#or that it's at least doing a lot of the shipping without veering too far into OOC with the characters? That might be it. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hardcasey · 3 years

Text

Sweet Tooth

Won't Fade into the Background - Part 2

Pairing: Toast x F!Reader

Summary: You are an owner of a bakery on Coruscant and end up running into a certain clone with a penchant for baked goods.

Word Count: 7k (I got carried away lmao)

Rating/Warnings: T, Mostly fluff again, though it gets a little PG-13 at the end. Nothing too crazy tho.

A/N: Who’s more of a background clone than everyone’s fave boy Toast? I decided to give him the classic bakery au meet-cute that he deserves. <3 Not proofread so let me know if there are any glaring errors!

“You sure you don’t need any help cleaning up?” Your employee, Vella, called from the front of the shop.

You poked your head out through the little window that separated the kitchen from the rest of the store. “I’m good, Vel. Go enjoy your Friday night.”

“Alright, night boss,” The Twi’lek woman gave you a mock salute and laughed when she saw you roll your eyes before turning and heading out the door into the busy Coruscant streets.

You turned back to your current task, taking inventory. It was not the most glamorous job, in fact it was your least favorite part about owning your own business, but it had to be done. With a sigh, you started counting, quickly losing yourself in the monotony.

You were the proud owner of a small bakery on Coruscant. It was not the most lucrative job by far, but it had always been your dream to bake for a living, and you were proud to have achieved that goal so quickly. It had taken a lot of hard work to get to where you were now, along with quite a bit of luck. You had been finishing up your last year in culinary school when you walked by a place for rent right in the heart of the city. It had been right around when the war started, and the owner wanted to sell off the space as quickly as possible. You had the sneaking suspicion that he may have been involved with the Separatists and was trying to jump ship and flee the planet. Honestly, you didn’t really care what his deal was, only that he was giving you the place for a steal. Seppie or not, you were thankful for him. There was no other way you would have been able to afford a place in this part of the city otherwise.

You had dropped a considerable portion of your savings into the purchase and renovation of the bakery, and there were times that you were subsisting off of nothing but cheap instant noodles, but everything had worked out in the end. The prime location meant there was a lot of foot traffic and it didn’t take long before you were turning a profit. And the quality of your pastries and baked goods earned you a loyal customer base, and you had many regulars that stopped in for a cup of caf and a little treat on their way to work.

Once you finished up taking inventory, you headed out to the front to start cleaning up, stacking the chairs up on the tables so you could start sweeping. You were saving up for a droid that would sweep the floors for you, but you were still a ways off from that so you had to do it the old fashioned way.

It was then that you noticed there was someone looking in through the window, clearly ogling the display of pastries and cakes that was there. The light from the setting sun pouring through the window cast their face in shadow, so you couldn’t tell who it was.

Might as well invite them in, you thought to yourself as you leaned the broom against the wall. After all, the bakery wasn’t technically closed yet, though you almost never had customers at this time.

You swung the door open and were about to say something to the figure when you saw them jump, clearly not realizing you were there.

“Oh, hey, I’m sorry for scaring you! I just wanted to let you know that the bakery is still open if you want anything.” You said gently, holding your hands up in a placating manner.

Now that you were outside, you could see the figure more clearly. They were a human male, with tan skin and warm brown eyes. He was wearing a grey uniform and his short dark hair was partly obscured by a matching grey hat. He seemed very familiar to you, and you were about to ask if you knew him, before it hit you. Duh! He was a clone. You weren’t used to seeing clones in anything other than their distinctive white armor, so it took a moment for your brain to put two and two together.

“Oh, uh, I was just looking, ma’am! I’m very sorry.” He said quickly, the same way that a kid who had just been caught with their hand in the cookie jar would. He looked so sheepish, as if he was about to bolt any second. You weren’t sure why he was so apologetic, he was just looking through the window. A bunch of people did that.

“No need to apologize, everyone looks through the windows.” You said, flashing him what you hoped was a reassuring smile.

“I, uh, just wasn’t sure if you were gonna run me out or something,” he told you, averting his eyes and rubbing the back of his neck.

“Why would I do that?”

“Not many businesses are open to clones, and I wasn’t sure. I’ve never seen any clones in your shop and I guess I just assumed.”

Okay, that lowkey made your blood boil. Why would anyone discriminate against the clones? They were the ones putting their lives on the line to protect the Republic, for kriffs sake! You hadn’t interacted with many clones, but the ones you had run into were nothing but polite and respectful.

“That’s terrible! We absolutely allow clones here! You know what, come inside. There are still some pastries leftover from today. I’ll put them in a box for you and you can bring them back to your, er, squad? Company? Your friends!” You finished breathlessly, a little embarrassed you knew so little about anything involving the military.

“Are you sure? I-I don’t have any money to pay for them,” He said sadly, his eyes darting down to his shoes as if there was suddenly something fascinating about them.

“Nonsense! They’ll be going bad soon anyway and will just end up in the trash. You’ll be doing me a favor, honestly.” Without allowing him to protest further, you grabbed his elbow and tugged him into your shop. In the back of your mind you registered how big his bicep felt, which surprised you. He looked fit, yes, but it wasn’t like he was some meathead. Maybe his uniform just did a good job of disguising how strong he was. You felt yourself blush once you realised the path your thoughts had veered down and quickly pushed them out of your mind.

“It smells good in here,” he said to no one in particular as he dropped his harm and headed behind the counter to start filling a box with leftover pastries.

You smiled at him, before you realised something. “Forgive my manners, but I didn’t catch your name.”

“CT-1928, ma’am.” He replied, his back straightening ever so slightly as he did, as if the action was ingrained in him.

