship. They head out into the busy streets, the child floating in between the two of them.

“Soooooo,” she drawls out, clasping her hands and giving Din doe eyes. “Where are we headed?”

“Uh uh,” he tuts. “Don’t even try that on me. That’s cheating.”

“Why?” She asks, jutting her lip out. “Because it works every time?”

“Yes,” he sighs. “Because it does work every time.”

She just hmphs and says nothing else as they walk along the sidewalks dusted with a light covering of snow. The streetlamps above cast an orangey-yellow glow on the pedestrians that pass them, many of them carrying parcels covered in paper, or large sacks filled with delicious smelling food.

The child makes grabby hands at some of them and the princess chuckles. Din glances over at her and sees the corners of her eyes crinkle as she laughs. They make eye contact for a brief moment before she looks at something above his head and her eyes go wide.

Din flinches, looking up for the threat, but all he sees is snowflakes beginning to fall from the sky. He looks back down at the princess and watches her stick out her tongue to catch a snowflake. They make eye contact again, but this time, she doesn’t look away. She keeps her tongue out until a small fleck of snow lands on it, then she pulls it back into her mouth. She throws him a sideways grin and then looks away, facing her eyes forward.

Din feels his hands get clammy as blood starts to flow south. Fuck, nononononononono, he thinks, balling his hands into fists and trying to think of literally anything else besides they way that snow looked on her tongue. He grits his teeth and looks around, hoping they’re close to the theatre. Thank the Maker.

Just ahead across the street sits the theatre, its twinkling lights and marquee sign dazzling in the white snow. He peeks at the princess without turning his head, and comes away satisfied when she doesn’t seem to notice it yet. He quickly grabs her elbow and pulls her into an alleyway on their right, covering her mouth with his gloved hand when she lets out a yelp.

“Do you trust me?” He breathes out, his chest mere inches away from hers. She nods her head and he lets go of her mouth. He looks down and presses some buttons on his vambrace, quickly recalibrating the child’s pod before shutting its hatch. “Hold onto me.”

She arches her eyebrows before stepping forward and pressing her chest against his, hissing at the frigidness of his beskar against her clavicle. She wraps her arms around his neck as he hooks an arm just below her ass.

“Din...” she warns, not sure where this is going.

“Just be quiet and hang on.” He commands, and with that, they shoot up and into the sky, the baby’s pod going up with them. He feels the princess bury her face into his cape and groan. In his excitement about the surprise, he forgot she doesn’t care for heights.

They land on the rooftop of the theatre, his knees and his back protesting from the extra weight that he’s not used to. Din gently sets the princess down and opens the child’s pod to make sure he’s okay. He smiles up at Din, who waggles a finger in his face.

The princess still hasn’t let go of Din, and Din still hasn’t entirely let go of the princess.

“Hey,” he says softly, and she pulls her head back from his shoulder but keeps her eyes squeezed shut. “It’s okay, we’re done with the flying.”

She exhales a breath he didn’t know she was holding and lets go, opening her eyes. Din reluctantly lets go of her and she takes a step back, looking at their surroundings. The faint sound of instruments taking their final warmups can be heard through the duracrete below them, and the princess finally puts two and two together.

“Din,” she gasps, shaking her head and covering her mouth with her hands. “You didn’t...that’s like, impossible. These are impossible to get. There’s no way...”

He grimaces behind his helmet and sighs. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I couldn’t. But I came by earlier and figured out another way for us to get insi-oof.”

He’s cut off when the princess envelops him in a hug so tight, he feels his back creak in objection.

“I thought you forgot a-about Life Day,” she says into his neck. “You didn’t have to do all this. N-no one’s ever-”

This time, it’s his turn to cut her off. He gently pulls her back until he can see her face, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.

“You can thank me later...it’s cold out here, and we don’t wanna miss the show.”

She nods and sniffles, dabbing under her eyes and motioning to the roof access. “Lead the way then, captain.” She says with a blinding smile.

A wall of warmth greets them as Din slices the door open. He glances around to make sure no crew members are up this high before motioning the princess in. The door zips shut behind the three of them and they’re sheathed in darkness, save the warm glow coming from the theatre below them. Catwalks stretch out in either direction, one going across the crowd, the other going adjacent to it toward the stage. They have to be at least 20 meters above the crowd.

The princess rushes toward the railing on the catwalk above the crowd and peaks down and Din finds himself surprised she’s not fainted yet. She answers his question before he asks it.

“This, I’m fine with. What I’m not fine with is careening up 100 feet into the air and 60 miles an hour with no warning and no seatbelt,” she says, fixing him with a glare that could cut durasteel.

This time, he doesn’t hide his chuckle, moving to stand next to her as she removes her coat and drapes it over the guardrail. He leans against the railing, the child floating just to his left, the princess on his right.

“You’re sure no one will see us up here?” She asks, lowering her voice as the lights begin to dim and the music starts.

“Would you be looking up to the rafters during this show?”

“Fair point, but I meant the dancers...”

“No, I think we’ll be fine, it’s dark up here.”

She just nods in return and keeps her focus on the stage as the curtains draw up and reveal the setting of Act I.

Din looks down at the child whose eyes light up at the glimmering tree on the stage. Underneath it sit huge presents wrapped in patterns of paper that Din couldn’t even think up. Multicolored garland hangs from the windows on the backdrop. Fairy lights dangle from the ceiling, bathing the stage in a magical light. He sees the children on stage laughing with each other as their parents dance to the music and suddenly feels the urge to cry,

His heart sinks at the thought that he could’ve had all this if the Separatists hadn’t invaded Aq Vetina that fateful day - and maybe he did have all of this, he just doesn’t remember. Did he have brothers and sisters? He hardly even remembers what his parents look like, just blurry features, sad eyes as they locked him away in that cellar to save him. What did he used ask for for Life Day? Did his parents dance with each other like that?

Resentment burns so hot inside of him that he has to tear his eyes away from the ballet and stare down at the crowd below. He grits his teeth and wills the tears threating to fall away. His bitterness flares briefly toward the princess as he catches the gleam in her eyes, the joy on her face as she looks on with glee as the act progresses. But it fades as quickly as it grew, his features softening under his helmet.

Who am I to be spiteful toward her for something I had no control over?

He looks down at the stage again, having not even noticed that Act II began. The music crescendos as the Nutcracker, having just turned into the Prince, begins to dance with Masha. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the chlid giggle in delight.

Just because I don’t have happy memories of my parents, doesn’t mean he can’t. Woah shit wait fuck. No, Din, shut the fuck up and don’t overthink the weight of that.

Carefully, Din removes both of his gloves and tucks them into his belt before gently resting his hand on the princess’s lower back.

He feels her gasp before she melts into his touch. She looks over her shoulder at him, the light from below causing her features to look sharp and dangerously beautiful. He leans forward so that his helmet is right next to her ear.

“Show me how you’d dance...if that were you on that stage down there,” he whispers, and this time the modulator doesn’t pick it up, so all she hears is his raw, unfiltered voice.

The princess looks up at his visor and smiles before nodding enthusiastically and backing away. She leans down and ties her dress in a knot at her knees before unbuckling her heels.

Din finds himself thinking that she wanted this all along, that she was made for this. His little wild fairy, stripping herself of the titles and the pageantry, barefooted and relaxed with a mischievous sparkle in her eyes.

She hasn’t taught him much, but he’s tried to listen as best as he could when she’d be doing a routine on the ship.

That’s a pirouette...I think. Okay, okay, plié. That’s first position? No...? Okay, yes, that was first position because this is second position, and now she’s in third.

Din finds himself swaying back and forth and nodding his head to the sweeping instrumentals, and the princess seems to smile when she notices this. She completes an attitude devant before slowing and giggling at him.

“What?” He asks, not quite laughing, but the smile in his voice is evident.

She just shakes her head, her own brilliant smile still plastered on her face before holding out her hand.

“Come on...look, he wants you to,” she says, pointing at the child who has long forgotten the ballet below, instead focusing on the ballerina in front of him.

Din watches the child for a moment more before pushing himself off the railing and taking her outstretched hand. He would be lying if he said this wasn’t the outcome he was hoping for, but when she pulls him into position, he realizes he’s in way over his head.

“I...I really don’t know what I’m supposed to be doing...” he murmurs, trailing off when she places his hand on her waist, his fingertips meeting the bare skin of her back. She grabs his other hand and holds it up at a 90° angle and it completely swallows her own. He watches her eye their conjoined hands for a moment, an almost awestruck look on her face.

“I’ve never...I’ve never touched you before,” she whispers, looking into his visor where his eyes are. “Like this at least. Your skin.”

He leans in closer to her before whispering “Would you like this to be the last time?”

She slowly shakes her head, keeping her eyes trained on his visor.

“Me neither,” he breathes out. “Now show me what to do.”

She inhales as if falling out of a haze. Clearing her throat, she adjusts Din’s legs by tapping them with her feet before getting into her own position.

“Okay, now I’m not going to tell you it’s simple but you are a fast learner, so I expect you to excel, unless you have two left feet,” she chuckles, straightening her back. “But I’ve seen you in a fight, and fighting and dancing are actually more similar than you’d think. Just like in fighting, if you’re not doing a practiced routine, you have to predict your partner’s moves, and for you, this isn’t a routine.”

“Mmm, cocky are we?” He teases, her reassurance easing a bit of his tension.

“For good reason,” she purrs, giving him a smirk. He doesn’t have time for a smartass reply because she’s already moved on. “Now, the music should be at a good tempo for us to start at any moment if I remember correctly. We’ll take it slow, just remember, feel me, okay? Anticipate my movements, and you’ll be fine. Nothing fancy for now until you get the footwork down.”

She taps her foot and looks out over the balcony, and Din swears he can see the notes swimming in her brain. He notices that in this light, he can see her irises better than he ever has before. But again, before he can complete the thought, she begins moving.

He follows her feet, feeling the way her muscles tense and flex underneath the tips of his fingers. Her eyes move back to his visor from their position over his shoulder and it’s like it clicks for him. If he weren’t going to sound crazy, he’d say it was like she transferred her consciousness to his.

They glide together like that across the catwalk, the child’s giggles following them as the pod, still connected to his vambrace, moves with them. The princess moves to twirl them around and Din’s foot catches a little, but he quickly corrects himself, getting back into step with her.

She suppresses a laugh before asking “Ready to step it up a notch?”

He just nods and she - seemingly reluctantly - lets go of her grip on his hand and twists so that her back is facing his chest. He readjusts so his grip is on her opposite hip, and she guides him to take her other hand.

“Same steps as before...yeah, good job,” she instructs, and it kindles a fire in his stomach that he thought he had quelled about an hour previous. “Okay, when I tell you to, keep stepping but lift me as you do a 180°, got it?”

His heart stutters, mostly out of fear of his poor, abused back. At 37, he shouldn’t be groaning every time he gets out of bed. But when he glances over at the kid, who is excitedly clapping his hands, he decides he’ll do it.

“Sure, but you’re gonna have to give me a few bacta patches on my shoulders later,” he says, slight amusement in his voice.

“I’ll do whatever you want...now!”

He falters for a moment, his brain short-circuiting like a C-1 series astromech before he realizes she means the lift is now, not...everything else that he wants. She pushes off of her right foot and he lifts her into the air, spinning counter clockwise before setting her down just as the music crescendos and finishes with a loud clash of cymbals and flutes.

They’re both breathing heavily as she turns in his arms to face him, and neither one of them go to move away. The tension is palpable at this point, with Din wanting to just bend her over and take her right there. His helmet tilts down to where her chest heaves and he swears he can see her heart beat in the pulse point on her neck. The thought of sinking his teeth into it and marking up her skin is suddenly overwhelming.

It’s only when the child squeals in delight that they’re snapped back to reality.

“I...I think we should go,” he says, catching his breath and tightening his grip on her waist. “Y’know, because the show’s over and crewmembers are gonna be up here any minute.”

She nods.

“Do you wanna take the elevator this time?” He asks her, hesitantly removing his grasp on her.

Again she shakes her head. “No,” she says hastily, donning her coat and looking like a ball of nervous energy. “Just do whatever gets us to the ship faster.”

They exit the way they came in, the princess clinging to Din, but he notices she’s not nearly as stiff as she was on the short flight up. They land near the same alleyway as before. The princess immediately exits the alley, setting course for the ship as Din struggles to keep up with her brisk pace.

“Hey,” he says, grabbing her arm. “You okay?”

She huffs air out of her nose before crossing her arms and shifting her weight. The snow has picked up since they entered the theatre, big enough now to cling to her hair and eyelashes. He watches as she leans over and snaps the child’s pod shut.

“I don’t know how to say this...” she begins, and Din’s heart sinks.

Dank farrik, I’ve gone and fucked this up, he thinks, his thoughts so loud that he only catches onto the last part of her sentence.

“...a virgin because of tradition on Arkanis, but I’ve wanted you to fuck me on every surface of the Crest since you asked me to join you. And I know this is forward, and maybe too brash, but I can’t stand it anymore and I just think that...I think I lo-”

“Woah, woah, woah. Slow down. I...” he licks his lips under his helmet and lets his brain catch up. “You want to...you want to have sex with me?”

She fixes him with a look that says “duh, weren’t you listening, dumbass?”

He sighs before responding. “Okay, look, I want this too, I have since the first time Karga, Dune, and I saw you at that library on Coruscant. But listen, if you’re...if you’re a virgin, then this is something I don’t want you to just decide to do on a whim, you understand me? That’s something that should be done with s-someone you care about.”

“Is that how your first time went?” She questions, narrowing her eyes. It’s a low blow because he revealed the answer to her one night while they were both drinking up in the cockpit. In this light, he can’t see her irises at all, and it’s extremely intimidating.

“I, well, no, but you’re missing the point-”

“Am I? I care about you, Din. Do you care about me?”

There’s no trepidation in his voice when he answers this time. “Yes.”

“Then what’s the holdup, hm?”

“Because I don’t want to hurt you!” He shouts, earning furtive glances from the few last minute shoppers out and about. He sighs. “I’m not a prince, okay? I’m not some nutcracker that turns into a handsome prince and runs away with you into the forest. I’m not what you were taught to look for in your happily ever after. I’m not supposed to be your forever. I’m not even supposed to be the kid’s forever...”

The princess glares at the sky, clenching her jaw, and Din can tell from past experiences with the cauterizer that she’s trying not to cry.

“And don’t even try to tell me that it’s not about that. I know you. You crave connection, you feed off of it. You just deserve someone better than me. After I find his people, I’m gonna go back to the only thing I was ever any good at: killing.”

She sniffles and he suddenly, selfishly wishes he hadn’t been honest with her. That he would’ve just lied and whisked her back into the ship so he could fuck her every day until he inevitably broke her heart.

She looks back down, and the placid look on her face terrifies him more than the thought of someone ripping his helmet off (though his faith in the Creed is becoming increasingly shaky). She just sets her jaw and nods, turning on her heel and getting back to her brisk pace from before. It’s then that Din realizes he’s turned the sexual tension into the need for a nasty, ugly fight, having denied his feelings for so long that he’s used to feeling anger and frustration after a close encounter with her.

“Since when are you one to run away like a Corellian hellhound with your tail tucked between your legs, huh?” He says, grabbing her elbow again once he’s caught up with her.

She yanks her arm out of his grip and faces him with a scowl on her face. “Since you decided you were so unlovable, that’s when. You think you’re this horrific, terrible person. Well, Din, I’ve got news for you; plenty of people all over this galaxy do what you do for a living, and then go home and eat dinner with their partners and kids. It’s you,” she says, jabbing a finger into his chest. “That has decided you’re so unlovable. Not this galaxy, not your profession, you. You can’t even call your son yours because you’re so afraid of what? Commitment? Someone giving a damn? And guess what? Even more bad news; you’ve failed so fucking miserably at that, because he loves you. You’re his father, Din, and he loves you. I love you. And you’re not doing yourself any favors by ignoring those two blatantly obvious facts.”

The unshed tears in her eyes start to fall and Din wants to rip his helmet off right there and kiss them off her face, but he doesn’t even know what to say except that she’s right. She’s exactly right and oh, Maker, he’s a dumbass.

“To have you sit here and say that you even might possibly feel the same way about me but in the same breath say that you’re afraid of breaking my heart is...well it’s fucking stupid!” She exclaims, tossing her hands up in the air. “I’d be stupid not to love you, I would know, I literally have three degrees, Din. You risked your life to save your son, you’ve risked your life to save me, Karga, and Dune on multiple occasions. You’re trekking halfway across the galaxy to find some fabled wizard, all for your kid to be reunited with his people. You are one of the most selfless people I’ve ever met, and the only person you’re convincing that you’re some bad guy is you. You’re the good guy...that much is true.”

“I’ve done...I’ve done bad things, sweetheart. I can’t even begin to name them all...” he mutters, looking over at the child’s closed bassinet.

“Okay? We all have. My parents were grooming me to be a politician for fucks sake. What could possibly be worse than that?”

She turns and walks away then again, while he sits there staring at her before his brain, reliable as ever, finally does the mental math. “Oh, Maker, I insulted you, didn’t I?” He calls out.

“Yes!” She barks without turning around, stomping through the snow that builds up on the sidewalk. “If you got me a present for Life Day, I’ll consider it forgiven. Come on, it’s cold, we can talk in the ship...after you’ve fixed that.”

Things Din Djarin needs to stop forgetting: 1) don’t ever insult an Arkanian, or you’ll spend your whole life savings trying to get back in their good graces.

...

They don’t speak a word until they get back to the ship, and even then, words spoken aren’t to each other, only the child. The princess gets him fed and tucked in for the night before disappearing into the ‘fresher. Din fiddles around, unsure if he wants to keep going on their journey or stay on Chandrila for the night. Eventually, he decides to keep going, knowing that the temperatures will drop too much overnight on Chandrila to keep the engine off.

He hears her emerge from the ‘fresher just as the ship lurches into hyperspace, and he reaches over and grabs a parcel from underneath the control panel before heading down into the hold. He gets a strange sense of déja vu, except this time, he knows where he stands.

She’s in her quarters, but the door isn’t shut, so he takes that as an invitation to enter. He sits on her bed, watching her wrestle a chunky knit sweater over her wet hair.

“That’s more like it,” he says, and she turns to face him, a quizzical look on her face. She spots the parcel in his hands, but says nothing of it, just looks at him expectantly. “Your look, I mean. You looked, incredible tonight, but this feels more authentic, more you. You look freer.”

She just nods and bends down to slip on some socks. He holds the parcel out to her when she’s finished and she takes it without a word, sitting down next to him and unwrapping it.

The paper reveals a box. Even though her irritation at his earlier behavior rolls off of her in waves, he can almost feel her excitement piquing.