“Do you have a nickname? I know a lot of clones go by them instead of their number.” You said delicately. You didn’t want to offend him by asking, but it felt so strange, so dehumanizing, to call him by a number.

“Oh, uh, my brothers call me Toast.” He said, once again sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s not the greatest nickname, but it’s the one that stuck.”

“Haha, I think it’s cute. And don’t worry, my parents used to call me Possum when I was little, because I used to climb around and get into the trash. It was cute until they said it in front of my friends, then they started calling me that too.”

He laughed at that, his shoulders relaxing, his posture not so stiff. “My brothers started calling me Toast because the first time they served toast in the cafeteria after I got my assignment, I ate so many pieces I made myself sick.”

“Pfft. That’s amazing,” You laughed as you shuffled things around so you could fit one last croissant inside. You got the sense the clones didn’t often get to have sweets, so you were going to make sure Toast could bring as many back as possible. “So are you here on shore leave?”

“I’m actually a member of the Coruscant Guard. So I’m here often. Well all the time. I walk by this place every time they send me off to run errands, which is often since I’m still the new guy.”

“Oh, that’s cool. That means you work with senators, right? That must be… something.” You’d read stories on the holonet about some of the more notorious senators and you doubted they treated the clones particularly well.

“I haven’t personally worked with any members of the senate, though a lot of my brothers have. Most of my day is spent staring at security cameras. So, pretty boring. Though I’m not complaining.”

You tied up the package with a neat little bow before handing it to him, another bright smile flashing across your face. Something about his earnest, open demeanor was very endearing to you and you secretly hoped you’d get to see him again soon. If not anything else, you could at least learn a little more about the clones that dedicated their lives to protecting the Republic, since your knowledge on the subject was apparently so lacking.

“Well it’s good to hear that you’re local. Hopefully you can stop by again the next time you’re running errands. And feel free to invite your brothers too!”

“T-thank you, ma’am. That is very kind of you.” He said before taking the box of pastries in his hand, holding it almost reverently. He was trying to hide it but you could tell he was very excited to eat some sweets later.

With one last nod he headed out of the store, the bell chiming lightly after him. You stood there, simply watching his receding form blend into the crowd, catching yourself smiling at the prospect of seeing him again.

~~~

Toast hadn’t made it three steps into the barracks before his vode were descending upon him. Well not really him as much as the box full of sugary confections in his hands.

“What ya got there?” Jek inquired, already tugging at the ribbon to investigate the box’s contents.

Toast shoved his greedy hands out of the way and marched over to the counter where they kept the caf machine, which was in a perpetual state of disarray. The caf machine was old, probably older than any of them, and saw high traffic 24/7. Honestly, with the amount it leaked and sputtered, it was a miracle the machine was still functioning. Toast hoped it would at least until the war was over because when it went, Fox would be in the grave right next to it.

“You know that bakery on the way back from the Jedi temple?” Toast inquired as he placed the box on the counter, starting to pick at the knot so he could open it without cutting the ribbon. It was a pretty striped pastel pink and he wanted to keep it.

“The one with the little tooka-shaped cookies?” Rhys’ eyes went wide with excitement.

“Yeah, the lady who worked there saw me looking inside and then gave me all the leftover pastries from the window.”

“For free!?” Jek exclaimed as he shuffled back towards the box, “What did you get? Did you get an eclair? Please tell me you got an eclair.” Toast nodded and handed his brother one, who promptly dug in.

“What’s this about eclairs?” Stone rounded the corner, instantly noticing the box and saddling up to him. “Did you get sweets?”

Toast spent the next few minutes divvying up the various pastries between everyone. He chose something made up of many thin layers of dough, filled with chopped nuts and soaked in honey. Baklava, he thinks it was called, or maybe balaclava? He didn’t know the difference. But he didn’t care as he devoured it, savoring each bite like it was something precious. He glanced around and saw all his brothers were experiencing similar states of bliss, if their expressions were anything to go by.

~~~

He didn’t have a chance to visit the bakery for the next two weeks, too busy running around dealing with mess after mess. One day, a prison riot. The next, bomb threats at the senate. Everyone in the guard was so exhausted and in desperate need of a break. So when Hound mentioned he was taking Grizzer for a walk, Toast decided to tag along so that he could get some fresh air. Well, fresh for Coruscant.

At some point they’d run into Rhys and Thire, on the way back from patrol duty. Neither of them were in a rush to get back to HQ to receive new marching orders, so they ended up tagging along.

Their little group wandered the streets, just walking with no direction in mind. Grizzer had his snout pressed close to the ground, desperate to sniff everything. Toast smiled at the massiff’s antics from behind his bucket, before glancing around and realizing they were just a block away from the bakery.

“Hey, guys. Wanna stop at that bakery? It’s just over there.” Toast asked, pointing his finger at the little awning in front of the shop.

Thire looked at him as if he had two heads. “Why? Do you think we’ll get handouts again? Not that I’m complaining, free is free, but didn’t you get those because it was the end of the day and she was planning on throwing them out? It’s the middle of the day now…”

“Well, she said I could come back whenever. And that I could bring you guys too.” Toast felt his cheeks heat up for some reason, suddenly feeling embarrassed. What if she was just being polite, and he wasn’t really supposed to come back? What if he brought too many of his brothers and she thought he was taking advantage of her generosity?

He was just about to suggest they should move on when Rhys piped up. “Well, what are we waiting for? C’mon.” He was already halfway to the bakery before anyone could respond. Rhys had a major sweet tooth and nothing motivated him more than some sweets. Hound and Grizzer were right on his heels, having missed out on the pastries last time.

Toast caught up to them quickly, with Thire right behind them, though they all froze as soon as they made it up to the doors. There were people inside this, lounging around sipping drinks and chatting. Could they go in? Would people get mad?

All his vode were waiting for him to do something, and his eyes searched frantically around the storefront as if he would find an answer there. And, surprisingly, he did. Sort of. Because hanging right in the window was a sign that read ‘CLONES WELCOME’. You had to have hung it after your interaction, there was no other explanation. Something about that made his heart race.

All of a sudden, you appeared in the window, a friendly grin on your face as you pointed at the sign and waved for them all to come in.

“You didn’t tell us she was pretty, vod,” Thire whispered as they shuffled their way inside. Toast could just feel the shit eating grin from under his brother’s bucket. He just gave a noncommittal grunt as a response, which only made Thire laugh.

The group of them stood awkwardly in the threshold of the store, not really knowing what to do with themselves. A few patrons looked over to see what was going on, and Toast braced for some sort of outrage at clones invading their space, but after a few seconds they all turned back to whatever they were doing before.

Toast stood there dumbly, just staring at you. He hadn’t really been able to take a good look at you the last time, too distracted by how strange the whole situation had been. But now he could see that Thire was right. You are pretty. Very pretty.

If you noticed how tongue-tied he was, you didn’t show it. You just greeted them with another smile and oh Maker that smile. It was the kind of smile that lit up your whole face and Toast wanted to see it every day for the rest of his life.

“Hi! Is this your first time here?” You asked, cocking your head to one side.

“He’s been here before.” Hound answered, shoving Toast to the front of the group.

“Oh, are you the one from a few weeks ago? Toast?”

You remembered his name! He was pretty sure he was about to melt into a puddle right then and there. It took a second to realize that he hadn't answered yet and he quickly sputtered out, “Y-yeah. That’s me.”

“I’m glad you came back! And you brought your brothers,” You turned to address the rest of the clones and offered out a hand, “It’s nice to meet you all, what are your names.”

Hound, always the people person and the one most used to interacting with the public, stepped forward and shook your hand. “I’m Hound. That’s Thire and Jek. It’s nice to meet you ma’am, I’ve heard you’re a great baker, though I wouldn’t know first-hand.”

You cocked an eyebrow at Toast, “You didn’t share?”

“He was out on patrol, I swear!” Toast stammered, holding his hands up in front of him.

“Hmmm, I guess I’ll take your word for it. Though I think he should get to pick out what he wants first. It’s only fair.”

“Really?!” Hound exclaimed. His enthusiasm seemed to rub off on Grizzer, the massiff sitting up on his back legs and wiggling excitedly before letting out a happy bark. “Down boy,” Hound ordered, placing a hand on Grizzer’s hand to calm him down.

‘Awe, he’s just excited,” you giggled as you bent down to give him some pats of your own. “Can he eat treats? I have some by the door that I give to some of the other dogs.” You asked Hound as you straightened back up.

“Yes, he loves treats. Would you mind if I took them to go? I don’t want him spoiling his dinner.”

“Of course! Now pick out what you all want. And you can put a box together to take to your brothers.”

You spent the next twenty minutes helping them pick out pastries, answering questions so they could pick out something for each of their brothers. After they had made their selections, you sat with them at one of the tables and chatted. Well, you mostly asked questions and they all talked over each other in their excitement. Still, you enjoyed the time with them, happy to provide a place for them to relax and unwind. Their jobs seemed incredibly stressful and by reading in between the lines of some of the things they told you, they seemed to be mistreated by a good portion of the senators, made to run menial errands or be the punching bags senators took their frustrations out on. You could especially see it in Toast, in the way he was so scared of offending you, how he would avert his eyes all the time and flinch if someone spoke too loudly. It honestly made you want to burn down the senate building.

Everyone had finished eating when Thire looked down at his wrist and exclaimed, “Oh kriff, it’s been over an hour! Fox is gonna kill us.”

Toast scoffed. “Correction: Fox is going to kill you and Rhys. Hound and I are off right now.”

“Bring him an extra tiramisu to smooth things over.” You said, already wrapping one up and adding it to the rest of their haul.

The group scrambled around, putting their buckets back on and grabbing the various pastry boxes you’d filled for them. Toast paused before turning to you. “Um, we don’t have any credits on us right now, but I can bring some tomorrow. The Guard has a small discretionary fund we can-”

You stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry about it. It’s on the house.”

“A-are you sure? That was a lot of food…” Toast didn’t want her to lose money because of him. After all, he was the one that brought his brothers here.

“It’s okay, seriously. I actually started a little program where customers can buy a coffee or a pastry or whatever for a clone. There’s actually a little bucket next to the register that I set up,” you turned and pointed at it so he could see. “It was actually my employee Vella’s idea. She came up with it the day after we first met, and it’s been pretty popular. There are a lot of people out there who are really thankful for what you guys do, you know.”

Toast didn’t know what to say, but he felt like he wanted to cry at such a nice gesture. “That is… really kind of you. Thanks.” It didn’t feel like nearly enough, but they were the only words Toast could form at the moment.

“Of course,” you said, giving his shoulder a little squeeze. “Now go catch up with your brothers, and let the rest of them know they’re always welcome to a free drink or pastry here.”

Toast thanked you once again before heading outside to where his brothers were waiting, trying to convince himself that your hand hadn’t lingered on his arm for a beat too long. No, it was just wishful thinking.

As he and his vode made their way back to the barracks, Rhys threw an arm around his neck and said, “Wow, Toast, your girlfriend is the best!” earning him snickers from the rest of the group.

“She’s not my girlfriend!” Toast tried to protest.

“But you want her to be~” Hound teased. And he was right, Toast wanted that more than anything in the galaxy right now. But he knew it was impossible. You were beautiful and kind and funny and perfect and he... was just a clone.