She opens the box to reveal a pair of pointe shoes in a blush pink color, delicately wrapped in red and green paper.

“...does this make up for me being a fucking idiot?”

She holds the shoes up to the light to inspect them, a revered look upon her face.

“I...I don’t even know what to say.” She whispers.

“Well, you could start with ‘thanks’.” He says, which earns him a light punch on his pauldron.

“I hope you know it’s customary to give the present on Life Day, not the night before, so don’t think this means you get yours tonight. But how did you know?” She asks, finally turning to look at him.

“Well you only drool all over the sidewalk every time we pass a store that sells them, so I picked some up a few rotations ago when we stopped to fuel up.” He answers softly.

She smiles bashfully and tucks her hands into her lap, suddenly finding a spot on the floor very interesting. Din gently takes her chin in between his pointer finger and thumb, guiding her to look at him again.

“I’m sorry...for everything I said. I’m not used to this, any of it. I didn’t mean to insult you in anyway, but you understand that you and I come from completely different worlds, different realities...” he trails off, trying to find the right words to say. “The truth is...I’m scared, terrified of you leaving me. Everyone I’ve ever loved has...has, well, left. I know the kid is gonna have to leave at some point...I don’t want you to, too.

“After we left Nevarro, before we came here, I wanted nothing more than to take off my helmet and tell you...tell you how I love you face to face, and I’ve wanted to do it so many times tonight, but I don’t think I’m ready yet...to take off the helmet, that is. I-I don’t want you to think less of me for that, but I do love you.”

The princess, his princess, cocks her head to the side.

“I knew what I was signing up for, silly. I never expected you to take it off in front of me, not now and maybe not ever. That doesn’t make it any less meaningful.” She tells him with a smile, resting her hand where his cheek would be. “Even though I would really like to kiss you right now.”

“Well, that I can make an exception for.” He says, and removes his hand from her chin, moving it to the lip of his helmet and pulling up slightly.

He knows she’s staring at his bronzed skin and three day old stubble when he says “Well, kiss me then.”

It’s awkward at first when their lips meet, the angle of the helmet meaning that she has to tilt her head almost sideways to avoid a large gash on her nose from the sharp edge, but after a second or two, it’s like magic. They move in sync, chapped lips moving against perfectly moisturized ones. After a moment, Din takes the lead and deepens the kiss, keeping one hand on the helmet and moving the other to the back of her neck. He tentatively pushes his tongue into her mouth, but his eyes almost pop out of their sockets when she starts to suck on it. He groans and she moves her hands up to the sides of his neck.

“How’d you get so good at this?” He asks as they both pause to take a breath.

“Just because I’m a virgin doesn’t mean I wasn’t a horny teenager once. I spent plenty of summers at the Young Senators Retreat and-”

“Yeah, okay I get the picture,” Din huffs.

She laughs a full bellied laugh, the kind that crinkles the skin around her eyes and shows her teeth.

“Aw, is someone jealous?” She teases, poking the sliver of his cheek that was revealed to her.

He slips the helmet down and moves to stand up, and she does the same.

“Wait I didn’t mean to-”

“Sit down. I’ll be right back.”

He exits her room and takes a deep breath. He’s wanted this for so long, to be touched by another...to touch another. To touch her.

He returns moments later with a strip of thick black cloth in his hand and shuts the door behind him.

“As much as I want to see the look in your eyes when I make you come, I’d much rather be able to see the pretty little expressions you make when I eat you out.” He says moving to kneel on the edge of the bed. Her mouth drops into an “o” shape, her face flushing as bright red as it possibly can.

She clears her throat as he ties the cloth around her head, sheathing her in darkness. “You’re, um, good at complimenting.”

He laughs darkly, removing his helmet all the way and setting it on the floor at the foot of the bed before placing his lips next to her ear. “I think you mean dirty talk, angel.”

If it was possible for her to flush anymore, she would’ve, he thinks. He suddenly stops when a thought flashes across his mind that maybe she’s just doing this because he wants to.

“Hey, is this okay? I don’t want you to do anything you’re not comfortable with or not ready for, so if you want me to turn off the lights, or we can just stop altogether, just-”

“Din,” she whispers, reaching her hand out until she finds purchase on his knee. “It’s okay. Please, just touch me before I melt into a puddle of goo.”

Din just hums and stands, beginning to remove his armor. The pieces clank to the floor by the edge of the bed one by one, and he swears her face gets redder and redder from the anticipation. Finally, he’s left only in his underwear. He reaches out and grabs her hand, pulling her to stand. His fingertips move down to brush against the hem of her heavy sweater.

“Is this okay?” He asks, tapping his finger over her stomach and he feels her muscles flutter. She nods her head and he tries again.

“No, you have to use your words, sweet girl. Is this okay?” This time, his tone is more firm.

“Yes,” she replies breathlessly. “Please, Din.”

“Please what? What do you want?”

At this point, he knows he’s just riling her up, making the tension palpable before she snaps. He hears a whine in the back of her throat before she responds.

“I-I want you t-to do what you said you’d d-do to me earlier.” She mumbles, looking down at the ground as if to avoid his gaze, even though she can’t see anything.

“Mmm,” he tuts, stepping closer to her and leaning down to nuzzle his nose against the pulse point in her neck. “Which was?”

She huffs. “I want you to eat my pussy until I cry, and then pin me down and fuck me however you want.”

He pulls back at her sudden forwardness, not expecting her to be baited by his teasing. Her hands are balled into fists at her sides and her chest heaves. She huffs again and starts pulling at her clothes.

When her sweater comes off, Din’s cock gets ten times harder at the sight of her bare chest. He’s so caught up in the way her nipples harden and her chest flushes that he doesn’t realize she completely naked until she gingerly steps back toward the bed and flops down.

“Are you even still alive?”

When Din catches a glimpse of wet slick in between her legs, he decides that he’s not.

“N-no, I’m still here...you’re just. Looks like you were sculpted by the Maker himself. I’m not ever gonna to be able to keep my hands to myself around you.” He murmurs, stepping in between her legs and drawing a finger up her calf.

“You haven’t even hardly done that yet.” She grumbles, twitching as his hand trails behind her knee.

“Mmm, that may be true, but I’m never gonna want to leave this room ever again.”

She smirks and he leans over her to plant a kiss on her mouth, his body not yet touching hers. She wraps her arms around his neck and pulls him in closer, winding her legs around his torso. When Din feels her wet heat touch the skin just below his bellybutton, his patience thins. He deepens the kiss, carding his hands through her hair and holding her flush to him. She lets a soft moan out and he thinks he might explode.

He pulls away and moves down her body, leaving wet kisses in his wake that have her shivering. He licks a long stripe with the tip of his tongue from just above her clit to her navel and she claps a hand over her mouth.

He stops himself from drowning in her cunt and reaches up to pull her hand away from her mouth. “I shouldn’t have to tell you that I wanna hear you, sweet girl.”

As soon as she says okay, he dives in, immediately attaching his lips to her clit and sucking gently. Her hands fly to his hair and tug, which makes him groan at an ungodly loud volume into her pussy. He releases her clit and licks figure 8′s on her fluttering hole and back up to her clit.

She squeals and brings her thighs up to cage his head, and Din resolves that if he dies, this is how he wants to go; devouring her pussy and soaking up the cute little noises she makes, getting his head squeezed by her thighs and his hair pulled by her tiny hands.

He sucks on her clit again and she lets out a long moan.

“Din, please, s-something put something-”

He cuts her off by slowly wedging his pointer finger into her and starting to thrust. Her back arches off the bed and she lets out an even longer moan than before.

He lets go of her clit and asks “Is this what you wanted, angel? My thick fingers? Or just my mouth?”

She hums before shaking her head. “I-Is both an option? I w-want both, please.”

“Good job using your manners. And yes, both is an option.” He says before diving back in.

This time, instead of hearing her moans, he’s not even sure he can hear her breathing. He inserts a second finger and she exhales, letting go of his hair to fist the sheets. His dick jumps at the loud squelching sound his fingers make in her pussy as he picks up the pace.

“Ohh,” she groans out, and his eyes flick up to see her tits moving slightly with the force of his fingers. “Din, that feels so good.”

“Mhm, I’m gonna have to give you one more finger, sweet girl. Do you think you can take one more?” He asks, his voice muffled as he keeps slurping on her clit.

“One more? B-But it already feels so...so...” she trails off into a whine when he curls his fingers up and gives her the ‘come here’ motion.

“Tight? Yeah, angel, I know. But I’ve gotta do one more if you wanna be able to take it.”

Her pelvic floor contracts at his words and she squirms, bringing her hands back up to his hair and tugging.

He slowly gives her a third finger and watches her face to control his pace. It scrunches up into a frown that wrinkles her nose, but relaxes when he uses his tongue to lick a flat stripe across her clit. She uses her purchase on his hair to guide him to suck her clit again, and shortly after that, she’s moaning again.

He scissors his fingers on every thrust, trying to get her as relaxed as possible for the real thing. He curls his fingers up one more time and she’s inhaling loudly, her thighs shaking around his head and her fingers tightening around his locks. She screams as she meets her release, the sound coming out rough and scratchy. She curls in around his head, refusing to let go of his hair as he continues to suck on her clit.

She finally lets go and Din keeps thrusting as she exhales and it turns into a whimper. He slowly removes his fingers and crawls back up her body, pushing her legs back up to his torso as he goes. Her chest is still heaving from her orgasm as he leans down to give her a thorough kiss.

“Suck,” he gently commands, bringing the three fingers that were just inside of her to her lips. She hesitates a moment before opening her mouth and doing as he says. He groans as her tongue slips in between each digit and she licks off her come.

Din feels his heart stutter as he watches her.

“You look so perfect like this, all open for me, being a good girl.”

She hums around his fingers and he removes them, shucking his underwear off and fisting his cock with her spit.

“Are you on the implant?” He questions.

“Yeah, it’s against the law not to be on Arkanis...is it going to hurt?” She asks softly, clutching her hands to her chest.

“I think I’ve got you pretty wet and worked open, but we’ll go slow. It might hurt a little,” he answers, rubbing his thumb on the inside of her thigh while his hand spreads her spit around the head of his dick. “Are you ready?”

“Mhm,” she says, nodding her head, but she replies again, seemingly remembering his warning from earlier. “Yes.”

He adjusts her legs so that her calves are resting on his hipbones. He brings his thumb back to her clit and rubs gently as he starts to push the head in.

Now, Din is a cocky bastard by any means, but he’s not surprised when she starts to scrunch her face up and hold her breath when his cock gets about an inch in.

“Uh-ooh uh Din...Din it’s thick. Let me...can I feel...” he slows his movements as she trails off, grabbing her hand and bringing it down to the rest of his length that isn’t inside of her yet.

“H-how is the rest of this supposed to fit in me, what the fuck?” She asks incredulously, barely able to wrap her hand around the diameter.

Din laughs lightly, reaching up and grabbing one of her pillows before lifting her hips up and sticking it under her.

“This might help. Just relax, the more relaxed you are, the quicker you’ll adjust.” He tells her, leaning down to give her a lingering kiss. He stays there, hovering over her as he gently pushes in some more, kissing her again when her face scrunches.

He gets about halfway in before she finally relaxes and Din’s cock doesn’t feel like it’s being strangled. He sits back up and watches as her pussy swallows the rest of his length.

“Oh, sweet girl you’re doing such a good job already. I wish you could see how good your little pussy takes this dick.” He tells her, choking on his words when her muscles flex and squeeze his dick. He pulls out a fraction of an inch before pushing in again and she mewls. “It’s like you were made for me.”

She brings her arms up to drape over her already covered eyes.

“I-it feels good...go faster, please, I want it.” She whines and Din can’t help but run a hand up her stomach and to one of her tits, pinching her nipple lightly before pulling back and giving her what she wants.

“I love it when you beg,” he breathes out, enunciating each word with a thrust that’s not too hard, but just hard enough to redden her chest and make her tits bounce. “Look at you, I’ve got a little princess speared on my cock, hardly able to even talk. Have you thought about this? Huh? Thought about how my cock would feel? I knew you were wearing those tight little leggings and those little tank tops with no bra on for a reason. Dancing around my ship like I didn’t want to bend you over a crate and take you right there.”

She moans, long and loud, and he picks up his pace, lifting up her legs and holding them against his chest.

“K-keep talking, please, please, ple-” Her voice turns into a whine when he angles his hips up and hits a spot inside of her that has her legs locking up and her ankles tightening behind his head. He has to grit his teeth to stop himself from coming too soon because of how much tighter her velvet heat gets.

“Yeah, you like that? This pussy feels so good, baby. I-I wanna spend the rest of my life just fucking you.” He grunts out, emphasizing his last few words with a hard thrust.

She lets out an absolutely pornographic moan when he does that, but it turns into a whine when Din abruptly pulls out. He pulls away to grab his helmet and slip it back on before plopping down on the bed next to her and pulling her hips up and over so she’s straddling his. He reaches up and yanks off the blindfold, causing her to reflexively cover her eyes.

“I have the helmet on, it’s fine,” he tells her, watching her shoulders deflate. “I want you to watch the way I fuck you, angel. Uncover your eyes.”

She tentatively does as he asks and when she looks down at his cock that rests on his stomach, her eyes bulge. When she takes it in her small hand, Din wants to burn the image into his brain. She looks back up at him with a look of amazement.

“There’s no way this was in me...” she trails off, lightly stroking it.

“Mm, yeah, well you can have it back in you if you’d stop talking. I like it more when you beg.”

He watches as the look of amazement turns to mischief, similar to the look she gave him earlier at the theatre. Her milky eyes pierce his visor as she licks her hand and then rubs her pussy, dragging her other hand up her body to grab a handful of her tit.

“Then why don’t you put it back in and keep fucking me?” She asks, looking down at him through her lashes.

“Every fucking day you’re full of surprises, angel,” he groans, grabbing his cock and teasing her clit with it before pushing up and into her. She throws her head back and Din suddenly wishes she had the blindfold back on so he could fulfill his earlier wishes of marking her up.

He grabs her hips and pulls her down to meet his thrusts.

“Look,” he barks, causing her to jerk her head down to the place they meet. “Look at how this cock stretches you. Look at how well you’re doing, such a good girl. Always such a good girl for me, doing what I ask you to.”

He rambles as his thrusts get harder and faster and the princess starts to clench around him again.

“Are you gonna come for me? Gonna come all over this cock? One of these days, I’m gonna make you squirt all over my armor and then I’m-I’m not even gonna clean it, I’m just g-gonna go pick up a bounty.”

The princess lets out a laugh at that, clapping a hand over her mouth as she does and Din slows his pace.

“I’m sorry this feels really good still, but that was just funny. Hot, but also funny. I-I think it was just your delivery,” she giggles, removing her hand from her mouth and placing it on his chest.

Din’s heart skips a beat at the sight of his girl straddling his cock with a smile on her face, looking at him so lovingly. It’s a gaze he hasn’t been on the receiving side of in a long time. He finds himself thankful for once that the helmet is on because of the tears that spring to his eyes. Crying during sex? Not Din Djarin.

He sits up then, holding onto her back and folding his knees under him, hearing them protest as he does. He pushes her shoulders down so that he’s bottomed out inside her pussy and she groans.

“Please don’t ever leave me,” he pleads, looking up and fixing his visor on her face. “Him and I, we need you.”

“I-wh-where did that come from? Are you okay?” She asks, placing her hands on either side of his helmet and looking concerned.

He ignores her question, opting to bury his helmet into her chest and hug her tight while starting to thrust back into her.

“Din...” she warns, but hugs him back anyway.

They stay like that for a few minutes, just slowly moving back and forth together until Din’s patience breaks and he can’t help but start thrusting harder and faster. His hand snakes down her front to rub at her clit and he can feel her start to come undone. Her cunt clenches around him as she’s quickly and quietly tipped over the edge, her thighs and back spasming. She says nothing, just pants heavily above him, clutching his shoulders and brushing the strands of hair at the back of his neck that have escaped his helmet.

“Can I-can I come inside? Please-”

“Yes,” she cuts him off breathlessly. “Please, Maker, yes.”

He thrusts in a few more times before speaking again.

“Tell me you-mmm. Tell me you love me, cyare.”

“Oh, Din, I love you so much. You’re so special, you’re such a special man. I loveyouIloveyouIloveyou.”

He comes inside of her with a long groan, burying his face further into her chest as she repeats herself over and over.

Eventually, Din flops back onto her bed and she follows. He notices she takes extra care to make sure his cock doesn’t slip out of her.

“Wanted to keep all that come in there, huh?” He jokes lightly, giving her a soft pat on the butt.

“Shut up,” she huffs with a laugh into his neck. “I’m gonna have to get up eventually though to turn off the light. Are you...will you stay with me? If the lights are off?”

He rubs his hands up and down her back before exhaling deeply and responding.

“I would sleep in all of my armor just for the honor of falling asleep next to you.”

“Mmm,” she hums, tracing her finger along his collarbone. “Well lucky for you, I have a strict ‘no armor’ policy in my bed. It reads like this: ‘No beskar? No problem.’.”

Din awakes with a start to a loud thwump, thwump, thwump from somewhere in the ship. Immediately fearing the worst, he throws his undershirt and pants on and rushes into the hold.

There she sits, his princess, in one of his long-sleeve tunics and a pair of his underwear that fit her like shorts, banging the absolute shit out of one of her pointe shoes. The child, his son, he reminds himself, sits across from her holding the other shoe, trying to mimic her and bobbing his head along to the music playing softly in the background.

He calms his racing heartbeat as he goes to take a seat on the floor next to them.

“Happy Life Day,” she says, leaning over to place a kiss where his cheek would be.

“Happy Life Day to you, too,” he responds tenderly, booping her nose. She looks down to return to her work and Din turns to his son. “Happy Life Day, buddy.”

He babbles in delight, holding up the shoe to show Din all the work he’s (not) done on it.

“Sorry if I woke you up...actually, no I’m not. He told me to,” she says without looking up, nodding her head toward the child who just laughs. “He wants his presents, daddy.”

Din clears his throat and stands back up while the princess just smirks, knowing exactly what she does to him.

“Oh, and while you’re at it, there’s one for you underneath my bed.” She calls out to him as he leaves to go retrieve the Life Day presents.

“Alright, but next time I sit down, I’m not getting back up for at least 20 minutes.” He calls back from the ladder.

When he returns, he sees that they’ve switched shoes.

“So what does that do anyway?” He asks, setting the presents on the floor in between them. The child immediately makes grabby hands.

“Oh, it just breaks them in, but trust me, you’re not gonna want to see my feet for at least a week once you see what pointe shoes do to them,” she laughs.

Din’s helmet tilts, trying to gauge if he should have even bought them.