“It’s not like it could ever happen anyway,” Toast sighed.

Thire nudged him with his shoulder. “Psssh, we all saw how her hand lingered on you. She definitely likes you.”

“Definitely,” Rhys echoed.

Toast smiled under his bucket. It might be a pipe dream, but in that moment he allowed himself to indulge in the fantasy.

~~~

In the following weeks, you fell into a sort of routine. Toast would stop by your bakery at least once a week, sometimes more depending on his free time. And you cherished every moment you got to spend with him. Sometimes he would bring fellow members of the guard along, and every visit ended with your stomach cramping from how much you’d laughed at their various antics. You were confused how such a chaotic bunch of individuals were able to come together as an effective police force… that is until you met Commander Fox. His talent for wrangling them deserved a medal in your opinion.

As much as you enjoyed his brothers, you really looked forward to the times where you and Toast were alone together. He’d always come to you with some wild story of an eccentric prisoner or a crazy heist perpetrated in the lower levels. Honestly you hadn’t expected him to be such a gossip, but you were hardly complaining.

In return for his stories you started teaching him how to bake. It started off with him just watching you work as he talked, sometimes asking questions about what you were doing or peaking over your shoulder to get a closer look. Eventually he became an assistant of sorts, spending his time grabbing ingredients for you and washing the dishes once you were done with them.

Today was the day you were going to convince him to bake a loaf of bread with you. You were going to start him off with a simple loaf of white bread, one that didn’t require much kneading and didn’t have a long proving time. You had already pulled out all the ingredients, bowls, and utensils and were waiting patiently for him to arrive.

By the time you heard the bell ring and saw him coming through the door, you were tapping your foot in anticipation. He wasn’t late - in fact he was right on time as always - but you were just itching to see him.

“Toast! You’re here!” Ugh, that was the best greeting you could come up with? you cringed internally. Luckily, he didn’t seem to mind your banal greeting, a smile on his lips as he pulled his bucket over his head and placed it on a nearby shelf. You found yourself longing for a reality where he greeted you with a peck on the lips along with that sweet smile. Maker, you had it bad for him.

His eyes flashed over to the ingredients on the counter. “What are you making today?”

“I’m not making anything today. But we are. I think it's time for you to try your hand at baking. And in honor of your love of toast, we’re starting off with bread.”

He rolled his eyes at that, but the corner of his mouth still quirked up, showing off one of his dimples. “Isn’t bread kind of hard to make though? Maybe we should start out with something simpler…”

“Where’s your courage, soldier?” you teased, poking a finger at his chest. He huffed and you laughed. “Now c’mon, wash your hands and get your apron on.”

He ended up taking the top half of his armor off, in only his blacks from the waist up, his sleeve rolled up to his elbows. You were half thankful and half disappointed the apron covered the way his form fitting shirt stretched across his chest. At least you wouldn’t be distracted, but boy oh boy did you want a closer look.

The two of you chatted about your days as you started working on each of your loaves. With so few ingredients the process went quick, and soon enough you were kneading the dough.

“Now this is called the slap and fold technique. First get your dough together in a ball like this… and then you slap it down!” You demonstrated by taking your lump of wet dough and slapping it down on the table. “Then you just fold it in half and repeat. We need to do it for about five minutes.”

“I think you mean we knead to do it for five minutes,” Toast said with a cheeky grin.

“Blegh. Terrible.” You flicked a bit of flour at him as punishment. “I think you knead to be locked up for that pun.” Toast just laughed and continued working, the smile on his face never dropping.

Once you were ready, you shaped both of the loaves and put them in the oven. When you turned back to him you couldn’t help but giggle. He was absolutely covered in flour.

“What? Do I have something on my face?” He asked, face suddenly becoming serious.

You stepped close to him and brushed his face clean with your thumb. “On your face, in your hair, on your shirt. I think you managed to get flour everywhere except the apron.”

“Well you were the one throwing it at me!” came his retort as he used his hands to shake his hair out, turning it from grey back to its lovely dark color.

“Touché. Now let me help you get cleaned up. I think you got some on your back. Somehow.” You grabbed a washcloth and wet it under the sink and started using it to wipe the flour off his clothes.

“It’s one of my many skills from cadet training.” He told you, eyes twinkling, as you dabbed at a spot you missed on his face. You could feel his lips moving as he spoke. Stop thinking about how soft they probably are, you chided yourself.

“You’re just lucky you’re so charming.”

That made him blush and avert his eyes, which would have been cute if you weren’t worried you’d gone a bit too far. You didn’t want to embarrass him or anything. You had thought the two of you were flirting, but maybe you read the situation wrong. You were notoriously bad in the romance department, something Vella had told you after the third time you had missed a customer trying to flirt with you.

Toast cleared his throat before turning back to you. He noticed you’d stepped back away from him and sighed internally. That would have been the perfect time to kiss you or ask you out or something. Anything other than dancing around each other like you two were doing now. Despite the fact that his brothers believed you two were already together - no matter how much he protested - he still wasn’t sure if you felt the same as he did. He had his suspicions, but what if he was wrong? You were his only friend outside of his brothers and he didn’t want to do anything to mess that up or make it awkward.

He thanked the Maker you didn’t tease him, just turning and starting to wash the dishes. He grabbed a bowl and joined you at the big industrial sink, dunking his hands in the warm sudsy mixture and used the sponge to start scrubbing at the stubborn bits of dough that refused to come off. The two of you worked in silence, though not an uncomfortable one, Toast was glad to find. Just as he was finishing drying the last bowl, he remembered something.

“Oh, uh, I almost forgot. Do you know Senator Amidala?”

“Not personally, but I’ve heard of her.”

“Well, she is throwing a banquet or something in a few days and the bakery that was supposed to handle the desserts fell through at the last minute. Thorn suggested you as a replacement and asked me to ask you if it was possible.”

“Hmm. It depends on how long I’d have, and what kind of desserts she wants. Plus how many guests she’s having. I’m not saying no, but I’m not sure how realistic it is. It’s just me, Vella, and two others on staff.” You had started pacing, already running the logistics through your head.

“What if me and the rest of the guard helped you?”

You paused your pacing to look at him. “That could work… but would you all even be able to take off work?”

“Well, it’s been pretty slow this week and we’re spending most of our time getting ready for the party…” You responded with a noncommittal hum so he pressed on. “How about I call Senator Amidala and Commander Fox on the coms and we can get everything worked out?”

“Yeah, sure. That’d be great.”

For the next twenty minutes you hashed out the details with Senator Amidala - Padmé, she insisted you call her - and Commander Fox. Eventually you settled on an order of one large, four-tiered cake and a hundred little fruit tarts. Fox had been hesitant to lend out his troopers until Padmé had offered to replace the old coffee machine in the guard’s office. The party was in three days, so it would be a tight deadline, but you were sure you could do it. Especially with the guard’s help. There was also the motivating factor of the hefty payment Padmé was offering. It would be enough for you to buy an army of cleaning robots!

As soon as you hung up you were already placing an order of the ingredients and messaging your employees to tell them about the job. You were so focused on your task that you jumped with the oven’s timer dinged. Toast stifled a chuckle behind his hand and you shot him a look as you pulled both loaves of bread out of the oven. Both loaves were a perfect golden brown and looked absolutely delicious.

Toast hovered over your shoulder as you placed the bread on the cooling rack, and you had to slap his hand away a few times as you waited for them to cool. Once you could hold them safely in your hands, you handed Toast his loaf and took yours in your hands. “C’mon, let’s take a picture together with our bread.” You tucked yourself into his side and held your loaf up as he snapped the picture.

Once you were satisfied with the picture you relented to his puppy-dog eyes and cut into the bread. You both slathered a piece in butter and tapped them together as if they were wine glasses before taking a bite.

“Mmmmmhhh,” you both groaned in unison at the first bite of warm bread. There was nothing better.

“This is so good.” You mumbled in between bites.

“So much better than anything in the caf.” Toast agreed, his eyes half-closed in bliss. Before you missed it, you snapped a picture. Toast with his toast. It was perfect.