“Hey,” she says softly, placing a warm hand on his shoulder. “Thank you. They’re perfect. You have to do this with all of them, I promise.”

He just nods and pats her hand before reaching over and handing the child his present.

“This one’s mine?” He asks, holding up a large box wrapped in purple paper with a silver bow on top.

“Mhm,” she responds with a smile, tossing the shoe aside to pull his son into her lap and help him unwrap his present. “There’s a few things in there, but I could only do one box because the paper tax on Vardos was high.”

“That’s rich coming from the princess,” he teases, gently tearing into the paper.

“Hey! You know I don’t like using my parents’ capitalist credits,” she frowns.

He laughs, the modulator making it sound raspy. Their attention is grabbed by the child, who finally gets the box open and squeals in delight at the objects inside.

“Show dad what you got!” She tells him.

Din ignores his own present for a moment to watch as his son shows him a red shirt and black pants.

“Wow! That’s cool! Do you like them?” He asks.

The child babbles and Din looks at the princess. “Where’d you find something that small?”

“A maternity store,” she responds with a shrug, still looking down at the child. “Show him the next one!”

Din’s thoughts are swimming with the idea of her walking around a maternity store when the kid shows him his next present. The mental image has his blood rushing south until he reminds himself where he is and what he’s doing.

He clears his throat for the second time that morning because of explicit thoughts. “Oh, that’s neat!”

His son holds a tukka doll close to his chest with bright eyes and a beaming smile that shows his little teeth.

“Tell your dad to open his present,” the princess leans down and tells him, giving him a scratch on the head. When he babbles at Din again, his heart melts.

“Okay, okay, I’m on it hang on,” he responds, gently peeling open the cardboard.

In the box sits a camera, a photo, a cushion of some sort, and a folded piece of deep red fabric. The first thing he pulls out of the box is the photo. It takes him approximately ten seconds to realize that it’s a picture of him, smiling, as a boy. Next to him sits a girl, about four years older than him, and behind them stand his parents. There’s a tree with lights and ornaments decorating it in the background.

“Do you like it?” She softly asks him, placing a hand on his knee.

“I...how?” Is all he can muster.

“Well, I did some digging...a lot, actually. I found this on the holonet on an Aq Vetina tribute page,” she says, scratching the back of her neck and looking away. “It’s sad how many of those there are. Anyways, I saw your last name, your family’s last name, and figured it had to be you guys. I, uh, had it printed out because having to boot up a piece of technology every time you want to see that seems silly.”

“Is that...did I have a sister?” He whispers, drawing his finger over her picture.

“Seems that way. I could probably do some more digging if you’d like...maybe teach you how to use the holonet while I’m at it, old man.” She softly teases, squeezing his knee.

He’s scared that he broke something when he practically tackles her in a hug. His son hoots in delight, crawling his way up her front to be in the middle of the embrace.

“Thank you...so much,” he whispers in her ear, this time doing nothing to stop the tears that roll down his cheeks and catch on the lining of his helmet.

“It’s the least I could do,” she replies, giving him a soft smile when he pulls away. “If you need a moment, we can take a break before you-”

“No, no it’s okay. I’m fine,” he reassures her, the barest hint of a smile in his voice. “I’m right here where I want to be.”

He pulls the camera out of the box and inspects this.

“This is an older model,” he comments, looking through the viewfinder. “This must’ve been hard to find.”

“Yeah, but I wanted one that prints the photos out so you can keep them on you,” she responds.

“What’s this?” He asks, holding up the cushion.

She laughs. “It’s for your butt. For your chair in the cockpit. It’s supposed to help with back pain.”

He gently pops her on the head with it and she giggles. “Thanks, sweetheart.”

“Mhm...pull out the last one.” She tells him, nodding to the box.

He removes the fabric from the box and it unfolds as he holds it up.

“It’s a new cape. I got it so you guys could match.”

The smile on Din’s face threatens to break his helmet in half. “Hey, buddy, look...we’re matching.” He says, holding the cape out to his son.

The child giggles and wraps it around himself like a cape, and goes parading around the little half circle they’ve formed.

“This is...this is nice,” Din compliments, scooting over and slinging his arm over the princess’s shoulder. “All we need now is a tree.”

She leans her head into the crook of his arm and sighs contentedly. “Yeah, well they don’t survive in extended periods of hyperspace...trust me, I already thought about it.”

“I feel bad I only got you the one present,” he remarks, a tinge of disappointment in his voice.

“Mm, I’ve got everything I want right here,” she singsongs, poking him in his side. “Now lets get all this paper cleaned up so we can eat.”

She holds her hands out and he follows her up.

“What if we...uh, can we recreate that picture? The one of my parents?” He asks tentatively once he’s fully standing.

“Like...with the three of us?” She inquires, her eyes widening.

“Yeah.”

“Of course,” she answers with a soft smile. “It’d be best to do it after breakfast before his nap though.”

He watches for a moment as she starts cleaning up the multicolored wrapping paper, thinking about how peaceful and domestic this moment seems. He almost brings up getting their implants removed and having a few more monsters running around the ship, but he decides that maybe that’s a conversation for next Life Day, where hopefully they won’t have to live in the ship anymore or be on the run.

Even if there aren’t any more kids in the picture, or if we never settle down somewhere, this is more than enough, he thinks before joining his princess and his son in the kitchenette for a Life Day feast.

And for a day, all is well with the Mudhorn Clan.

#din djarin #din djarin x female reader #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #no y/n's around here #baby yoda #star wars #pedro pascal #reader insert

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sitcomified · 3 years

Text

we can’t make any promises now, can we, babe?

summary: impromptu peraltiago wedding one-shot set in the b99 season three finale word count: 5.4k rating: general

read below or on AO3

A buzz of chatter spills across the bar. Jake, Amy, and Charles are reunited at last, sharing stories the past few weeks over cheap drinks on a sticky wooden countertop. Amy finally tells Jake she loves him so much and he reciprocates without second thought. Charles offers a knowing glance to Amy, but Jake’s phone buzzes before he can follow up.

“Ooh, I'm gonna get this.” Jake excuses himself from the conversation and answers the call from an unknown number on his phone.

“Jake Peralta? This is Jimmy Figgis.” He feels like his throat has been shoved down his stomach. Cases were never truly solved, and usually the perps harbored resentment, but he had never been singled out like this, on his personal phone number. His first instinct is to try to locate Figgis, but even if he wanted to track the call he couldn’t. The voice on the other end has been altered by a robotic filter, and the background noise is indiscernible.

He hesitates for a moment before responding, “oh, uh, hey, dog.”

“You and Ray Holt took down my operation. Now I'm gonna kill you both.” Jake squints across the room in search of anyone remotely suspicious. Unfortunately, he could read too much into anyone when given the chance. He doesn’t recognize the new bartender, and he’s been less chatty than the others. There’s a lady squeezing her purse against her chest as she looks in his direction. His anxieties boil over in his throat as he tries to stammer out a response, but Figgis ends the conversation before he has time to interject: “later, dog.”

Jake’s hand is still shaking as he lowers his phone. His eyes dart around the room. “Uh, Captain Holt?”

“Peralta,” Holt says from across the bar, approaching the counter after politely excusing himself from an odious conversation with Hitchcock and Scully. His arrival catches the attention of Amy and Charles, who drop their conversation about where to find the best sundaes.

Jake scans the room once more before speaking in a low voice. “I just got a call. From Figgis. He knows that you and I busted his operation and he’s coming for us.” He sighs and his shoulders fall down with defeat. Amy instinctively reaches for Jake’s hand.

“Oh dear,” Holt replies. Even his ever-emotionless expression is disturbed by the news, with raised eyebrows and a slight frown. “Well that is certainly unfortunate.”

“What does this mean?” Amy asks, her voice trembling. Jake squeezes her hand, in a futile attempt to calm the storm of worst-case scenarios she’s piecing together.

“We’re screwed,” Charles says, “don’t worry Jake, I’ll make sure to tell your story.”

“We are not ‘screwed’,” Holt replies, “however, we should discuss proper procedure in a more private place.” He gestures to the couple making out at the table to their left. The group nods in agreement. “Go ahead to the precinct, I will meet you there.” He exits the conversation just as swiftly as he arrived, sparing no second in rallying his—albeit somewhat tipsy—squad.

The walk to the precinct is uncharacteristically somber. Charles doesn’t even comment on the fact that Jake draped his jacket on Amy’s shoulders the second they left the bar. The omnipresent breeze of arguments between neighbors, loud music, and traffic goes still and the only noises they can hear are their own footsteps, and the occasional sigh.

The precinct is at least familiar, but laced with uncertainty as night shift officers occupy the bullpen. The trio make their way to the empty briefing room, which is fortunately unlocked. Amy takes a seat in the back, and Jake hops on the table next to her. Charles heads for the bathroom to face the consequences of the “Authentic Asian-Mexican Fusion” cocktail he tried earlier.

“It’ll be okay,” Amy says, gently stroking Jake’s palm. His blank gaze is fixed at the wall in front of him for minutes that seem like hours, and he still hasn’t said a word. Usually when he was worried, she couldn’t get him to shut up. Seeing him silenced sent an eerie chill across her. “At least for now, Figgis and his guys are way too smart to infiltrate an active precinct.”

He finally replies, “So you want me to live the rest of my life here?” He lets out a meek chuckle. “I think that would be worse than getting shot.”

“Oh, come on, it wouldn’t be that bad. I’d see you every day, you already eat most of your meals out of a vending machine, and the bathrooms are nicer than your apartment.” Amy jokes.

“Hey, one day that will be our apartment, watch your mouth.” He cracks a smile. For just a moment he allows himself to forget about the immediate danger surrounding him and indulges in the idea of a daily life with Amy. They would order takeout and sit on the couch watching an action movie, and she would be curled up with her embroidery and he could smell her eucalyptus shampoo. Or maybe he'd learn to cook, and she'd put on another nature documentary, and he'd get to listen to her laugh at the stupid voices he did for the animals. He runs his fingers absentmindedly through her ponytail. That’s a life he would buy a million mattresses and toss his grey towel thousands of times over for.

His fantasy is, however tragically, cut short by the Captain’s arrival. “Peralta, a word, in my office please.” Jake nods and follows him through the bullpen, without even bothering to greet any of the officers. It's as if he was watching himself enter the room, rather than actually experiencing it.

“Take a seat,” Holt gestures to the chair across from where Jake was standing awkwardly across the desk, and he hadn’t thought about sitting down. To be completely honest, he wasn’t entirely aware of the fact that he had a body. “I have contacted the U.S. Marshall’s office to make arrangements to send the two of us into Witness Protection. I know that this comes as a disappointment, but I believe that this level of security is necessary to avoid the threat.”

The news hits Jake like a punch to the gut. It’s a new type of dread, one that’s crushing him in instead of pulling him apart. He had worked on high stakes cases before, but this was a new level of imminent danger. He’d always been able to talk his way out of any threat; the squad was always there to help him. Even without them, he could fend for himself. Hell, he survived six months undercover in the frickin mob. Jake clenches his fingers against the captain’s desk. “Captain, with all due respect, is that really necessary–”

“–I understand your hesitancy, but it is absolutely critical that we take the utmost caution, but this is non-negotiable. Our Marshall will be here in two hours. Sergeant Jeffords is on his way to brief the squad on necessary protocols right now.”

“How long will we need to stay in WITSEC for?” Jake tried to reason with himself. Maybe it wouldn’t be that bad. It could be a couple weeks, a month tops. It would hurt like hell, but it’s nothing he couldn’t handle. If it was somewhere cool, then he could also get a killer story out of it.

“Indefinitely,” Holt responds, as if it was obvious and insignificant as the color of the sky. His answer severs the last thread holding Jake’s sanity together. He bangs his fists on the table.

“What the hell? You just assumed I would be okay with all this?” he shouts, “I can handle myself. I don't need to be babysat. I've been a detective for ten years!”

“Precisely, that's why I assumed you would react like an adult, and not like a petulant child.” Holt retorts. His dismissive delivery only fuels Jake’s anger.

“What did you expect me to do? I just got to see Amy for the first time in weeks and now my life is at risk because of some stupid case?” He pauses for a moment, recalling the ridiculous conversation from the briefing room moments ago. “Let me stay here, I’ll take down Figgis. I’ll even live in the precinct.”

Holt manages to convey a magnificent lack of amusement. “I don’t have time to deal with your immaturity right now. There are several arrangements I need to attend to, for your safety, If I may add.”

Jake’s heart is still pounding as he storms out of the captain's office. A pair of officers look up at him with concern before returning to their paperwork. He walks directly to the evidence lock up. As much as he wanted to squeeze out every last moment he could with Amy, he couldn't risk ruining it with some impulsive hot-headed remark.

He paces around the room before eventually landing on a box to rifle through. If he couldn’t address his feelings, he could certainly distract himself from them. It’s an old case—from before Holt became Captain. From what he could remember, the perp was busted for poisoning victims she catfished, and stealing their identities. When he opens the box, a puff of dust fills the air, hitting him with the heavy reality of just how much time had passed. He occupies himself by sifting through the contents of the box: the bracelet she used to store arsenic, the harddrives containing compromised information, and the perfectly crafted report that Amy had spent their whole lunch break editing. He really didn’t know how lucky he was then. He spent every day with the most wonderful woman alive and wasted it by teasing her.

Suddenly, he hears footsteps. He would recognize Amy’s awkward clunking in her “going-out heels” anywhere. Even if he was deep undercover all the way across the country. “I knew I’d find you in here,” she greets him, standing in the door frame with a bunched up tissue in hand.

“It’s like you’re a detective or something,” Jake says. He aims for the light flirtatious tone that the two have grown so accustomed to, but it comes out too aggressive for either of their comfort.

Amy hesitates before clearing her throat and approaching him. She closes the lid and returns the box of evidence to the shelf, and reaches an arm across his back. She notices Jake’s widening eyes, slowing heart rate, and just as he opens his lips she accepts his implicit apology. “This is stressful, I understand.” She pauses and Jake can hear the soft popping of her lips; she's choosing her words very carefully. “I was thinking. Figgis will take a while to track down. I can’t let you go alone for that long.”

Immediately Jake tenses back up. He felt that they were in an awkward stage relationship wise, even before Amy went undercover. He worried she thought that he was moving too fast too soon. That he wasn’t serious or responsible enough. He can’t stop himself from vocalizing his anxieties. “Ames, are you breaking up with me?”

Luckily for him, Amy looks equally horrified at the idea. “No, the opposite, actually—” she takes a deep breath, as Jake violently racks his mind for what that could possibly mean,“—I think we should get married. I know this is all really soon and we haven’t hit all the relationship milestones, but WITSEC only allows contact with immediate family, and after what we just went through I can’t imagine—”

He interrupts without a second thought. “—Duh-doy, of course I’ll marry you.”

Although the proposal was a mere technicality, excitement washes over the room. Amy launches herself at Jake with wide-open arms. He squeezes her tightly and lifts her up. Figgis was still on the loose and his life was still in jeopardy, but it all seemed insignificant when he knew Amy would be by his side. He slowly lowers her down onto a pile of boxes. With their faces pulled back from each other, Jake can actually see Amy’s brilliant smile. He almost feels guilty for dampening it. “Uh, the Captain said the Marshall would be here in two hours, and everything’s closed.”

Her eyes are illuminated by that specific laser-focused excitement that was reserved for completing a crossword puzzle, or, choosing a new notebook, or, someone concerningly, receiving praise from her captain. “Leave that to me,” she says.

Jake can barely muster a response as Amy races to her desk. “You’re my dream girl.”

“I know,” she replies from across the precinct, no doubt doing one of her lovable dork dances from behind the door. The officers must assume that they’re somehow crazier than they already do, but Jake doesn’t care. Amy’s voice is still echoing in his ears when he returns to the captain’s office. His senses return to him, and he’s even grateful for the precinct’s faint smell of metal and burnt-coffee.

Holt seems to have calmed down from earlier, or at the very least, he’s so immersed he can’t be bothered to deal with Jake’s crap right now. He has a pile of binders on his desk and his reading glasses are on the verge of sliding off the tip of his nose. Seeing Holt in serious action almost makes Jake feel guilty for acting out earlier.

He enters the room awkwardly, and Holt looks up from a particularly thick file and clears his throat. “Detective, I noticed you and Santiago were conversing. I trust that you have sufficiently addressed any emotional concerns this process might have, given the romantic nature of your relationship. I understand that the prolonged separation can be quite challenging to navigate. Kevin and I recently had quite an emotional conversation ourselves.”

“Hello Kevin, it is I, your husband Raymond Holt.”

“May I inquire about the occasion? This is a rather unusual time to call.”

“I agree it is quite unorthodox, but this news is urgent. I just completed a very dangerous case and my life is in danger. I am headed into a Witness Protection program indefinitely.”

“I understand. I am quite disappointed by this news.”

“As am I.”

“Yeah, something like that,” Jake replies. In any other circumstance he would declare his eternal love for Amy from the top of the Brooklyn Bridge, making sure that the whole city could hear. But, although he would never admit it, he cares just as much about the Captain’s approval as she does. Whenever he imagined proposing to Amy, years down the line, he knew it would be elaborate and tasteful (to the extent he was capable of it) and when both of them were ready. He knew that’s what Amy deserved, and Holt knew it too.

“Pardon?” Holt takes his eyes off the monitor and folds his arms, and Jake feels as if he’s being interrogated. Through the glass, he watches Amy at her desk frantically typing and scribbling down notes.

He purses his lips in anticipation. He doesn’t have time to do a bit or give a fake story to dull the big news like usual, and that makes the ripping off of the bandaid even more painful. “It is possible that Amy and I maybe just decided to get married before the Marshall gets here.”

Holt opens his mouth with a slight indication of confusion, before swallowing a gulp of air. “I see…and you’re sure that you will be able to file the requisite paperwork in time?” An entirely unremarkable—and characteristic—reaction to the situation. No hints of judgement or celebration, just an acknowledgement of simple facts. Jake supposes that he filed any emotional response away to be processed at a later point.

“Don’t worry sir, we have a plan,” Jake assures his still-skeptical Captain. “Well, Amy has a plan,” he clarifies, and Holt indicates marginal relief.

Holt sighs, “I know I am not one to talk you out of your schemes—”

“—It’s not a scheme, it's a plan, and it’s a great one. Amy and I are going to go to whatever craphole state the Marshalls send us to, solve the case in no time and then make out 24/7,” Jake says with a new rush of adrenaline.

“As I was saying, you seem to be quite confident,” Holt continues, “which is why I’m not going to attempt to negotiate with you. You are excellent detectives and you clearly care a lot about each other. Congratulations to you both.” He gestures to Amy, who has her face nearly pressed to the glass behind the shades, as she tries to listen to their conversation. “Santiago, you may enter.”

Amy almost trips on her way into the office, and Jake greets her with a hug, “Did you hear that? The Captain approves!”

Her face floods pink, undermining her already futile efforts to maintain composure. “Thank you sir, it means a lot.”

“Of course. It’s highly enjoyable to see a couple as compatible as yourselves.” Jake has to bite his tongue to avoid mocking his word choice. “Now, given that time is of the utmost essence, I urge you two to go home and gather personal documents. I’ve already spoken to the night shift’s Sergeant, and he has agreed to lend officers to escort each of you.”

“We need to get all the marriage paperwork sorted out, I can just stay here,” Jake adds, turning to his girlfriend, “Amy, all my important stuff is under my beanbag chair.”

“That's why it's so lumpy!”

“I’m sure Detective Boyle would be more than happy to help out with your nuptials,” Holt replies, pushing aside his disgust with his Detective’s living situation. “Here is a list of things that the Marshall will need,” he hands over two slim printouts from one of the many binders on his desk. “You are dismissed.”

“Thanks,” Jake says, flipping through the sheets. He would be so screwed trying to find this all in his apartment.

“See you on the other side, babe,” Amy whispers as she leaves the office.

“See you on the other side,” Jake says, planting a soft kiss on her forehead before heading downstairs.

///////

One hour later.

Amy returns to the precinct with a sleek folder containing every document the Marshall requested. While gathering her necessities, she changed into her old graduation dress. It’s knee length with cap sleeves and a sweetheart neckline, not nearly formal enough for the wedding she had several binders dedicated to, but for all she cared she would marry Jake in sweatpants and grandma glasses.

Her jaw drops as she enters the break room. As it turns out, Charles wasn’t the only one in the squad ecstatic about a Peralta-Santiago wedding, even if it was just a formality. As soon as the rest of the squad found out, they volunteered to help in any way possible. Rosa took her motorcycle to the City Clerk’s office where she obtained a Marriage Certificate and License, though she wouldn’t disclose how she got into the locked rooms. Terry convinced his neighbor who worked in the State Court to begrudgingly sign a letter authorizing the marriage in under 24 hours (“Theirs is a love story for the ages, for the ages Margo!”) Hitchcock and Scully even rearranged the furniture to form a sort of mock-chapel although it didn’t help that Scully was asleep on one of the couches in the back.

Charles himself went full-Boyle. The room is decorated with a beautiful miss-match of flowers from the 24/7 bodega down the street, and soft classical music was playing over the precinct’s sound system. It’s enough to make the holding cell containing a single perp with thirteen charges of public urination seem miles away. “Amy!” he turns around when he sees her, letting the banner of post-it's he’s hanging drop to the floor.

“Charles, this is incredible!” Amy exclaims.

“Thank you, it's not the wedding I dreamed about for you two,—that one has far more exotic birds involved, both for eating and for pleasure,—but I figured it was my job to step up as Jake’s de facto best man,” he says, pulling her into a hug. “If you hurt him I swear to god I will make you suffer for the rest of your life,” he whispers into her ear.

Amy pulls back hesitantly, “yeah, of course I wouldn’t do anything to hurt Jake.” She laughs, but no one joins.

“Seriously, we mean it,” Rosa adds, her tone somewhat undercut by the bouquet of roses she’s tying together.

“Everybody, leave Santiago alone, she’s not going to do anything,” Terry says, but his authority is undermined by the mouthful of tape from hanging up decorations.

At that moment Jake walks in, “Leave Santiago Alone, She’s Not Going To Do Anything: title of Amy’s sex tape.” He’s changed into a white button up shirt under his leather jacket and dark jeans. His red tie and scuffed sneakers match the flower petals around them. Charles must’ve coordinated this, Amy thinks. He looks so handsome that she forgives the insult. Besides, they both knew he wasn’t speaking from experience.

“Dude, you’re literally getting married,” Rosa says, as Jake rolls his eyes. He saunters over to Amy and gives her a quick kiss. She takes his arm around her, and they walk to the back of the room for a semblance of privacy, taking a seat on the couch opposite Scully.

“Hello future wife,” Jake greets Amy.

“Hi future Mr. Santiago,” she responds, with a slightly smug smile.

“Wait, what are we going to do about last names? Should we hyphenate?” Jake asks, frazzled. He’s still processing everything that’s happened that day.

“We can work all that out later, but it would make paperwork a nightmare,” Amy says, as she tucks a tiny curl behind his ear. It immediately bounces back. Jake smiles at her. Of course she could still be thinking about paperwork at a time like this.

“I know it’s cliche, but I really do feel like the luckiest man on Earth,” he says.

“Well you are being targeted by one of the countries largest crime families, so I guess it evens out.” Jake looks away in response, and Amy bites her lip. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to bring it up, I just thought with everything—”

“—No, it’s fine,” Jake says, and he quickly pulls back his frown. At some point over the past evening (early morning, really) Jake had allowed himself to believe that this marriage was forever. That it was the next step in the infinite journey they would share or whatever. His stomach churned at the nagging idea that this was just a loophole for Amy to work a case with him.

“Babe, is everything alright?” She turns to face him, and he realizes the uncharacteristic length of his silence.

“After all this is over—if it’s all over—are we going to stay married?” he asks, not quite able to make eye contact.

“Is that what you want?” Amy counters.

“Maybe,” Jake responds. He definitely knows what he wants, but he tiptoes around putting Amy in a precarious position. The last thing he wants is for her to feel compelled to stay married to a guy she’s only been dating for a year. Instead, he returns the question, “is that what you want?”

She pauses for a second to think. “I want a proper wedding. With my family and everything—I think my mom would kill me if I didn’t. But I want to marry you. Preferably not in a police precinct though,” she adds. Now it’s her turn to avoid his gaze.

“I want that too,” Jake smiles in agreement, “Although a precinct wedding doesn’t seem that bad. Terry’s kids could be our flower girls.”

“That would be adorable,” Amy says.

“Do you think Sarge could bring them in now?”

“Jake, it’s the middle of the night on a school night,” Amy reminds him. Stupid reality always getting in the way of his great ideas.

“Right,” he pauses, and then lets out a laugh. “I love you, Ames.”

“I love you too, Jake,” she says, with her head on his shoulder. He wishes that they could stay like that forever, but time (or, to be more precise, his captain’s anal scheduling practices) were not on their side.

Amy explains all the different forms they have to sign and Jake watches her carefully scan each line and write her name in font-like handwriting. She feels Jake’s leg shake underneath the table and lays her warm hand against his knee to calm him down. He picks up a pen from the floor and adds his name next to hers. He takes a moment to appreciate the smooth black ink from her favorite fountain pen next to his skipped blue-rollerball scrawl.

“Alright, we’re married,” Jake announces, going in for a high five. Amy looks at him with disbelief, and Charles takes the opportunity to cut in and slaps his palm. The rest of the squad joins them around the table, except Hitchcock has fallen asleep on Scully’s lap.

“I can’t believe it,” Rosa shakes her head, “someone actually agreed to spend the rest of their life with Jake.”

“Hey,” Jake protests, “that’s my wife.” He looks up at Amy with his adoring heart eyes and she feels a flutter in her chest. It was the first time she was referred to like that, and he didn’t even use the Borat voice like she expected.

“Whatever. I’m happy for you dorks,” Rosa says and she’s just drunk enough not to hide her smile. “This is unacceptable,” Charles interrupts, “I mean all this work, all this build up—years of watching your heightening sexual tension—just to sign a few papers? At least give us the vows.” He gestures around at the decorations to emphasize the point.

Jake is about to butt in about how it’s not for him, and if they were able to they would celebrate more, until Terry adds on. “I agree with Charles! Terry loves love.”

“Eh, seems like a good way to kill twenty minutes, babe, you in?” Jake turns towards Amy.

“Why not?” she says.

“Yes!” Charles exclaims, “I can officiate, I’ve had my speech written for years. How familiar are you with the different types of tentacles?” Amy and Jake exchange horrified glances, and Jake gets ready to talk his friend down. “I’m just kidding, about the tentacles,” he clarifies, although Amy isn’t entirely convinced.

“Am I going to be able to stop you?” Jake asks.

Charles is already running to his computer when he replies, “Not in a million years!” Terry soon follows him outside, inviting every officer to come watch the ceremony. Rosa tries to wake up Hitchcock and Scully with a gentle nudge before eventually slapping them awake.

In the meantime, Jake and Amy stay at the table. They’re both exhausted from the events of the day, and Amy tries to stifle a yawn as Jake asks her nonsensical questions about life in WITSEC. “What do you want your undercover name to be? I’m thinking Larry Sherbert.”

Amy rolls her eyes, “I’m not taking the last name Sherbert.”

He smiles, “that’s right, because I took yours, Rainbow.”

“You want my name to be Rainbow Sherbert?” she responds incredulously.

“Yep, you had hippie parents,” he explains. She’s about to tell him to knock it off, when Captain Holt enters the room. Amy instinctively straightens her posture and smooths out the front of her dress.

Holt lays the bottle of champagne he’s holding on the table, “This is from my miniature fridge. I was saving it as a mentor-to-mentee gift for when Santiago passed the Sergeant's exam, but this occasion seems equally appropriate.”

“Thank you sir. This is too kind,” Amy says, in the most formal voice she can muster.

“Of course,” Holt says, “It is a customary gift between workplace associates such as ourselves.” Jake shifts his puzzled gaze between his wife and his Captain. He loved them both, but couldn’t for the life of him decipher their relationship.

Terry and Charles return and a few officers trickle into the chairs in the back. Holt takes a seat in the front row, next to Rosa, and Amy and Jake join Charles in the makeshift archway between the vending machines.

“This is the happiest day of my life,” Charles whispers, putting his arms around Jake and Amy.

“Because you found out you were adopting a child, right?” Jake checks.

Charles blushes, “yep, totally that. I’m going to be such a responsible dad.” He rifles through his papers one last time, “Ok I’m ready whenever you are.”

Amy glances expectantly at Jake who gives her two sharp thumbs up. “I think we’re good!”“Alright let’s get this party started!” Charles announces. His volume catches the attention of the crowd, and the chatter dies down. “We are gathered here to celebrate the union of the two most magnificent people I know: Jake Peralta and Amy Santiago. Many of you have had the privilege of watching Jake and Amy’s relationship blossom from the overly competitive co-workers who drove us crazy with their constant bickering, to the glorious sight it is today.” He continues his speech, skipping over entire pages that have been crossed out, containing metaphors everyone is undoubtedly thankful not to hear. “To Jake and Amy, partners in crime solving, and now also, partners in life!”

The room applauds, and Jake takes the time to dab at the tears he was holding back during the speech. “We come now to the words you’ve all been waiting for. Before you declare your vows to one another, I want to hear you confirm that it is indeed your intention to be married today. Jacob Zachary Peralta, do you come here freely and without reservation to give yourself to Amy Maria Santiago in marriage?”

Jake and Amy share a mischievous glance, realizing he never told Charles his actual middle name. He’s about to bring that up, along with the fact that none of the day’s events were remotely close to his intentions, but he gets the sense that Amy wouldn’t be happy if he derailed the ceremony. Instead, he smooths out his tie and confidently says, “I do.”

“And Amy Maria Santiago, do you come here freely and without reservation to give yourself to Jacob Zachary Peralta in marriage,” Charles continues, oblivious to their antics.

“I do,” Amy smiles.

“Please face each other and hold hands,” Charles says, pulling two silver bands out of his pocket. Amy looks at Jake with confusion and he mouths the words beanbag chair. Charles instructs the two to repeat after him as they place the rings on each other’s fingers. The whole ceremony starts to blur in Amy’s mind as she realizes Jake already had this ring that somehow slid perfectly on her finger.

“And now, by the power invested in me by the state of New York, it is my honor to declare you husband and wife. You may now kiss the bride!” Charles declares, tossing his papers on the ground for dramatic effect. Jake reaches his arm around Amy’s back in an attempt to dip her as some grand romantic gesture. She fumbles a little and ends up standing up and pulling her head up to his until their lips meet in a warm, invigorating kiss. Both of them chuckle as they pull apart. A few of the officers take that as a cue to return to the bullpen.

“It’s my grandma’s—the dead one’s,” Jake explains, pointing to Amy’s ring, “—and that’s like the one Peralta marriage that wasn’t a total failure so I thought it would bring good luck or something. Plus, you know the crushing debt.”

“It’s perfect,” Amy says, examining the carefully carved diamonds.

Captain Holt rises from his seat and reaches for the bottle of champagne, announcing a toast. As he starts to open the bottle, the cork goes flying across the room, shattering the vending machine glass. Hitchcock and Scully race towards the rubble to steal some free snacks. It’s at that moment that the Marshall, who unbeknownst to the squad had been waiting outside the Captain's office, decides to examine the break room and investigate the noise.

There’s a moment of silence, interrupted only by the fizzing of the overflowing champagne. Amy feels her stomach churning as if she’s somehow in trouble. Holt is at a complete loss for words. At last, it’s Charles who speaks up, hesitantly saying “Mazel Tov?”

#b99 #brooklyn nine nine #brooklyn 99 #b99 fic #peraltiago #peraltiago fic #jamy #jamy fic #brooklyn nine nine fic #jake peralta #amy santiago #b99 one shot #my fic

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angelofarts · 4 years

Text

Of Crochet and Comas Part Two

Me visiting the hospital on a Sunday was practically unheard of – I had last minute assignments and chores and a dozen other excuses I’d used over the years. And yet I must have been losing my mind, because here I was, sitting in the hospital, anxiously crocheting at my brother’s side. I was listening for the slick sound of leather brogues, and wasn’t focusing on the hat taking shape under my fingers, so when I finally heard the clicking of high heels, I fell backwards in disappointment.

“Well, well, if it isn’t His Superior Craftiness the High Lord of Crochet,” a sarcastic voice intoned from the door. I almost gave myself whiplash as I swung my head around, and immediately wished I hadn’t.

Not only was Tesha there, so were Richard, Lisa, and a girl who looked so much like Lisa that she had to be a close relative. I felt blood seep from my neck into my face, making a blotchy flush that I hadn’t experienced in years, as I realized that Tesha must have complained to her friends about how I had spoken to her.

The younger girl crossed her arms. “So you’re the one who was mean to Tesha.”

“His name is Aaron, Julia,” Richard muttered. It was gratifying to see that at least he seemed as uncomfortable as I was, stuck in his wheelchair and thus forced to watch, since the girls were blocking the door.

“It doesn’t matter what his name is,” Lisa declared loftily, leaning against the door. “He was mean to Tesha, so we want him to apologize.”

“I’m right here,” I pointed out. “You shouldn’t talk about people in front of them.”

“You shouldn’t insult people’s hobbies and handmade gifts either, yet you did both,” Lisa countered.

I groaned quietly. “Just leave. You’re going to upset my brother.”

Tesha shook her head at Richard when Julia snorted out, “Your brother isn’t going to get upset, he’s asleep.”

I gestured for them to enter, which they did warily, as though scared I would use my big bad crochet hook to bite them. I pointed at one of the monitors.

“Look, you see that spiking? That measures brain activity. Kenzo is very much awake, so if you could please stop dressing me down in front of him, I’d appreciate it.”

Tesha smiled and took Kenzo’s hand, squeezing it softly. “Hi, Kenzo. It’s nice to think that you’ve heard me every time I come in here. Sorry that your main source of conversation is your self-entitled brother who can’t understand the value of a craft he doesn’t perform.”

I groaned again. “It was a misunderstanding! I didn’t know you knitted it yourself!”

While Julia and Lisa laughed together at my exasperation, I leaned over to reach my backpack.

“And actually I did come with an apology, I just didn’t think I’d be delivering it in front of anyone else. Here.”

I passed her a light blue lacy hat. Made in subtle heathering yarn, it had a pattern that seemed like it would suit her nineteenth century aesthetic, and surprisingly it matched the legwarmers that slouched over her calves and high heels where her knee length dark green skirt stopped.

“Oh it’s lovely,” she breathed, pulling it on. Richard reached up and pulled on the back of it, allowing the slouch to form, and suddenly Tesha looked less like a girl from the 1950’s and more like a girl from this century. As she moved into the sun to thank me, I was struck by the silver of her grey eyes – that couldn’t be a natural colour, could it?

“Where are our hats?” Richard demanded, ruining the moment. It was a good thing he did, before I blurted out something to embarrass myself.

I raised an eyebrow. “Were you not just telling me how Tesha’s stuff is better?”

“No,” Julia said as she folded herself onto the floor. “We said Tesha is nicer so we like her better. She actually talks to us.”

Lisa looked a little embarrassed at the way her - sister? Cousin? Random acquaintance that shares enough in the genetic pool that she looks like her and thus has claimed a strange form of family? – was talking to me, but she didn’t correct the statement.

“Is that what you think of me?” I demanded hotly.

Richard shrugged, making the blanket around his shoulders slip again. “Well, yeah? You only ever talk to Bert and Lizzie, and that’s if you talk to anyone before you rush in here.”

Tesha absentmindedly pulled the blanket back up to cover Richard’s bony shoulder as she addressed me. “I didn’t even know you existed until yesterday, and I’ve been volunteering for a year.”

“I tried to say hi to you once in the parking lot,” Julia piped up. We all stared at her, until she grumbled, “Okay, fine, but still.”

“Anyways,” Lisa said, resuming unofficial leader of the team, “what we’re trying to say is that you can’t say we don’t try to be nice to you.”

I shrugged. “I don’t have time. I have to see Kenzo.”

“Yes, because your brother is such a good conversationalist,” she replied drily. “If he was awake, can you honestly tell me he’d want you here instead of with people your own age?”

“He is awake,” I reminded her. “He can hear everything you’re saying. And yeah, Kenzo was never big on telling me what to do, so he’d let me stay here if I wanted to.” Lie. Big fat lie. In the way of older siblings everywhere throughout all of time, Kenzo adored telling me exactly what to do and how to do it, confident that a year gave him some kind of mystical ability to boss me around.

Julia stretched out on the floor, letting her blonde hair fan out. “It doesn’t seem like you talk to him much anyways, since when we came in you were quiet.”

“Aren’t you worried about dirt?” I inquired, distracted by the light hitting her hair. It was almost light enough that I could imagine it to be reflective, the kind of white blonde you only ever see on people of Scandinavian descent.

Lisa scoffed loudly. “It’s a hospital. This is probably the cleanest floor in the whole of the village, she’s fine.”

“I dunno,” Tesha said, sounding like she was reluctant to agree with me. “You never know what someone may have trekked in from outside.”

She and Lisa began to debate back and forth, until Richard interrupted with a loud cough that started fake and quickly turned real, hacking and deep.