~~~

You stared at the sight of the twenty clone troopers in front of you, decked out in aprons and hair nets, standing at parade rest in a line as Commander Fox, also in an apron, paced back and forth, hands behind his back, as he gave them their orders.

“Now I want you all on your best behavior. It may seem like you’re on a break, but I want you to treat this as if you’re still on the clock,” He stopped pacing and turned to his men, “Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, sir!” They all responded with a salute.

You took that moment to snap a picture of them all, Fox’s head snapping towards you at the click of the camera. “I want to remember this,” you told him, fighting back a smile.

You turned to Padmé, who had insisted on coming to help out herself, bringing along her two droids and a Jedi to offer some extra hands. She came complete with a chic outfit for the occasion and you envied how good she looked at six in the morning. You showed her the picture and she asked, “Can you send that to me?” Fox huffed loudly and the two of you broke out into a fit of giggles.

Once you got a hold of yourself you started listing out tasks that needed to be done to Fox. “We’ll need people to clean and cut the fruit for the tarts. Another group can help with mixing and cutting the crust. For the cake, we’ll also need one group handling the batter, and another the frosting and decorations. And we can rotate who is on dish duty.”

Fox immediately started delegating out tasks to his troops and you assigned a member of your staff to help each group. Everyone quickly scrambled to start working on their tasks, the troopers clearly very excited to help.

Throughout the day you flitted from group to group, demonstrating how to do things when needed. Your employees were handling everything so well and you made a reminder to yourself to give them a nice bonus after this. You stepped away from where Vella was showing the boys how to make flowers out of frosting and found Toast lecturing his brothers about the right way to measure flour.

“You can’t just scoop it out straight from the bag, you’ll use too much that way. You have to sift it in like this,” He started demonstrating the proper technique for them, and you noticed he had somehow managed to get flour all over himself again.

“Good job, Toast,” You said as you passed him, brushing the flour out of his hair as you went. “Keep up the great work, boys!” You gave them a thumbs up and moved onto the next group, dodging the R2 unit as it made a beeline to the fridge, a tray of freshly cut fruit balanced on its head.

The next two days passed by smoother than you could have hoped. There were only a few minor incidents. Hound tripping over R2 and spilling some batter, Thorn having to scold Jek and Rhys for eating half of their frosting. Nothing you couldn't handle. Commander Fox had everyone working like a well oiled machine, making sure everything stayed on time. Throughout both days, Padmé’s protocol droid busied himself with taking pictures of the event, and Padmé promised to send them all to you after the party.

It got down to the wire, but you managed to put the last slice of jogan fruit on the hundredth tart with forty-five minutes to spare. Your employees handled loading everything up into the speeder to take them to the venue. You watched them out of the corner of your eye to make sure things went smoothly. Padmé came up to you and thanked you profusely for rushing such a huge order and promised to promote your business to all her friends before she and the rest of her entourage hopped into the speeder with your employees and took off for the party.

You turned back to the clone troopers, who had already finished washing up most of the kitchen. “Don’t worry about the rest, guys, I’ve got it. You should probably start heading back and start getting ready.”

“Trying to kick us out so soon?” Fox mused.