“You okay Rick?” Julia asked, real concern clouding her features. He held up a dark hand, warning her from coming closer.

“Fine,” he said after clearing his throat three times. “Tesha, could you help me get back to my room?”

I was surprised at the request. From what little I knew of Richard, he hated to seem reliant on anyone, often rejecting the assistance of his nurses and operating the wheel chair himself on pure determination.

“Of course,” Tesha murmured, grasping the handles. “Lisa, Jules, don’t go anywhere.” They left the room in a blur of dark green skirts.

Lisa exchanged a worried look with her… relative. I was almost positive they had to be relatives of some kind. You don’t get eyes that pale a blue on two people by chance.

“Tesha will take care of him,” Julia reassured her. “And you know he doesn’t mind it. She doesn’t baby him.”

Aha. That answered one question at least.

Hesitantly, I sat back down and picked up the project I had been working on before this whole fiasco started. A bright red beanie, using a puffy popcorn stitch, and with a button band on the side for decorative purposes. The feel of the yarn gliding through my fingers soothed me, and I was surprised to find that I felt real concern for the boy I’d known in passing for a year. Knowing he was sick, and understanding the reality of that, appeared to be two different things.

“What’s that?” Lisa asked, clearly trying to distract herself. “What you’re making, I mean.”

“Another hat. My mom struggles with winter, so it’s an easy way to make sure she doesn’t get sick.”

Julia plopped down next to me and examined the portion I’d finished. “You know, I bet Odette would love this,” she mused. “She’s always in red.”

“Odette?”

“One of the cancer kids,” Lisa explained. “She comes in twice a week for chemo and treatment. She used to have this gorgeous mane of hair, like a mermaid, and it was about hip length, but she lost it about three months ago. Shook her, hard.”

“Odette?” Tesha asked, entering the room again. She took disinfectant out of her skirt pocket and wiped her hands carefully. Lisa nodded.

“Well, it was very nice shaking you down, Mr. Aaron,” Julia said as she rose, “but unlike my sister, I have school tomorrow and have homework to catch up on. Nice insulting you though!”

My confused, “you too?” was lost as she left the room in a rush, and Lisa, after waving at me, went after her, thereby confirming – sisters.

Tesha looked at the slim silver watch on her wrist and sighed. “I have to go too. I have homework due for two classes first thing tomorrow, and I should help Julia study for maths, otherwise Lisa and her roommate will end up killing her.”

I rose, unsure of what exactly I was planning to do, until I held my hand out awkwardly.

“Nice seeing you again?” I offered.

“Nice not being insulted,” she returned, laughing lightly as she slipped her hand into mine. “Let’s try this again next week, yeah?”

I stood staring at the door stupidly long after she left, my murmured “yeah” ringing in my ears softly.

I opened up my laptop, staring at the draft of my essay. Slowly, I pressed the backspace key and erased the words I’d typed last night. When a blank page stared at me, I took a deep breath and, for the third time, attempted to define myself.

Today, I spoke to a knitter, a sister, and two fighters….

#writing #spilled ink #writing about crafts #of crochet and comas #pandemic writing #its kind of bad #i havent written in ages #please dont judge #its just for fun

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charmingcentry · 5 years

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Book Store

Entry for co-workers! Again, I suggest reading on AO3

AO3

There are two things that Beca looks forward to about her poorly-paid bookstore job:

1. The free coffee and doughnuts 2. That annoyingly cute redhead who won’t stop talking to her

The brunette has to admit, she loves it - the annoyingly cute redhead to be specific. That cute smile that greets Beca every time she clocks in for her shift, the pre-made cup of coffee with no cream or milk mixed in whatsoever along with the chocolate twist doughnut left in her cubby, it makes Beca’s shift worth it. For two young adults, a shift-lead position at a bookstore wasn’t quite what the two expected but they make their time worthwhile.

Beca parks her silver car in the usual spot, the mall parking lot right next to the redhead’s vehicle. Oddly enough, the redhead shows up for her shift extremely early although the store doesn’t open until 9 AM, she arrives around 7 A.M. on the dot for all her shifts, taking in the serene peace and quiet as she strolls about in the outdoor mall. The brunette calls her crazy for that, considering that Beca can’t even wake up that early in the morning - she has dozens of alarms set to make her on time.

The brunette walks through the quiet mall, the sunlight already shining bright at 8:45 A.M… could be why Chloe enjoys these strolls. Beca walks towards the bookstore, expecting to find the redhead waiting outside on the nearby benches, but she was nowhere to be found. Instead, the lights inside were lit and she could see the redhead already doing her job. A smile washes over her face when she notices Chloe dancing, upon further examination, to the music from the earbuds she was wearing. Beca crosses her arms, the smile still remaining on her face. She knocks on the door and the redhead lets out an audible scream, turning towards the entrance of the store.

“You scared me! Thought you were a burglar or something…” Chloe states, unlocking the entrance of the store for the brunette. Beca rolled her eyes as she walked in, avoiding the staff room since she doesn’t have to clock in yet.

“Who would rob a book store? I mean yeah reading is cool and all but really? Who would rob…” Beca examines the tables full of books around her and selects one at random. “So You’ve Been Publicly Shamed… okay, actually this one is good.”

Chloe lets out a laugh as she unplugs her earbuds and walks back towards Beca, grabbing the book from her hands to examine. “I’ve been meaning to read this one… is it any good?”

“It’s really comedic and has dark humor, I enjoyed it,” Beca responds, examining other novels in the store, flipping through the pages in some. The redhead lets out what sounds like a “hm” sound and immediately turns on her heel. Chloe runs off to the back room and Beca slowly follows behind her, wondering what excited the redhead so much. The brunette is then greeted with her coworker, holding a container filled with a baked good of some sort and a cup of coffee. “I, well, I heard that there wasn’t going to be any today so I figured to get you some to like… keep you energized.” Beca tried to prevent her incoming smile, how thoughtful of the redhead. “Here you go…”

Chloe hands Beca her food and the two stand in the doorway of the staff room and store, looking at each other. “Thanks.” The brunette adds after a couple of beats. “Uh, you really didn’t have to do this for me y’know?”

The redhead only shrugs when notices the time and walks back in to clock herself in. “I don’t mind… I mean you seem really happy when you have your breakfast here so.” Chloe says, waiting for Beca to clock in herself as she takes the brunette’s coffee to hold. “That and usually you on a full stomach prevents you from snapping at customers so…”

The brunette rolls her eyes as she presses her thumb on the fingerprint scanner. “That was one time!” Chloe narrows her eyes at Beca as she hands her coffee back. “In my defense… well actually I don’t have any, but she was really dumb. I mean, who asks where our best selling books are? We have a table literally right there for those books when you first enter!”

“I guess… you really scared her.” Chloe says, noticing the entrance of the store opening up. She notices other employees walking in, the tacky nametags pinned on their regular shirt - there was an arts and crafts day amongst the employees, wasn’t quite the best and now everyone is stuck with glittery sparkly tags. “Well, see you ‘round Becs looks like all the schools are out for summer and you know what that means~”

“God don’t remind me… hope that one group of teenagers don’t come in… they ruined my beautiful stack of Stephen King books!” Beca groans, walking into the backroom to store her personal belongings in the cubby. She awkwardly waves at other employees and she slips her bag into the cubby when she notices a small navy blue piece of paper inside. The brunette furrows her eyebrows and frowns when she pulls it out, noticing there are words written on it.

“The way I feel about him [her] is like a heartbeat -- soft and persistent, underlying everything.” ― Becky Albertalli, Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda

Beca glances left and right, trying to figure out who would write this to her. The brunette gulps loudly as she carefully folds the paper into quarters, slipping the navy blue paper carefully inside of her small backpack. She takes a deep breath before heading back out, her nerves almost relieved when she sees Chloe look back at her and wink as she organizes a stack of books somehow already disorganized. Beca smiles as she walks around the store, distracting herself from that note.

--- “I- I mean a note? From one of like my favorite books? Wh- who would write that to me!” Beca yells, waving her hands around in the air dramatically as she paces around her small condo shared with her best friend Emily Junk. “Like who would know that! I mean it’s been bothering me all day, like an itch I can’t friggin’ scratch! Or like when you get a hair in your mouth but you can’t seem to find it… ugh!” The brunette groans out, throwing herself against the couch that Emily is sitting on.

“W-well, have you thought of… thinking of who would know stuff like that? Maybe?” Emily asks hesitantly, worried that her friend’s frustrated outburst might affect her thoughts on the question asked. Beca only sits up to her belief and she just sits there, wrinkling her nose as she thinks through a list of people from her workplace.

“Nope.”

Emily quirks up an eyebrow, leaning back into the couch. “Really? Not even anyone you… I don’t know, close with?”

Beca scrunches her face up once again and lets out a sigh. “I mean there’s Chloe but what are the chances that she actually likes me back Em?”

The taller of the two only shakes her head and drops all her weight into the couch even more. “I mean… to me, you guys are like a couple kind of. She brings you food and stuff… you two always spend time with each other, you’re nicer to her than you are to me…” Beca gapes her mouth open.

“Hey! I’m nice.” Beca pouts, crossing her arms in front of her as she snatches an M&M from a bowl on their coffee table. “But… there’s no way it could be Chloe. Right?”

Emily only shrugs, taking an M&M for herself, she wasn’t sure if the candy on the table was available for her to take freely. Beca continues snacking on the chocolate candy, her face tense and jaw tightened. There’s no way it could be Chloe.

- Beca sprints into the bookstore, fastening the name tag on her purple-striped shirt as she speed-walks into the clock in area. The brunette had stayed up all night, thinking about the words Emily had said the previous night, looks like her 10 alarms weren’t enough to wake the employee up in time. She walks into the staff room, seeing Chloe adjusting her pin when she notices Beca. The redhead laughs at the frenzied mess that Beca is and walks over to her friend, grabbing a lock of her hair.

“Woke up late Becs?” Chloe chuckles as she notices how frizzy and knotted her friend’s hair is. Beca only nods, ignoring the sudden butterflies in her stomach when Chloe had touched her hair - the redhead was known for her lack of personal boundaries. Beca walks over to the time clock. “Oh you don’t have to, I already did it for you.”

Beca immediately whips her head around back towards Chloe. “How? It requires my fingerprint.”

“Remember before the whole fingerprint thing we had pins? I just used that.” Beca is still staring at Chloe with an expression of terror and amusement on her face. “I guessed… I mean, I expected your pin to be your birthday anyways…” The brunette opens her mouth but is cut off by Chloe again. “Don’t worry about the whole policy… you’re only 10 minutes late, I just told them you clocked in and went to the bathroom. It’s believable.”

“I- well, thank you so much dude that’s nice of you to do.” Chloe leans her head out of the room, noticing the fairly empty store with the exception of two other employees stocking the shelves with new arrivals.

“Wanna talk?” Chloe walks over to the refreshment table and grabs the doughnuts and coffee already made. “There’s food in it for you~”

Beca rolls her eyes and accepts the offer, sitting down at a small plastic table with Chloe on the other end. “For a Monday morning during the summer… I’d figure the mall would be busier y’know? With kids mainly since adults have work.” The brunette says, taking a bite of a chocolate doughnut

“I know right? I guess everyone is sleeping in or something… including you.” The redhead teases, poking out her tongue at the brunette.

“Hey! I’ll have you know this is my first time being late…”

Chloe rolls her eyes as she tears a piece from her sprinkle doughnut. “You’re lucky I saved your ass.”

“From who? Our manager isn’t even here… if he were he’d be yelling at us to go educate some kids to read or some crazy bullshit.”

The redhead lets out a small laugh, scoffing down the piece of doughnut. “Probably…”

Beca looks over to her cubby and grabs her backpack with one hand with the intention of placing her belongings away until she remembers. The brunette’s heart rate picked up, wondering if she should confront Chloe about the whole note thing. She tightens the grip on her backpack strap as she takes another piece of her doughnut. She didn’t even notice she’s been staring at it the entire time.

“Becs, you alright there?” Chloe questions, placing her hand on top of Beca’s. The brunette is startled and snaps her head to the redhead. “Yeah, I just…” She opens the zipper of her small bag and pulls out the little paper. “I got this yesterday, in my cubby.” Chloe takes the paper and examines it closely.

“ ‘The way I feel about her is like a heartbeat -- soft and persistent, underlying everything.’ “ The redhead repeats in a lively voice, a smile spreading across her face. “Does Beca Mitchell have a secret admirer?” Chloe asks, handing back the slip of paper, leaning in closer to the brunette.

“I- well, I don’t know… do you have any clue who it may be?” The brunette asks, standing up to throw her trash away, Chloe does the same.

“Nope. Whoever it is must be totally head over heels for you.” The redhead asks, standing nearby the cubbies when Beca begins to leave the break room.

“Yeah, maybe. Alright well, I better help them set up shop and stuff… talk to you later Beale!”

Beca walks out of the break room and Chloe pretends to follow, only stopping once she saw Beca walk into the main part of the store to help their fellow co-workers. The redhead walks back inside the break room to her own cubby which is coincidentally right next to Beca’s. Chloe slips out a purple-colored paper from her own bag and carefully slides the note to the side of Beca’s backpack. She smiles and leaves the break room, how could Beca be so oblivious?

“I wondered what that was like, to hold someone’s hand. I bet you could sometimes find all of the mysteries of the universe in someone’s hand.” ― Benjamin Alire Sáenz, Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe

Beca examines at the now seven book quotes laid in front of her with Emily by her side. The papers are vibrant and colorful and the handwriting certainly matches every time. A significant detail that Emily noticed was the little carrot that would be drawn on the corner of the paper. It’s been a week since the brunette has been first receiving the quotes and each time, they get a bit more love-related.

Tuesday: “Your heart's desire is to be told some mystery. The mystery is that there is no mystery.” ― Cormac McCarthy, Blood Meridian

Beca had found the little note from Tuesday in her cubby as always, it was an orange slip of paper. This quote was from another one of her favorite novels, this person sure did know a lot about the brunette’s personal life.

Wednesday: “Just think you’re meant to meet some people. I think the universe nudges them into your path.” ― Becky Albertalli, Adam Silvera What If It's Us

Beca had cried when the book first released, she stayed up until 3 A.M. just to finish reading the book and was extremely touched by the quote when she first read it. One of the first people she had discussed the book about was Chloe, they spent most of their break and time after their shift talking about the universe and the signals that it sends people.

Thursday: “Everything's uglier close up," she said. "Not you," I answered.” ― John Green, Paper Towns

Beca laughed at this one, the paper was the color pink and enjoyed the compliment that it came along with. Chloe saw Beca reading the paper and the brunette didn’t notice the immense amount of blushing that spread over the redhead’s face, Beca was too enamored over the witty quote.

Friday: “It is impossible to manufacture or imitate love.” – Professor Slughorn (Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince)

Harry Potter has always been one of Beca’s favorite book series, still is. She remembers one of the first things she did when she met Chloe was discuss how the Harry Potter series inspired the brunette to become an author… that clearly didn’t turn out the way she wanted to but after working at a book store, maybe she’ll settle in her music producing dream.

Saturday: “I always wanted to stumble into someone like you.” ― Adam Silvera, They Both Die at the End

This book made Beca cry even though she knew the ending. Chloe was there when the brunette had read the book, every word, every sentence, every flip of a page, every part of the book experienced was shared with that redhead. The brunette fell asleep in Chloe’s arms the night of, the finished book laying on top of her steadily breathing chest.

When it was laid out in front of Beca, that’s when it hit her suddenly. Well, with the little help of Emily who actually smacked the brunette’s arm after she still was oblivious of who could be sending her friend these notes. The brunette never really realized… how blind could she have been? Maybe all those times where she could feel her stomach doing flips every time Chloe would smile at her, or maybe when Beca’s hands became extra clammy when she first interacted with the social butterfly, the brunette just couldn’t realize it. She shakes her head in denial.

“N-no, it can’t be Chloe. Sh-she’s just a friend Emily.” The taller of the two lets out a frustrated sigh.

“Are you kidding me Beca? I’m sorry but… you’re about as blind as a bat… sorry.” Beca tugs at her bottom lip and reads over the quotes once more, those flashbacks of her and Chloe flooding through her mind. “Beca c’mon the signs are so clear!” The brunette glances at the clock.

“I’ve got to go.”

Beca exits out of the condo in a flustered manner, not noticing Emily calling after the confused brunette. She rushes down to the parking garage and starts her car, immediately driving out of the parking lot. Her hands grip tightly on the steering wheel as she begins her drive to work, the time nearing 8:45 A.M. when she typically would show up. Yet right now, the brunette is distracted. She’s distracted and there’s no way in hell it could Chloe sending those notes… there’s just no way.

The brunette parks her car next to the redhead’s as always and makes her way downstairs, fastening the name tag on her t-shirt as she walks slowly down the escalators. Beca walks into her workplace, 9:00 A.M. on the dot and as she strolls into the back room where she finds Chloe slipping a piece of paper into her cubby. The minute she turns around, the two stand there, staring intensely at one another.

“Beca! Hey! I- uh, didn’t think you… I- hi.” The brunette gulps as she walks closer towards her cubby where Chloe is still standing. “I, uhm, I guess you’ve been getting my notes?” The redhead moves aside, allowing Beca to access her cubby. The brunette retrieves the piece of paper that Chloe had left her and doesn’t read it. Beca slips it into her back pocket and simply puts her backpack into the cubby, still not saying a word. “Beca are you okay?”

The brunette turns to Chloe, she can’t even look her in the eye. “Y-yeah… I just need to, get to work.” Beca turns on her heel, immediately rushing towards the cash registers. The redhead looks back at the doughnuts and coffee she had made for the brunette but rushes over to Beca.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Chloe reaches out to touch the brunette who pulls her arm away from the redhead. “Becs?”

“Just… I really need to work Chlo. Alright?”

The redhead bites her bottom lip and nods. “Oh… okay. Do you want me to bring you something to eat or drink?” Beca only shakes her head as she continues focusing on the cash register. “Okie… just don’t go snapping at customers again!” Chloe laughs nervously.

“Yeah, I won’t.” Beca deadpans, walking over to the bookshelves to a nearby customer. Chloe could feel the tears brimming to her eyes like she was about to explode. The redhead takes a shaky breath and she organizes the bookmark rack by the checkout area.

Beca and she didn’t talk for the rest of the day.

“Beca, you did what!” Emily screeches as she jumps up and down one time. Beca has her head in her hands and is staring at the unfolded orange slip of paper on the two’s coffee table.

“I- I panicked Emily! It was true. She was the one giving me the notes and once I knew that, I just… I just freaked out! What was I supposed to do?”

Emily shakes her head and sits next to her frustrated friend. “Look I know you can be stupid at some times… sorry. But are you kidding me? The person you’re basically in love with like, you just flee Beca? I thought you were done with running.”

The brunette clenches her jaw. “I- it’s not that simple Emily.”

“Open the note.”

“What?”

“Open the note Beca.”

The brunette looks at her friend with watery eyes, when Emily became bossy Beca knew she had to follow her instructions. Beca reluctantly reaches out for the orange slip of paper in front of her and unfolds it carefully. The brunette begins to cry.

“What does it say?” Beca clears her throat. “ ‘After all this time?’ ‘Always,’ said Snape. — J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows…” the brunette folds the paper once again and Emily slowly wraps her arms awkwardly around Beca’s crying body. “W-what do I do Em? I don’t wanna lose her like she's my best friend - no offense (“None taken”) - and it would just hurt to lose her.”

Emily sits on the couch with her crying best friend for a moment, thinking of what to say. She then has a light bulb moment. “Hey, Beca?” She hears a muffled response of what she assumes to be some form of an acknowledgment. “Go gather all the books you’ve read in the past few weeks… I think I know how to fix this.”

“Beca, wake up.” The brunette groans as she covers her face with a pillow, knowing well none of her alarms have been set off. “Becaaa, come on!” Emily grabs one of the brunette’s arms and drags her out of the pillow she attempted to conceal her self with. Beca looked at Emily then at the clock, it was only 6:30 A.M.

“Dude, what did you wake me up so early f- Oh shit!” Beca hops out of bed, rushing straight towards the bathroom, grabbing her work name tag on the way.

“Don’t you need your towel to shower Beca?”

Beca screams from the bathroom, hopping into a pants leg. “I showered last night!” The brunette buttons her pants and drapes on a green button-up, pinning her name tag on the shirt. She brushes her teeth frantically as she goes back into her room, finding Emily holding a baby pink paper - they spent a couple of hours going through school supply stores to find a specific shade. “Thanks, Em, I’ll tell you how it goes down!”

Before Emily could say goodbye, the door slams shut and she hears footsteps running down the hallway. “Heh, go get em Beca.”

The brunette starts her car, trying to keep herself awake although it is the ungodly hour when no one should even be awake, with the exception of one person, Chloe Beale. Beca pulls out of the garage and tries her best to not go over the speed limit that much, keeping her car at a steady pace. She eventually makes the right onto the street where her work is located and parks her car, lo and behold Chloe has just arrived as well.

The brunette exits and sees Chloe raising an eyebrow at Beca, her hand holding a sweater. “Why are you here so early? Got another person to run from?” The redhead snaps, walking past the brunette, straight towards the elevator.

“Hey, Chloe come on, let me explain, I’m so sorry about yesterday.” Beca pleads, trying to follow Chloe into the elevator. Before the doors close, the redhead looks the brunette straight in the eye.

“Fine. Only if you can beat me downstairs.” Chloe leans over to press the button that closes the doors of the elevators. “Good luck with that Becs.” The door closes and Beca’s heart rate quickens as she turns right on her heel, frantically moving her legs down the escalators, this definitely counts as today’s cardio. She keeps her eyes on the elevator, not letting that machine go past Beca even for one second - the redhead is known for her passive-aggressiveness.

The brunette is on the second floor when she realizes the elevator is about to hit the first floor. In a split second, Beca uses the last bit of her energy to sprint down the stairs, meeting Chloe at her elevator the minute the doors open, Beca putting her hands on her knees as she catches her breath.

“Becs you alright?” Chloe asks, letting a small laugh escape. “You know I didn’t really… mean it. I was just joking with you. I was going to open it then I saw you run so…”

Beca waves her hand in dismissal to Chloe’s comment. “All… is… good.” The brunette stands up and takes one final breath. “But Chloe what I did yesterday… that was really shitty of me to do.” The two begin a small stroll around the mall, Beca follows the path Chloe takes in the morning. “Look I, I run from things as you probably know by now and just… when I saw you put that note I sort of… panicked.”

Chloe looked over at Beca as they continued walking. “Why’s that?”

The brunette tugged at her bottom lip as she fumbled with the slip of paper in her pants pocket. “Just, I- … I like you too. Like a lot.” The two stop in their tracks and face one another. “And I guess I really never… settled with that? Because just, the minute I met you I knew that I felt a lot for you and I sort of, kind of, definitely panicked when I found out you like me too. And that’s why I overreacted and ignored you which I definitely shouldn’t have done and I’m sorry.”

“Bec-

“No- that’s not all.” Beca reached for the paper in her pocket. “I also made you this since like, notes are your thing and shit…” The brunette hands the paper to Chloe and the redhead takes it. She unfolds the paper and reads the words written in Beca’s sharp small handwriting, in the corner a pair of headphones are drawn in. Chloe smiles and looks back at Beca.

“I love it…”

The brunette. “Y-you do? Thank god because Emily and I stayed up all night trying to find a quote and I-

Beca’s rambling is cut off by a pair of lips on her own. The brunette melts into the kiss and places her hands around the redhead’s waist, holding her gently. Chloe hums in response and moves her hands to run through Beca’s hair. The two book store employees stand in the middle of a closed mall, kissing one another like there’s no one else in the world. They pull away for air and press their foreheads against each other’s, smiling at each other. Beca’s nudges her nose against Chloe’s and kisses her once more, taking into account how soft Chloe’s face feels. They pull away once again and Chloe slips her hand into Beca’s. Finally.

“How could I have ever been ashamed of loving Dante Quintana?” - Benjamin Alire Saenz, Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe

-- If there are two things that Beca looks forward when going into work it’s: 1. That annoyingly cute redhead of hers who loves to greet Beca with a kiss 2. The little notes left in her cubby along with her favorite, a chocolate doughnut, and coffee.

#bechloe week 2019 #bechloe #beca mitchell #chloe beale #enjoy

48 notes · View notes

preraphaelitepunk · 5 years

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Fictober Day 17: The Love Language of Scarves

Prompt #17: There is just something about them

Fandom: Good Omens

Characters: Aziraphale, Crowley

Rating: Teen (a little bit of cursing)

Warnings: None

On AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/20843936/chapters/50118575

Love can be shown in countless different ways: a touch on the shoulder, a warm smile, time spent together, tasks taken on to save someone else the bother, little gifts, actually saying it out loud, cuddles, kisses, more . . . vigorous activities. After his great falling out with Heaven (to be distinguished from an actual Fall from Heaven), Aziraphale had enjoyed trying out all the methods with Crowley. He was aiming for a nice mix, though he tended mostly toward words, touches, and smiles. Crowley, though, had always been consistent, for millennia: he showed his love with acts and gifts. Words came harder for him, though practice was slowly easing the way.

“Ready for lunch, angel?” The bookshop’s bell jingled as the door swung closed behind Crowley.

Putting on his coat, Aziraphale said, “Indeed. You’re looking particularly lovely today, my darling.”

“Vile flatterer. I thought angels were supposed to be truthful.”

“I may be guilty of downplaying your appearance, but not of flattery. You look absolutely ravishing.” He enjoyed the faint blush creeping up the other’s sharp cheekbones.

As Aziraphale joined him, Crowley said, far too casually, “Oh, by the way, this is for you.” He handed Aziraphale a tissue-paper-wrapped package. It had tiny silver sparkles embedded in the paper, and was tied with a cream ribbon.

“How lovely, dear. Thank you!” Aziraphale kissed him on the cheek. “Shall I open it now?”

“If you like. Doesn’t matter.”

It was a scarf, in the lightest, most delicate wash of blue. Obviously hand knit, though by someone with enough skill and patience to coax the slender yarn into a pattern of lace that evoked intricate stylized fans, or possibly wings. Judging from the texture, it was cashmere, possibly with some silk blended in.

“It’s gorgeous, darling! I love it.” Aziraphale gave him one of his special smiles, the warmth and joy he reserved just for Crowley. “Wherever did you find it?”

Crowley shrugged, his cheeks reddening a bit more. “Dunno. Just picked it up on the high street somewhere, thought you might like it.”

“Hand knits on the high street? You simply must show me the shop, darling. Usually they only have mass-market stuff, or cheaper hand-made crafts. This must have cost a fortune.”

“Er. Not really. Just a few pounds.”

Aziraphale trusted Crowley implicitly, but he knew utter tosh when he heard it. “Now, I certainly don’t believe that, my dear. It takes hours to finish a scarf, especially a lace pattern like this. Then there’s the quality of the material — cashmere and silk do not come cheaply, poppet, and something this size must have required several skeins. Materials costs alone were probably fifty pounds, to say nothing of labor.” He didn’t mention the emotion emanating off the scarf: it was radiating love, knitted into the fabric like dog hair, though Aziraphale had to admit that wasn’t the most poetic of similes. Dog hair did lodge everywhere, though, and was impossible to get out, so the comparison seemed valid, if inelegant.

Crowley shifted on his feet, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Probably from a sweatshop, then. Drastically underpaid slave labor, hideous working conditions, fast fashion ruining the planet. Good choice for a demon.”

“You know that’s not true, Crowley. I’d be able to feel it if it were.”

Crowley heaved a sigh. “All right, fine, angel. You got me. I made it. Are you happy now?”

“Exceedingly. But I had no idea you knit, dear.”

“’S good stress relief. When I start to worry.” He smiled reassuringly at the wounded-sounding “oh” from Aziraphale and continued, “And I like the yarn. Winding a skein into a ball by hand is soothing, like meditation or something. And the skeins: there is just something about them. They’re like fuzzy, soft little pets. Except you don’t have to feed them, or yell at them like with plants. They’re easy. Pretty.”

“I hadn’t thought of it that way. I’m glad you find it helpful, love, but you know you can always talk to me when you’re worried.”

“I know, angel.” Crowley took his hand and squeezed. “It’s just, sometimes you need something that you can do for yourself.”

“I understand.” Lifting their hands, Aziraphale pressed his lips to the soft, precious skin on the inside of Crowley’s wrist. “But please remember I’m always here whenever you need me, no matter what, no matter why. Wherever did you learn to knit?”

“In Hell. I was stuck down there cooling my heels — you know how it was, they’d call you down there for an update and then they’d be too busy to meet with you, keep you hanging around for yonks — and I got bored. Hastur taught me.”

Aziraphale tried to imagine the Duke of Hell with knitting needles and fuzzy skeins of yarn. He failed. “Hastur. The one with the filthy mac and the rather unfortunate smell of, um, manure?”

“That’s the bunny. Be funny if there were another Hastur running around, but as far as I know there’s just the one.”

“One is quite enough, dear.”

“Good point. He’d made a big black scarf for Ligur, and said it helped him. Focusing on something simple that you can control, and doing one tiny thing correctly over and over again. You can see your progress, your success. It makes a nice change from the rest of life in Hell, certainly. Anyway, he said it was good for handling stress, and suggested I try it. I was certainly stressed, so I did. And I liked it.

“Er, forgive me, dear heart, but I’m having a bit of difficulty imagining a knitting circle in Hell.”

“Nah, fiber arts are pretty popular, but you’re right: people don’t think it fits with the whole ‘big, scary demon’ image. We keep it on the down low, but it was kind of ni — er, enjoyable for a bunch of us to get together occasionally and bring out the wool and the booze, catch up on gossip.”

“But why? I can’t imagine there’s much demand for fuzzy scarves and warm sweaters in Hell.”

“You’d be surprised. It’s in the basement, and it gets damp and chilly sometimes. Quite a lot of the time, actually. But not everyone knits. Ligur did really disturbing cross stitch.”

Aziraphale tried to imagine this. “‘Curse this mess,’ that sort of thing?”

“More like ‘I love the sound of screaming in the morning’ or ’Eat a bag of dicks and die, human scum,’” Crowley laughed. “With flowers and skulls in the borders. He said he liked making art by repeatedly stabbing something.”

“I can imagine.”

“Dagon says that’s why she does needle felting. Well, I say ‘needle,’ but I’ve seen her use her teeth when she’s particularly het up. Makes little wool sculptures in anime style, with the hair the Hellhounds shed. The one she made of Beelzebub was classic; pity they burned it on sight.”

Aziraphale couldn’t help but giggle. “You’re jesting, surely.”

“No! Swear to — to Somebody.”

“So what does Beelzebub do?”

“Macrame.”

“What, like plant hangers and wall hangings?”

Crowley shrugged, but his grin was wide. “I guess they like ropes and knots. So did Heaven have a knitting circle?”

The very concept of Gabriel or Michael sitting cozily with their knitting made a heretical giggle bubble up Aziraphale’s throat. “Not likely. I can’t imagine anything so human as that would be encouraged.”

“So no hobbies at all? Gabriel doesn’t collect stamps? Uriel doesn’t make pottery?”

The giggles were getting harder to stifle. “Sandalphon could bake bread. He’d enjoy punching down the dough.”

“Michael could do paper cutting; she’d like using a razor knife.”

“Oh, she definitely would like that. Sharp and precise and unforgiving.” Aziraphale laid his cheek against Crowley’s shoulder. “I don’t have a hobby, either,” he said, a little mournfully.

Crowley made an “ngk” noise and gestured around the bookshop with his free hand. “What do you call all this, then?”

“Oh. But I don’t think that counts, really. I’d like to do more with my hands. Baking, perhaps?”

“Could do. Or,” Crowley gave him a little squeeze, “I could teach you how to knit. Once you’ve learned, you could work on something simple while you’re reading: two birds with one thingie.”

“One stone, I believe.”

“That can’t be right. What do birds want with stones?”

“I don’t think they want much at all with them. I believe you’re supposed to throw the stone at the birds and kill them.”

“Urgh. Hastur probably came up with that one. Two birds with one birdbath, then.”

“Much nicer.”

“‘M not nice. Just don’t see the point in killing birds for no reason.”

“Of course, my dear. My evil, naughty old serpent.”

“Naughty indeed. And don’t forget it.”

“So will you?”

“Teach you to knit? Sure, if you like. But for now,” Crowley sat up and retrieved the scarf from Aziraphale’s lap, wrapping it securely around the angel’s neck and tucking the ends into his coat, “we have a lunch date.”

#fictober19 #good omens #good omens fanfic #fluff #ineffable husbands #ineffable spouses #knitting is soothing #hell has a fiber arts club #demons need all the stress relief they can get #crowley's love language is gifts and acts of service

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kafkasgods · 4 years

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faaya shah BOT 10/19/2020 There were a lot of ways to go about the wallet in Faaya’s bag. She could have thrown it away. Could have pilfered it. Could have had someone else return it. She really didn’t have any intention of doing what she was doing now. But after Phobos had visited her, Faaya felt inclined to do the exact opposite of what he would have liked. It was the small, spiteful victories that helped her tolerate Phobos being right with the overall picture. But regardless, that was how Faaya found herself on the other side of 105 at the Gray, hoping she wasn’t being presumptuous in assuming Audrey was home at this hour in the morning. Faaya had just gotten off work, so she figured she’d swing by.

@Audrey Ngo October 20, 2020

audrey ngo BOT 10/20/2020 Audrey had absolutely nothing to do today and was consequently about to crawl out of her skin. She wasn’t quite up to interacting with the town-- something about the streets of Epinieos made her feel positively hateful, so she took to the woods. She’d run for she didn’t know how long, but when she made it back to her apartment, she was sweat-soaked and not in any better of a mood.

Which is way she was surprised to see Faaya there, waiting. Audrey almost faltered, hesitating half a stride before continuing on her approach. Don’t shit where you eat, don’t crumble where you live into ruins just because someone you don’t like at all shows up at your door.

“Did someone like, post my address on Craiglist?” she asked hollowly, brows raising in impatience as she looked between Faaya and the apartment. Annoyance buzzed, insistent, in the back of her mind. “If you’re looking for a second round, I don’t think I have it in me today.” ( @Faaya Shah ) October 22, 2020

faaya shah BOT 10/22/2020 Unexpectedly, Audrey was hesitant upon seeing Faaya and there wasn’t much Faaya could do to alleviate it. “No, but you left it in a crater.” Flashing the wallet at the other woman for a light of understanding, she held it out. “It’s entirely possible I overreacted to something I should be well-used to now. I’m not asking for forgiveness, but if you’re not looking to try and kick my ass again, I can lift your ban at the Grapevine.”

@Audrey Ngo October 23, 2020

audrey ngo BOT 10/23/2020 "Oh." Audrey felt a blush starting in her ears, and sheepishly accepted both her wallet and the olive branch Faaya offered. "It's kinda sad I didn't even notice I lost it, huh?"

She nudged her apartment door open, which she'd left unlocked. It was easier than lugging her keys along on her run. Her head tilted, indicating Faaya could enter her apartment, if she so chose. "I appreciate it. My cousin was pretty dead set on us showing up and making a scene, but she talked herself out of it, thank gods."

Audrey moved as she spoke, fetching two glasses of water from the sink. They were sorely mismatched in size, but she offered Faaya the larger one in her own gesture of goodwill. ( @Faaya Shah ) October 24, 2020

faaya shah BOT 10/24/2020 When Audrey gestured for Faaya to go in, it took her a moment to register the invitation. A little surprised, she entered, warily. She didn’t expect Audrey to do anything untoward, but with a naturally suspicious nature, Faaya was always careful with the unexpected. “If I were you, I wouldn’t tell me her name. I’d hate to lose more business.” The uncaring tone in her voice said differently.

Faaya kept her eyes on Audrey, not looking around the apartment. She wasn’t nosy and it’d be rude. “Thank you,” she said, accepting the water. “You throw a mean punch. Though, I have to ask, has reacting on instinct worked out well?” It wasn’t something she ever did, but of course, she was tempted every now and again.

@Audrey Ngo

audrey ngo BOT 10/24/2020 Audrey shook her head, inhaling her glass of water and replacing it before really speaking. “You know her, she’s really just like that, but it’s all good.” Her shoulders lifted and dropped as she finished her second glass. She should probably dig up some of her gear from the Hunt and start bringing her own nalgene, but that seemed like a pain. Especially with Faaya standing in her house just as prim and competent as she did within the Grapevine.

“As for me, I would say it’s got a fifty-fifty shot of turning out alright. Sorry about your face,” she added as a bit of an afterthought, knowing full well that if she had to craft a proper apology, it wouldn’t sound nearly as sincere. “And your concrete. Just... not really my place to cause a scene. I’ll be on my best behavior next time.” As she spoke, she finally sank into her futon, legs lifting on the back and leaving plenty of room for Faaya to sit, even though she doubted the nightclub manager would. ( @Faaya Shah )

faaya shah BOT 10/24/2020 There wasn’t any need to press for more. If someone else wanted to come swinging, she’d deal with it then. Faaya wasn’t thirsty, but despite most people’s impression of her, she wasn’t rude. Drinking about half the cup, placed it back down on the nearby table. “Thank you,” she said of the apology. It wasn’t necessary, but apologizes took pride and she wasn’t going to spit on Audrey’s. “It might be a headache to deal with, but we’re getting a nicer exterior, so it’s not so bad.”