You laughed. “Actually, before you go, I have a little surprise for you all. As a way to say thank you and as a pick me up before the party. I know those things can be tiring.” You went and retrieved the gift you had stayed up all last night working on, keeping it behind your back until you were right in front of them.

You held out a plate of cookies shaped like their helmets, each one customized to look like the helmet of each of the troopers there. You had recruited C3-PO to take reference pictures of all of their helmets while they were working, and the droid had really pulled through for you, even managing to get detail shots for you.

“Woah, are these our helmets?” Stone asked as you handed him his cookie.

“Look, it’s me.” Thorn said to Fox as he waggled his cookie in front of his brother’s face. Fox rolled his eyes but even he couldn’t fight his smile away.

You beamed as each of the troopers examined their cookies and thanked you for them. They all groaned as you forced them to get together for one last picture and the shutter had barely flashed before they were scarfing down the cookies.

Once they were done, Fox and Thorn started hoarding the group through the door. Before Toast could follow his brothers, Fox turned to him, “You stay here and help out with the rest of the clean up.”

Toast blinked for a moment before he responded with a “Yes, sir.”

He waited until he was sure the last of his vode were out the door before he turned to you. He planned on saying something funny or romantic, but all his words failed him as you launched yourself at him and pulled him into a big hug. “Thanks for all your help. I couldn’t have done this without you.” You told him, your voice muffled from your spot pressed against his chest. He returned the hug and rested his cheek against the top of your head.

You couldn’t be sure if it was him who tilted his head down or you who tilted your head up, but you soon found yourselves nose to nose. Maybe sleep deprivation lowered your inhibitions, because you soon found yourself raising up on your tiptoes and pressing your lips to his. His arms tightened around you as he returned the kiss, letting out a groan as you both melted into each other. It started off sweet and gentle, but quickly developed into something more heated as you swept your tongue across the seam of his lips. He let out another tortured whine as he opened his mouth up to you, pulling you flush against him with one hand falling down to grab your ass while the other hitched your leg over his hip.

Eventually you needed to come up for air and reluctantly parted from him, a blush rising to your cheeks as the string of saliva that connected you broke and dribbled down your chin. He wiped it away with his thumb before bringing his forehead to rest against yours. The two of you stayed like that for a while, gazing into each other's eyes as you caught your breath.

You brought up one of your hands to brush a bit of flour out of his eyebrow. “You managed to get flour on you somehow. I don’t think we even used flour today.”

He grinned at you. “It’s one of my many charms.”

You giggled and pulled him back in for another kiss. Your lips had just met when you heard a camera shutter go off and you both whipped your heads around to the source of the noise.

Vella stood in the doorway to the kitchen, camera raised and a shit-eating grin on her face. “Haha, I knew it! Thire owes me ten credits!”

Both of you blinked at each other for a moment before joining in with her laughter.

#toast clone #clone trooper toast #toast x reader #toast clone x reader #clone wars fanfic #star wars fanfic #reader insert #won't fade into the background #fun fact: toasts ct number is the year sliced bread was invented

115 notes · View notes

lorenzobane · 3 years

Text

Harebrained Scheme

AN: Written for @trektober-challenge first installment- namely Prime Directive, but more specifically inspired by some of @fractal-baby discussion about Spock’s absolutely insane plans. It was written pretty quick and definitely playing fast and loose with timelines, but set after ST:ID but before ST: Beyond. Can be read as pre-Spirk, but the major relationship is Jim & Sarek chatting.

Can be found on AO3 here

Being kidnapped and held with his First Officer’s father was never exactly the plan for Jim. There are, in fact, a lot of people Jim would rather be kidnapped with. Namely, the aforementioned First Officer Spock.

But as it stands--

“We have been held here for approximately 2.3 hours,” Sarek says after a moment of silence.

Jim nods, “don’t panic.”

Sarek gives him a look that plainly says Vulcans don’t panic. “I am simply stating a fact of our capture.”

“Yes, sir,” Jim says patiently. “I’m aware of how long it has been.”

“The temperature is several degrees below Vulcan standard,” Sarek pointed out.

“I am aware of that as well,” because Jim was. Whoever their enemies were, they knew who they had kidnapped. The temperature is holding steady at a place where Jim is uncomfortable but is draining Sarek.

Sarek says nothing and continues to observe the cell around them calmly. Jim has been pacing since he woke up about an hour ago. It’s a plain white room with no windows and no doors as far as he can tell. He’s tried clawing at just about every inch of the sterile space, and as far as he can tell, nothing gives.

“What are the walls made of?” Kirk mutters to himself. They don’t feel like metal or even plastic- they radiate the coolness as if they’re some type of natural product, but the way the room is sealed tells him some kind of technology is involved.

Sarek cuts into Jim’s thinking with a, “I believe these are made of Betazoid limestone.”

“What makes you say that?” Jim asks. With Spock, he’ll usually prattle for a few minutes, discussing density and texture before giving him an answer as straightforward as his father.

Sarek looks at him in surprise, “you are not able to tell?”

Jim resists the urge to reply with sarcasm. Sarek isn’t Spock, which is plainly apparent in every interaction they have. Though Spock always seems extremely calm and balanced to Jim, being around his father makes Jim aware of how much more emotion and variation Spock regularly expresses.

��No,” Jim says. “I haven’t spent much time on Betazoid.”

Sarek nods, “I was briefly an Ambassador there in my son’s youth. He was very fond of the rock and found its cool texture pleasing.”

“I thought it would be illogical to find a rock pleasing,” Jim replies without thinking.

Sarek is quiet for a moment before responding with, “yes, indeed it was. However, as my wife put it to me then, there is nothing illogical about curiosity. The desire to explore. I am not sure I agree with her, but I have never been successful in curbing my son of any habit he does not wish to break.”

“He can be stubborn,” Jim replies with amusement.

A mild understatement if Jim has ever said one. Though he is always respectful and never veers into full-on insubordination, Jim now understands what Pike meant when he referred to Spock fondly as an ‘extremely independent First Officer.’ Jim doesn’t mind it, maybe even loves it- the way Spock is relentless when he is convinced of the correct course of action. The argumentative (logically debated, in Spock’s words) messages and memos coming at all hours until Jim either gives in or says the phrase, “drop it, that’s an order.”

Which, at the very least, shuts him up for a shift or two.

“Do you believe they will be able to find us?”

Jim shrugs, his communicator is still on his person, and he tries it every few minutes, but he keeps getting static. “None of my messages are going through, but as you mentioned, your son is very stubborn and an extraordinary Starfleet officer. If anyone could rescue us, it would be him.”

Sarek nods again, and they sit in silence while Jim continues to search every square inch of space. It doesn’t make sense- unless their captors beamed them into the room, there is no way for them to have entered without a door of any kind.

“My son,” Sarek says, somewhat awkwardly pulling Jim out of his observation of the walls once more. “How is he-- I mean to say, I recognize as one of the very few Vulcans at Starfleet, and now as an endangered species, it may be challenging for him.”

Jim kindly doesn’t say that Sarek didn’t actually ask a question and responds with, “the crew loves him. He fits in great and has a surprising number of friends. The kids in the Science department all think he’s some type of rock star. The amount of transfer requests I get specifically for his division is getting out of hand.”

“Rock star?” Sarek repeats back.

“A term for an old Terran classical musician who was known for extreme popularity,” Jim responds with some curiosity. Spock is exceptionally familiar with Terran classical music and had known precisely what Jim had meant when he used similar phrasing. Still, Jim supposes that perhaps he picked it up in his many years on earth.

“I am gratified to hear this,” Sarek replies, somewhat slowly. Jim jerks up, alarmed, when he realizes that it appears that each blink is getting slower and slower as if he were fighting falling asleep. “He has so few affiliates on Vulcan.”

“Really?” Jim asks, surprised.

For all Spock can be logical, sarcastic, and moralistic to the point of exhaustion, he’s also a kind friend, a shockingly understanding commanding officer, and a good sport about most things. He even participates in some ship-wide events, like the talent show where he played some genuinely excellent Vulcan lute.

And purely for Jim’s amusement, played a lute version of a truly ancient Terran classic that Jim has a soft spot for, Wildest Dreams.

“He… Was an unusually brilliant student,” Sarek says, still slow as if fighting for words. Jim realizes with an urgency that he should probably try to keep Sarek talking to keep him awake.

“Vulcans didn’t like brilliant students?” Jim asks with amusement. The idea of Spock being a nerd among nerds is somewhat hilarious.

“No, they did not like an unusually brilliant half-human,” Sarek replies, his voice for the first time that Jim has ever known him touching with a hint of sadness. “And he was… Willful. Unusually brilliant, and ferociously unselfconscious about his mother.”

Jim laughs a little at that, rubbing his neck unconsciously, “yes, I definitely learned the hard way that you shouldn’t insult his mother.”

“As did many,” Sarek says, his eyes closed. “He had a violent physical altercation when he was eleven for a similar reason. It was that disrespect of his mother that ultimately caused him to turn away from the Vulcan Science Academy.”

“He didn’t go to VSA because they insulted his mother?” Jim asked, surprised. “Why would they insult Amanda anyway?”

Sarek takes a sharp breath at the casual use of his wife’s name, and Jim feels terrible. After months of playing chess with Spock, they had begun discussing their childhood and Spock often spoke of his mother glowingly. He had insisted that they use her name to honor her memory.

“They referred to her blood as a disadvantage. I knew the moment they said it; he would never accept a place that looks down on humans. He could be illogically loyal.”

“His illogical loyal behavior saved you on Vulcan, and it saved earth,” Jim replies, his voice sharper than he intends it to be.

Sarek opens his eyes at that, slowly and blearily, “I did not mean that negatively. I have come to find that many of the traits I viewed as… Aberration in him, in his youth, has come to define his tremendous successes.”

Jim doesn’t say, though he dearly wants to, that viewing his child’s personality as an aberration at any point is pretty illogical. Still, Spock is a subject that Sarek is willing to stay awake and speak about, so Jim asks, “like what?”

“Well,” Sarek says wryly, “his disregard for rules he simply disagrees with. It is, presumably, the reason that he works so well with you and your idiosyncratic leadership style.”

“I would not say that Spock isn’t interested in the rules,” Jim replies with surprise, the betrayal of Spock’s report after they saved him from a volcano still kind of stings.

“He follows the rules he believes in avidly, that is true,” Sarek says, his voice does hold amusement now. “But he regularly ignores them if he wishes to. I presume you are referring to his report after the events of Nibiru?”

Jim jerked in surprise, “how did you know--?”

“My son and I have been keeping close correspondence after the destruction of Vulcan and the loss of his mother. We are attempting to… work through the strain our relationship was put under while I worked through my disappointment that he did not go to the Vulcan Science Academy.”

“Isn’t disappointment illogical too?” Jim asks. It is hard for him to hear the casual way Sarek describes his feelings towards Spock when Jim truly and completely believes that his First Officer is one of the finest beings he has ever encountered.

Sarek makes a noise of agreement, “you are correct. Vulcans may take a vow to control our emotions, and we certainly may attempt to utilize logic in most decision-making. Still, there is no doubt that our species can be vulnerable to prideful behavior.”

Jim, having beaten Spock at chess a few times, can attest to that.