Audrey seemed to relax as they continued talking and Faaya, who really hadn’t been intending to stay long, found herself taking up the invitation of taking a seat. She guessed it was because it wasn’t like she had anywhere else to be. “Really. It’s less of a headache than the bouncers I have to deal with.”

@Audrey Ngo October 26, 2020

audrey ngo BOT 10/26/2020 Twisting so she was in her preferred position-- upside down with her legs hanging over the back-- Audrey turned her head slightly to keep Faaya in her line of sight. She found she didn’t mind the company. She didn’t even get goosebumps when the child of Phobos sat relatively close. “Yeah? I bet. Not one of them escorted me out, they looked like real knuckledraggers. Really, this issue between us is all their fault.” ( @Faaya Shah ) October 29, 2020

faaya shah BOT 10/29/2020 Faaya snorted at the comment. “Seamus is still kind of a kid and Dayn’s an ex, so it’s not great.” Really, saying it out like that, Faaya wondered what their last manager had been thinking. What they needed was older and more experienced muscle. “But I didn’t hire them and as much as I’d like, I also don’t have just cause to fire them.” She let out a short sigh. “That reminds me I need to find someone for next weekend. I really should have made Dayn look for a replacement.” Even if she was mostly talking to herself, she didn’t want the conversation to be entirely her so she waved her hand brushing it off. “What about you, what do you do?”

@Audrey Ngo November 4, 2020

audrey ngo BOT 11/04/2020 “well, last i checked you weren’t allowed to date your boss, so maybe you can use conflict of interest to get rid of dayn,” audrey suggested. seamus she didn’t know so much about, but she could work on that. it felt good to help faaya with her problems, somewhat. more of an apology through action than through weak words.

“i work at the thrift store. as thrilling as that is,” she continued. then the single, frantic hamster in her brain started spinning on its wheel, and a lightbulb went off. audrey sat up suddenly, probably startling faaya with the swift motion. “let me work the door for you this weekend! i’ve got credentials, we can summon artemis tonight, if you want.” ( @Faaya Shah ) November 5, 2020

faaya shah BOT 11/05/2020 “That’s true, but he doesn’t really stay in jobs very long, so I’m better off waiting it out,” Faaya shrugged lightly. Though Faaya let the threat of being fired hang in the air like a suspended guillotine, she wasn’t one to do it ruthlessly. Yet. The first firing she’d do would have to be someone who would make a lesson to the rest of her staff. Until she met someone willing to push her that far, it just wasn’t a possibility at the moment.

Finding out where Audrey worked a little bit of a surprise. Faaya had been to the thrift store and the quaint place seemed ill-suited to Audrey. Though, she guessed it was retail and a person really needed a fearful backbone to deal with it.

It was in the middle of that thought when Audrey moved quickly in her peripheral vision and Faaya just as abruptly scooted back, giving the woman her full attention. Sudden changes required new suspicious eyes. At least until Audrey made her case clear and Faaya relaxed. “Oh. You want to work for me?” Faaya had just been touching on the idea of older and more experienced muscle and the other didn’t exactly inspire that. At least upon first glance.

Faaya hummed, looking over the immortal Hunter of Artemis, who gave a mean right hook. Faaya was already convinced and willing to try Audrey out, but she would be lying if she said she’d never been curious about the Goddess of the Hunt, so jumping at the opportunity, she asked for the reference. “Sure, summon Artemis.”

@Audrey Ngo November 7, 2020

audrey ngo BOT 11/07/2020 * tw weapon mention * already firing on all cylinders, audrey glanced out her window, gauging the sun as it set behind the trees to the back of her building. “honestly, let’s do it now. hope you don’t mind getting your shoes muddy,” she mused, jumping to her feet and stepping into her gym shoes once again. figuring faaya just wanted to see artemis magic in action. it had been a burning curiosity of her own, so she didn’t look back as she headed towards the treeline.

wandering between the trees, audrey found a nice mossy spot and knelt on the ground, nodding slightly to show faaya she should do the same. bowing her head, audrey began to whisper a prayer to summon artemis. her memory had not failed her there, atleast, as she finished the prayer without stumbling over any of the greek words.

her head didn’t lift until her artemis-gifted bow and quiver materialized in her upraised palms. an impossibly large white stag, seemingly backlit with moonlight, stood in the clearing, liquid dark eyes examining her and faaya. “hey, cery,” she greeted artemis’ companion familiarly. “thanks for coming so fast!”

the stag somehow managed a look of benign amusement. “what is it you require of the goddess, audrey?”

“uh, my brother wanted me to ask for a tiger to ride through the streets, but that’s not a requirement,” she continued quickly. then she followed the cerynitian hind’s gaze to faaya. “oh! and this is faaya, she’s considering me for a position as a bouncer at the local club, which you’ve got to admit is much more suited to my personality than my current place of employment. i just needed a good reference for being strong and dependable.”

“if you were not strong and dependable, audrey, you would not be a very valuable part of the hunt.”

audrey raised her brows at faaya in an i told you so gesture. then she nudged her future employer. “any other questions?” ( @Faaya Shah ) November 9, 2020

faaya shah BOT 11/09/2020 Glancing down at her suede shoes, Faaya really didn’t want to get them dirty. It was only recently that she was able to afford the lifestyle she cultivated for herself and she liked taking care of her things. But there was no backing out meeting Artemis over a pair of shoes, so she resigned herself to following Audrey into the forest quietly like a shadow. Faaya’s only business for the moment was to observe.

It was only when there was a sudden heavy presence did Faaya lift her head, and instinctively, she let a barrier of intimidation surround herself. One that insinuated Faaya was not helpless and a being of fear herself. The stag was beautiful, but she knew to be cautious. Audrey, however, was in her element and it was no sooner that her recommendation was backed up. Faaya couldn't help, but have some distaste upon not being addressed personally. Either way, Faaya didn’t have much questions for the stag. She’d wanted to see the process first-hand, but she had no business with the Hunt. Still, she would look foolish without at least a single question. “If Audrey is so capable, what was the reason she was sent back to Epineios?”

@Audrey Ngo November 12, 2020

audrey ngo BOT 11/12/2020 audrey felt a prickle of annoyance at the other’s question, whipping her head over to squint at faaya. she thought they were cool now, and they probably were, but the tone still rankled. the hunt was not hades’ good graces. audrey actually cared about artemis’ opinion. turning back to cery, she was equally surprised to see the stag’s gaze was locked on faaya, unwavering.

“so you do wish to speak, daughter of phobos,” it noted. “it seemed, with your immediate defense, you wished to be left alone. like a hedgehog that curls away from anything that frightens it, i was content to let you be.” its head inclined once, antlers indicating audrey. she felt a little like she was being sent to the principal’s office.

“audrey volunteered to keep an eye on the town in the goddess’ name. she is perhaps stronger than many demigods, with blessings both from hades and artemis. that being said, she is a bit more ornery than most, so the goddess deigned that a small sabbatical might temper one of the hunt’s youngest member’s instincts somewhat. would she suit your purpose, faaya shah?”

audrey felt the back of her neck heat. when she spoke the words tumbled over each other in her embarrassment. “well, that’s a glowing review, cery. maybe don’t put her on the spot like that.” ( @Faaya Shah ) November 15, 2020

faaya shah BOT 11/15/2020 Upon the thrown away comment, Faaya narrowed her eyes at it. Truthfully, it was hard to tell whether or not she liked the stag. Clearly, it was mocking her, but there was also an appreciation for its wit. She chose to ignore it, allowing the divine animal to speak its truth.

Frankly, the review was promising and the job Faaya had seemed perfect for Audrey. Audrey already possessed better qualities than her current bouncers in her opinion, and in return, working under Faaya would be putting Audrey’s temperament to the test. Faaya replied leveled, “By your word, she does. So I suppose this is a good opportunity to judge the quality your lady Artemis keeps. I should hope not to be disappointed. Send her my and my father’s regards and appreciation.”

Breaking eye contact with the stag for the first time, she turned to Audrey. “You wanna start earlier? I need to train you before you take next weekend’s shift alone.”

@Audrey Ngo November 21, 2020

audrey ngo BOT 11/21/2020 so she got the job, but audrey still felt, keenly, the sense of indignation that came with being talked over. atleast she could focus on faaya’s invitation to distract herself from the feeling she knew would pass after a moment. “yeah, say the word. the thrift store closes before your evening rush even really starts.”

turning back to the cerynitian hind, the ethereal beast guessed her line of thought. “you will not be receiving a tiger from the goddess, audrey. but we are glad to see you find more suitable employment, and seeking peace where there was once animosity. i am going to take my leave now.” the great white stag bowed low to them both, and was gone the next instant.

audrey’s head dipped in silent prayer to the goddess, thanking her for the counsel. when audrey was finished, she pushed up off the ground, brushing dirt from her knees with one hand and offering faaya the other. “if that doesn’t go to show you that all the gods can be pretentious, what would?” she asked casually. “though cery is pretty to look at, atleast.” ( @Faaya Shah )

faaya shah BOT 11/21/2020 emulating audrey in what looked to be a prayer, faaya did the same, whether or not she was meant to. better to be safe than sorry. audrey offered her a hand and faaya took it, pulling up and brushing any lingering dirt off. she was glad to note her shoes weren’t entirely ruined, though there was still the trek back. “that’s true.” she agreed. somehow, she preferred phobo’s lack of mannerisms. “we can start you two days from now, if that works. bring some i.d.” faaya didn’t wait for audrey as she started walking back. “i will say, i’d be glad to finally have a decent employee if this works out, audrey.” she turned her head back to offer audrey a small smile over her shoulder. @Audrey Ngo

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lowkeyjustvibing · 4 years

Text

Time for some more EOTE :)

Chapter 1: Hello World

Regenold Schippel P.O.V.

So you may be wondering how we got into this situation. To put it simply, World Ender managed to end the entire world. The apocalypse isn’t as cool as you may think. There are no zombies to beat the crap out of or even cool vehicles to ride around in. Instead, we need to survive every day while avoiding homicidal maniacs. It isn’t fun at all.

I have tanned skin and brown eyes that go along with my black hair. I wear a red t-shirt and grey sweatpants and I love running and am always hyper. And I love doing anything dangerous that I will get a kick out of. Most of the time, I tend to wear my own man-made armor since, y’know, the world is overrun with psychopaths, and I have always had a passion for building things, especially weapons. I made my first well-functioning weapon when I was 8, but honestly, my favorite weapon I ever crafted was, when I was 11 where it has 2 chambers, one for producing lightning, and the other that emits flames. On the right side of my face is a scar, which I got from being pushed off a building right onto a pile of bricks. Before the entire apocalypse, I used to study reptiles and tried to save them from any animal-abuse related situation. I did save an alligator not too long ago that was being abused by poachers, and it was only a baby. The baby and I have grown attached and I now carry him wherever I go. I did have a family, but once the apocalypse struck, I was all alone.

Lucky for me, I managed to find fellow survivors of the incident, Blaize, Germ, Datura, and Ahiru. Weird names, I know. Blaize has dark red hair and golden eyes. He wore a leather jacket and a black shirt. He also wore blue jeans and black sneakers. On his left eye was a scar that he got when facing off one of the members of the elusive yet horrifying Class 09. Despite the fact that it was obviously a very traumatic experience, he likes to flaunt the wound, using it as a sort of badge of honor. He tends to make jokes during tense or dangerous situations and if not jokes, then occasional flirty comments. He’s a really friendly guy and only managed to stick around with us because he was nice and I figured going for strength in numbers was a good plan.

Germ is a short girl with dark brown hair and tanned skin. She wears a gas mask, sweatpants, and an oversized T-shirt. To add on, she also wears worn-out climbing gloves and hiking boots. She got her nickname due to her extreme germaphobia, which is also why she wears that gas mask all the time. Due to isolation, she tends to talk to herself when she isn’t listening to music. Strangely, she tends to ramble on and on about souls and the main components. When she isn’t doing any of that stuff, she is making us weapons and her lifelong project, the ETPD or Electronic Task Performance Drone. I guess we allowed her to join because we were in desperate need of weapons at the time.

And then we have Datura. To be completely honest, I wouldn’t say she is part of the group or even trustworthy. Why? She is one of the original members of Class 09 and still is. She isn’t even with us half of the time! She has sun-kissed skin and curly, black hair. She has feline-like emerald eyes that gleam with mischievous intent. On the bridge of her nose and cheeks are freckles. Like, freckles galore. She tends to wear a plain shirt underneath a pair of green overalls. She also wears a sun hat with several lovely flowers on it. She lives farther away from the rest of the group, in a little run-down tree house, atop an old willow tree. From the branches hang bottles and charms. When the sun shines down the under-side of the tree it is like a disco. Her house is creaky and old, having lived there since...well, I don’t really know. The inside is dirty and filled with herbs and other plants. She has many cats, all of them with odd names. She says she’s a witch but I just think she’s crazy, just like all the other World Enders. She also seems to enjoy what the world has come to. She loves how nature runs rampant, along with all the psychopaths, but she can be sweet. She helps the group occasionally, giving herbs and healing wounds.

But even with all the help she provides, I still consider her untrustworthy as she did help end the world and she is kind of a psychopath herself who jokes about murdering us at times. Unfortunately, the other two don’t entirely share my caution. Blaize is quite neutral towards her but is a lot less casual when she’s around. Germ is the exact opposite of me, she actually tends to hang out around Datura. She says that it’s because the treehouse is very clean and Datura is nicer than we thought. After the first 10 times, I stopped trying to stop her and figured that if she got killed, it was her fault.

This other guy that we met during one of our supplies runs was very strange. He acted like the whole apocalypse never happened. When we asked him if he knew where was going he said he did, but just didn't care or worry about it. He seemed to be able to handle himself since he's been able to survive for this long on his own. He said his name was Ahiru Fujita. He wears a cyan hoodie and jeans all the time, maybe he's cold or maybe he doesn't have a shirt I don't know. It's not something you really ask during the apocalypse. Ahiru had short black hair, light brown eyes and he isn’t that tall he's only like, 5’4. There isn’t anything special in the way he looks, he’s just an average person who has done what is needed to survive since there is no way he survived this long if he didn’t do that. The way he acts as if everything is alright is worrisome but there is strength in numbers so after some convincing, we managed to have him join our group.

That’s all of us, just a group of idiots trying to survive. It isn’t easy but things turn out better with people by your side. Sure, they are weird but they are better than nothing. We are planning to head out into the city this morning. I just hope we don’t die before we get there.

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We reached the city unharmed, somehow.

It didn’t help that we had to wrestle Germ out of Datura’s treehouse and then fight off a bunch of the man-eating plants around it, but after that, it was smooth sailing. We were all surprisingly silent the whole time. It wasn’t awkward though, it was a mutual sense of peace. When we finally got to the city, it was as destroyed and overgrown as usual. Vines covered the buildings and trees had grown up through the pavement, shattering it like glass. There were still lots of people living in the ruins but you had to know just where to look to even catch a trace of them. Honestly, it was a choice between the Wastelands and the Ruins that were occasionally visited by the 09’s.

Germ carried all our weapons in her backpack in case we came into contact with one of them. Today, we planned to raid a couple of stores for any food we could get our hands on. We split into groups of two, I went with Ahiru while Blaize and Germ went the opposite way. Ahiru was silent as usual and only spoke to point out possible locations of food. We also had to be careful of crumbling buildings and the fairly hostile plant life. There were patches of poison ivy that had become even more potent and could give you a bad fever or even kill people if they came into contact with it too much.

Thankfully, we were able to avoid all of it and find a couple cans of noodles, beans, and even a couple of seeds for growing our own food. After stocking up on all the supplies we could find, we started heading back to the rendezvous point. Halfway there, Ahiru stopped me.

“What’s up?” I asked.

“There’s more poison ivy” He responded, pointing his katana at a patch of bright green leaves poking up through the road.

“Oh shoot,” I muttered, “glad you’re more observant than I am.”

I was about to continue on around it but he stopped me again.

“That’s not the thing.” He said, “There wasn’t any ivy there before. That’s an entirely new vine.”

I slowly started to piece what he was saying together, “That either means we didn’t notice it the first time, or someone’s trying to kill us with plants, or…”

“Datura.” We both said simultaneously.

He tightened his grip on his katana and I grabbed my rifle and glanced around.

“What’s the game plan?” I asked, “Do we go after her or head back to the meet point?”

There was silence for a moment and I glanced back at him. He was staring down the empty streets viciously, as if he was about to see some monster appear from nowhere.

“I think we should head back.” I said, nudging his shoulder, “It’s probably not a good idea to go after her when we’re surrounded by huge plants.”

He nodded, still looking around. We made our way back slowly, twice as cautious now. After a couple minutes, I spotted Germ and Blaize. Blaize was carrying the food and Germ was showing off one of her newest models for the ETPD.

Blaize noticed us and waved, “Over here guys!”

We made our way over and after receiving a few snarky “Did you get lost?” comments, I explained the situation. Blaize looked worried and Germ… Well I couldn’t tell if she was indifferent or happy, it’s hard to tell with the mask.

“We should probably get out of he-” Blaize started but was interrupted by a squeaky voice.

“SQUEEEEEE!!!!!” There was a high pitched squeal coming from a nearby alleyway, “A TRILLIUM! IT IS PERFECTION!!!! IT IS HAPPINESS! THIS GORGEOUS PLANT. Look at you!!!! How amazing you’re thriving in this chaos! Have the animals been leaving you alone? What a wondrous thing! What a fancy plant!” the voice continued in a high pitch, indescribable to human ears, and tortuous to most animals.

“Is that..?” Ahiru asked.

“Definitely.” I responded.

Germ looked up from her blueprints and I could practically feel her smiling, “Datura!”

“Blaize stop her before she goes after Datura.” I said.

“Alright.” He said, running up to stop Germ, and hold her back.

From the alleyway where the voice continued to screech, plants, and vines were protruding in every which way, blasting out of the alleyway. The vines were going crazy.

“Guys, look!” I said pointing at all the greenery, “What’s happening?”

“I think Datura’s doing it.” Ahiru said, slicing a nearby vine in two.

Suddenly, the screeching stopped along with the vines. The street was eerily silent for a moment before a soft “Ow!” came from the alley.

“What did you do?!” Germ hissed, “Everyone knows you don’t attack Datura’s plants!”

“Uh oh…” Blaize muttered and Germ squirmed out of his hold.

“Germ wait-!” I tried to stop her but she was already running towards the alley.

“Datura!” She called, disappearing into the alley.

We all glanced at each other and I sighed, “Well, I think we know what we’re doing now.”

#This one is a bit long #Wait a little bit and I'll give yalls some Germ POV :)#To The Ends Of The Earth #Original Story

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rustleandeddy · 7 years

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Chapter 15

As Borgle, Mab, and Eddy clattered along, the landscape of the cave steadily changed. The sweeping, irregular paths ground into the floor by the skitter-clamps became less common, and those that remained seemed far more deliberate. They were less trails and more roads, carefully maintained and even marked with stones. Signs had been erected, each fashioned from bits of shell and marked with a what may have been charcoal, though the writing was indecipherable to Eddy.

“Did you put these signs?” Eddy called to Mab.

“Who else? I’m the only one here.”

“Why did you leave signs if you are the only one here?”

“Have you ever been left alone in a cave for ages?”

“No.”

“The mind does strange things. The signs are there half for those days when I can’t seem to focus well enough to find my way home, and half so I can pretend I am still in some sort of society.”

As they continued, more attempts to civilize the cave came into view. The haphazard, natural layout of the stalks gave way to orderly grids. Shallow rectangular pools were carved into the level parts of the ground and filled with water.

“Those are the farms. The stalks grow better with some irrigation,” Mab explained.

“Irrigation?”

“Water. And back there is where I do my cooking.”

“Oh, yes. Yes. Cooking. That is heat and food. I cook sometimes as well. With the good hot water. Very nice sometimes. But raw is also nice.”

“Animal…” Mab muttered. “The meat of those skitter-clamps doesn’t keep very well on its own. But smoked over some burnt stalks it’ll last for ages, and it’s got a better flavor, too.”

“Smoke?”

“Black stuff. Stings the lungs. Goes with fire. How do you not know this?”

“In the very far north and south, where it is coldest, very cold, salty water pushes down from the ice above and freezes when the salt goes. It makes a long hollow tube from the ice above to the sea floor below. Also, the puffy spiny fish make big complicated circles on the ground when they look for mates. The circles are large and if you didn't see them being made, you would never think that something as simple as a puffy spiny fish could make one.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Did you know those things?”

“No.”

“Then we both don’t know about things we’ve never seen before.”

“… Fair enough. Watch yourself. We’re coming to the trench.”

Ahead, a wide, shallow trough had been dug into the ground. It was perfectly angular, with sharp edges and a smooth bottom. The trench traced out a wide circle. It was miles long, at least.

“You did this all yourself?” Eddy said in amazement.

“I’m a dwarf. We dig.”

“But that’s very much digging!”

“I’ve been here for a long time, Eddy.”

“What is the trench for?”

“Skitter clamps won’t cross it. Note how much nicer the stalk fields are on the other side. Though, those things aren’t completely mindless. After hunting them for as long as I have, most of them stay far away. A nuisance, really. Takes ages to track one down and kill it. But it means I can have a few more fields and not worry too much about them getting wrecked.”

“Do you need all of this to stay alive?”

“No. Don’t need half of it. But you give a dwarf time and tools, she’ll get something done or go mad.”

Borgle easily straddled the trench. Even with his cart, Eddy wasn’t going to be able to cross it.

“Borgle, a little help?” Eddy said.

The mechanism turned and looked between Eddy and the trench for a few moments. It lifted one pincer toward the edge of the trench and sparked it.

“Don’t you dare touch that trench!” Mab snapped.

“Stop!” Eddy said quickly. “Just lift me over.”

Borgle chimed happily and used two pincers to grab Eddy’s cart by the wheels and somewhat clumsily heave him to the other side.

“Rotten machine, trying to chip away at what I made…” Mab said.

“Borgle is a digger. Diggers dig too. Like dwarves. You should be friends!”

“You don’t make friends with tools. And you shouldn’t have to argue with tools and babysit tools lest they ruin what you’ve made.”

“Then Borgle isn’t a tool.”

“I suppose not. More of a pet.”

“Then you can be friends with it!”

“I don’t have much use for pets either. This thing here is a pile of parts. Pretty useful in the shape it’s in. But I’m not so sure it wouldn’t be more useful in a different shape entirely.”

“Like what?”

“Like that.”

Mab pointed to what was slowly becoming visible behind a jagged berm ahead. As they drew closer and more of the structure revealed itself, Eddy found it progressively more confounding. In its general shape, he supposed it must have been a house. He’d seen a few drawings of what made for shelter on the surface, and this was similar. It had shutters over windows, shingles on the roof. But for every thing that was reminiscent of a house, there were three things that Eddy had never seen and couldn’t imagine the purpose for. Everything had gears and struts attached. Springs, wheels, and pipes abounded. At one edge, a fire burned underneath a cauldron or kettle. Everything had the same shimmering, shiny look of the metal that composed Borgle’s body.

“Is that… your home?” Eddy said in a less than confident tone.

“Such as it is…” Mab muttered.

“You built it out of diggers?”

“There’s not much to use around here aside from stone, shell, stalks, and diggers. Diggers have the best material. I don’t know what they’re made out of, but with nothing but stalks to burn, even with the best bellows I could manage, I couldn’t melt them down. It’s all I can do to soften them enough to work them.”

“It isn’t… I do not very much like the thought that you have been using things built by my gods to make a house.”

“Well they weren’t using them anymore.”

The trio approached the house.

“How many diggers did you use?”

“Who counts such things? Maybe six. Maybe ten.”

Eddy craned his neck. The place was a good deal larger than his own home. If he were to hazard an estimate, he would have placed it at near the size of one of the huge fishing trawlers he’d seen from below when accompanying his sister on trips to nearby villages for trade.

“It seems large for even just ten diggers.”

“Those things are packed with useful parts. Hook them together right and they stretch quite a ways.”

Borgle stopped at the front door of the gleaming, vaguely clockwork manor. As it had been approaching, Borgle’s merry little rhythm of ticking, whirring, and clacking had been getting rougher. Now, as its two functional eyes swept over the structure, its hull was grinding and vibrating. It was almost like a beast’s growl.

A pincer curled around and grasped Mab by the collar. It plucked the dwarf from its back and unceremoniously dropped her.

"What has gotten into you, you daft machine?" Mab fumed, pulling herself to her feet and dusting herself off.

Borgle pointed with two pincers at the assortment of gears surrounding the door, then pointed at its own body. It produced a rather aggressive thunk.

"I think Borgle does not very much like you using pieces of its fellow diggers for making things either," Eddy said.

"I don't think Borgle gets to have an opinion. Egad. I didn't think if I ever met another person again I'd find myself longing for solitude so soon."

The doorway wasn't quite large enough for Eddy to easily navigate it in his cart, but that didn't stop him from indulging his curiosity. He flopped from the contraption and slid himself in behind Mab as she trudged inside.

If the outside of the house had been a dizzying and complex bit of ingenuity, the inside was at a whole other level. It was dark, what little light was visible came from bouquets of the golden stalks. Eddy leaned close to scrutinize the walls, which were hung over every available bit of surface with tools of various descriptions. Hammers and picks were most common, but there were also pliers and grippers, knives and tongs, and things he knew neither the name nor the purpose of. Like the building itself, each was fashioned of bits of digger and lashed with twisted stalks.

The ceilings were low, barely tall enough to prevent Mab from bumping her head, but that was hardly a problem for someone who had been reduced to dragging himself along the ground. What was a problem was the mounds of scattered parts and debris all over the floor.

"You are not as tidy as you could be, Mab," Eddy said.

The dwarf rattled at some metallic cups and flasks, shaking them to find one that was full.

"I wasn't expecting company. And I don't remember inviting you in," she muttered.

There was more muttering, mostly under her breath, as she leaned over a pile of neatly crafted stone blocks to twirl a handle. Chains and gears squeaked and jingled, causing struts to shift and shutters to rise. The light from the outside bounced off the polished surface of several walls, suddenly bathing the interior of the place with more than adequate light.

Mab pulled a lever and weights dropped, clicking some mechanism or another and yanking open a door that lead further into the home.

"Does everything in this place have a switch or something or other for doing things?"

"When you've got gears and chains, you use them."

He squinted at what little of the bare walls he could see behind the mechanisms. There was etched writing, the kind of spider web-thin lines one gets by scribing with a needle. At first he supposed it was left over from some sort of mystic writing that had been on the original bits of digger, but the shapes seemed wrong for something of merfolk origin, even the truly ancient stuff he'd been encountering.

"Did you write these things?" he asked.

Mab glanced in his direction, then at the mostly hidden writing.

"Oh. Yes. Ages ago. Just after I built this place."

"What does it say?"

"You wouldn't understand."

"I don't understand. That is why I am asking what it says."

"It had to do with dwarfs."

Eddy blinked, patiently waiting for further explanation. Mab sighed.

"I was taught that we only get what we earn in life, and you only earn something by working. Your pay for a job? You earned that. Your good fortune? You earned that. Your bad fortune. You earned that. So when I got myself trapped here, I knew that it was because I earned it. Did the wrong sort of work. Got the gods mad at me. If you want forgiveness, and the good fortune that comes with it, you’ve got to earn it. There's more to it than just working, though. You need to let the gods know that the work you do today is for them. So I kept track. Every day, every job. I marked it down. This is a tribute to you. Please see your way fit guiding me home."

Eddy gazed about. The messages peeked out from nearly every bit of wall and support. Even some of the older looking struts had messages scrawled along them. But the newest things lacked them.

"Why did you stop?"

Mab sighed again.

"There is an old saying among the dwarfs. It is a bit too appropriate these days. You can't dig a mine in water."

"You can if it is ice," Eddy said.

"That's why I said water, not ice. Look, it doesn't matter. What it means is, if you keep working and when you're through you find yourself right where you started, day after day, week after week, then you are doing something wrong. No sense working at it if you'll never succeed.”

“So you gave up. You believed you would never leave this place?”

“I’m still not convinced I ever will. If the gods saw fit to send me a fish out of water and a pile of disobedient scrap, something tells me they weren’t too pleased with the work I was doing.”

Eddy smiled. “We will show you that you are wrong. We are the things you need. Because we are on an adventure, and the hero of an adventure always helps his friends.”

The merman seemed as though he had more to say, but he was silenced when the walls around him began to shake. Slowly, one wall lifted and tilted.

“Your house is moving, Mab! I did not know houses did that,” Eddy said, fascinated.

Things started to tumble from the shelf on the offending wall. “It doesn’t move on its own.”

She hustled outside.

“You cut that out!” she snapped.

Borgle, either bored or curious, had found a large handwheel fashioned from the same sort of gear that formed the wheels on Eddy’s cart. Spinning the wheel cranked in this chain and spun that strut, causing one corner of the house to shift.

The machine, upon seeing Mab and Eddy emerge from the house, backed away, awaiting new orders. Mab muttered under her breath and spun the wheel in the opposite direction, restoring the house to its proper angle.

“What is that for?” Eddy asked.

“When the earth shakes, sometimes it settles differently. I designed this place so I can level it. Now come on. I need to stock the still."

She stomped irritably around to the rear of the house, where a small hallway from the inside ended at a large, simmering kettle. The sides of the hallway were strapped with bundles of stalks, some still plump with their sweet liquid, some dried husks. She grabbed a few of each and approached a potbellied monstrosity that rattled and rumbled almost as aggressively as Borgle had.

Eddy dragged himself up and practically pushed Mab aside to investigate it.

"What is this?" he said, eyes wide and face enthusiastic.

"I said. It's a still. It's for making booze."

"Why does it bubble and hum?"

"Because you need heat the… Look, I'm not here to educate you. And even if I was, I wouldn't educate you about this. This is just about the worst made still, which makes the worst made booze, that you've ever seen."

He nodded. "This is very much so. But also it is the best. Because it is the only."

"If we make it out of here, maybe you could cart yourself down to Smeltersons Distillery. The stills are bigger than this house, and there are dozens of them. Some of the best brew and booze to be had, and enough of it to keep a whole mountainside of dwarves from getting thirsty."

"Maybe I will!" Eddy said. "With this cart, I do not even need land swimmers. And I can…"

Eddy trailed off when Mab kicked open the door to the fire box.

"Wow…"

Mab raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"Look at the glowing…" Eddy said, approaching the dusty, smoldering embers. "And the heat. I can feel the heat."

"You are easily amused."

"It is like... little fragments of a glowing pool…"

"There plenty of things down here that glow."

"But not that color. That red color. I've only ever seen fire once. I didn't know it could be so still…"

"Between your lackluster language and how easily amazed you are, I'm beginning to think you aren't the most brilliant specimen of mermen."

Mab loaded up the firebox, sprinkled a bit of this and that into the assorted compartments and canisters of the still, and decanted some sort of liquid.

"Is that the booze?" Eddy asked eagerly.

"It is…" Mab rumbled.

She was clearly running short of patience. Eddy remained oblivious to that fact.

"I would very much like to taste some please! I am a little thirsty and you make me want to know what booze is like."

"I said it before. This isn't for you. Badly made dwarfen rotgut is no way to introduce yourself to the world of spirits. That you think this is the sort of thing you drink when you are thirsty is sign enough that you're not savvy enough to be drinking it."

Eddy rolled to his back so he could cross his arms. "I am an adult. I am savvy. More savvy about the sea than you, and that's where we are."

"But we aren't in the sea, we're in a cave under the sea."

"Mab, if you do not want to share with me because you want more for yourself, that is your decision. But if you do not want to share with me because you are afraid I do not know how to drink. That is my decision. I would like very much to try some."

Mab shook her head. "It's your funeral."

She fetched a hammered metal cup and decanted some of the liquor from the bottle she had just filled. Eddy sat up and propped himself against a wall in a sitting position. He held out his hands like a child receiving candy and accepted the cup.

To his credit, Eddy didn't immediately gulp it down. While Mab jingled and sloshed other nearby bottles, he tipped the cup back and forth and considered the contents. It was almost perfectly clear, though to his eye there might have been a slight amber tint. It was a bit thinner than water. Even to his untrained and stunted sense of smell it was powerful in its scent, similar to but significantly more substantial than the more delicate aroma of pannet. He dipped his finger into the stuff. It felt warm from the still, yet strangely cold at the same time as he pulled his finger away.

Once he'd tested it with all other senses, then he gulped it down.

His large eyes opened wide. Catlike slits of his eyes opened round and large as saucers. The glow of his fins surged extra bright. He gaped his mouth open and tilted his head back, silently panting.

"A bit much, yes?" Mab said, handing him a second cup.

Eddy waved it off as though he were being offered a vial of poison.

"It's fresh water," she said, pushing it back in his face.

He snatched it and drained the cup in one grateful swallow.

"I warned you," Mab said.

"Not enough," Eddy wheezed. "It does not even have a flavor. It is just pain on my tongue. You drink that?"

"Every day."

"Are you hollow inside? It feels like it is eating a hole through my belly. Is that because it is my first drink?"

"Nope," she tipped back a swig from the bottle. "You just start to look forward to the fire in your belly."

Eddy tipped his head back again and resumed his baby bird position, tongue lolled out and eyes slowly easing back to normal. Mab chuckled at the bizarre sight. Her jovial attitude faltered when she heard a sudden and vigorous cranking noise and one corner of her home started to raise up.

"Again?!" Mab growled, thundering off toward Borgle.

Mira gazed down at the inky depths below.

“They’ve been down there a long time…” she said, anxiety in her tone.

“That’s good news!” Cora said. “Seems to me if there was something that definitely meant bad things for your brother, they’d have spotted it really quick. That they’re taking their time probably means there’s not much damage to see.”

“I hope you’re right…”

Cora fished out the gem she’d taken as payment and twisted it in her fingers.

“I don’t know much about mining. Do you get all sorts of gems out of just the one hole? Or is it one type of gem per mine?”

“Mostly you are lucky if you find any gems or precious materials at all. Let alone more than one type. We have been very lucky that our mine has had a great deal of variety, if not a great deal of quantity.”

“That’s nice. Show’s Mer is smiling upon you. That’s what father used to say. … There! Is that them?”

Cora squinted downward.

“Oh, sure. That’s Cul alright. Easy to spot him. There aren’t too many mermen with just the one eye.”

“What happened to the other eye?”

“He had a belly full of pannet and thought he’d show a guard at Deep Dwell who was boss.”

“I haven’t been to Deep Swell, but I’ve heard the mermaids are as formidable as mermen, and the mermen are absolute beasts.”

“Cul can attest. They hit harder than they have any right to.”

Sitz, Bult, and Cul approached from below.

“Did you find anything?”

“Mira, it is probably nothing but—” Cul began.

“A bunch of rocks fell along the edge of the rift. Could have crushed someone if he wasn’t paying attention,” Bult said.

“Bult!” Cul scolded, slapping him in the head.

“What? It isn’t a lie,” Bult said. “We’ve got to set her expectations.”

“We didn’t find any sign of him,” Cul said. “But there was definitely some damage near the seaward side of the farm. The rest of the farm held up well.”

“The seaward side is where the entrance to the mine is…” Mira said shakily.

“Tell us where it is and we’ll take a look.”

“It isn’t as easy as that,” Mira said. “There’s vents. Scalding water. Eddy needs to wear a special outfit to get past it.”

“So you pulling us way out here out of our way was just a waste of everyone’s time, then,” Sitz muttered.

Cul slapped him in the head as well.

“I thought it was best to… I thought if it all happened quickly… This is terrible…”

“Do you have more of the equipment?”

“His spare is in for repair. The material is hard to get, and he’s the only one who needs to go to the mine. I’ll get it. I’ll go get it and I’ll see if any of the others have suits they can spare. By now surely the commotion has died down back in Barnacle. I can get the others back home to help me.”

“Good. Then we’ll be on our way then,” Sitz said.

“You go. I’m helping her,” Cul growled.

“Yeah. You can’t just tell a girl her brother might be hurt and then go on your way. Where’s your heart?” Cora said.

“Right near my stomach, which’ll be growling if I don’t get the money it takes to keep me fed, and that won’t happen if—” Sitz began.

“Then go. No sense wasting everyone’s time arguing,” Cul said.

He thrust his tail and headed shoreward with Mira. Cora lingered long enough to glare at Sitz and Bult.

“You’re why shore-lovers look at us like we’re nothing but flotsam, Sitz.”

“Call me names if you want. No one else can watch ol’ Sitz’s back better than Sitz. I owe it to me keep my best interests in mind. Bult knows, right Bult?”

Bult glanced between Sitz and Cora.

“I think I’ll head back down and see if I can’t find someone pinned under something,” Bult said.

Bult drifted downward, leaving Cora to offer one last judgmental glance at Sitz.

“Fine. You can all waste your time! More for me when we meet with Casta’s Drift!”

He darted off to the south. Cora shook her head.

“The things out learn about your friends when things get tough…”

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