“What did he say about Nibiru?” Jim asks, curious now as to how Spock described the events to his father.

“I believe,” Sarek says again, his voice rich with amusement now, “that you saw yourself as the rule breaker in this scenario. However, after listening to his entire recounting, I must ask you- whose idea was it to freeze the volcano?”

Jim looked at Sarek blankly, “Spock’s. He had been reviewing the geothermal events on the plant. He calculated the likelihood of explosion was incredibly likely, so he asked if he could try one of his experiments to save the planet.”

“You realize that the plan itself, from its initial conception, violated the Prime Directive, do you not, Mr. Kirk?”

Jim looked at Sarek blankly, “what?”

“It is against the Prime Directive to interfere with a planet’s destiny in any way. Then, the matter of his cold fusion device. An entirely novel invention that had gone through no formal testing, no review process… He simply believed it would work, conducted experiments in his free time, and wanted to use it. And had a captain who trusted him.”

Jim blinks again at Sarek. “But… But…”

Sarek leaned his head back, “do not feel bad. He was somewhat infamous for this when he was a boy. His capacity to convince his instructors that his personal pet projects were highly logical and beneficial regardless of external forces was… Remarkable. And in you, I think he has finally found a place where his prodigious intellect is not being checked by constant regulation.”

“Spock always follows regulation,” Jim defends on instinct, his mind reeling.

“He always follows the ones he believes deserve to be followed,” Sarek corrected. “He has always had a somewhat unusual penchant for attempting novel actions without the traditional Vulcan tendency of deep contemplation.”

Oh, the thought hit Jim suddenly. Spock is a Vulcan bad boy. Jim doesn’t know why he finds that so shocking; Spock does, after all, go along with a majority of his plans and even comes up with half of them. Even more damning, if Spock did not agree with a course of action, it relatively rarely ends up occurring.

Which means… Spock is actually as goddamn reckless as he is.

Jim isn’t sure how he feels about this revelation.

“He... He tricked me!” Jim cries out eventually, unable to contain it.

“But as I have said,” Sarek adds, his voice is shallow and slow now, “I have come to realize… These qualities, his capacity for creativity, and quick thinking have allowed him to become the most remarkable of us.”

“I’m glad that you could see what we have always seen,” Jim says, though he’s more using the royal “we.”

It took him considerably longer to see what was right there in front of him, but once he had, it made sense to Jim that Spock had been a popular professor, First Officer, and Advisor in his time at Starfleet.

“I was unwilling to admit it, but I was worried when he chose Starfleet. So far from his people, alone and living in an abundance of difference. Vulcans can be quite homogeneous.”

“Infinite diversity in infinite combinations,” Jim quoted from Spock’s eternal sermons.

“Ironic that it is a Vulcan philosophy when so many of us view the world so similarly,” Sarek said, inclining his head slightly. “However, in a land of difference, he was able to find a space for himself that he was unable to find with his people. He always did appreciate adventure, read illogical books with his mother like Alice in Wonderland and Sherlock Holmes. Even Shakespeare which his instructors on Vulcan never enjoyed.”

Jim raised his eyebrows again. Spock often quoted fanciful literary classics in trying situations. Still, it never entirely occurred to him how oddly poetic and even artistic that would have made him in a different place.

“I hope he knows that I hold him in high regard,” Sarek says after a moment, and his eyes drift shut again, his breathing going slow.

“No,” Jim leaps up. “No, you can’t. I can not be responsible for the death of two of Spock’s parents.”

“Captain Kirk,” Sarek says with exhaustion, “do not worry. I can place my body into a healing trance that will allow me to remain stable for an extended period of time if need be. The Betazoid limestone will make us challenging to track and as such--”

Just then, there is a loud thudding noise on the wall to their right, like something heavy just rammed into it at full speed.

A thudding again, and then Sarek shudders awake, “Spock?”

Jim doesn’t hear anything but Sarek does because he turns to Jim and says, “please move 3.87 feet to your left.”

Three seconds later, a thud outside the wall gives way to what appears to be an ancient wrecking ball.

“What is that?”

“I think it is your crew, Captain,” Sarek says.

Another beat and a large stone crash through the wall using a device that is an ancient Terran wrecking ball.

“Captain,” Spock said calmly through the hole he just blasted through the wall. “I see you’re unharmed. Father, it is gratifying to see you safe as well.”

“Glad you got to us in time; we were running out of gossip about you,” Jim says with a smirk as he slowly starts to try to clamber through the slightly too small hole.

“Please refrain from joking,” Spock says, guiding his father through the hole much more gracefully.

“Who’s joking?” Jim replies.

Spock looks to his father with an eyebrow up, and Sarek responds, “while I would not term it “gossip,” the captain is correct, and our mutual affiliation with you helped pass a majority of the time.”

Jim nearly cackles at the brief look of horror that passed over Spock’s face when he replies with a steady, “indeed.”

Jim smirks and is silent while Spock focuses on calling the Enterprise to beam up.

And much later, when Spock asks him what they discussed while Spock and Jim played their usual game of chess, Jim can be entirely honest when he says, “your many admirable qualities.”

It’s definitely worth the way Spock’s ears turn a light green.

#trektober2021 #star trek #aos star trek #aos spock #spock #AOS Kirk #james t kirk #ambassador sarek #i intended this to be pre-spirk #but can be read as gen

31 notes · View notes

theheightofdishonor · 3 years

Text

Teen Wolf triads are something that can be so personal, so here’s a list of my faves

Scott/Stiles/Allison

The OG trio. The gang that dies together might not stay together, but they’re still iconic.

Scott/Stiles/Lydia

Any Scott/Stiles/X dynamic is brilliant, but few more than this one. These three have been there since the beginning and they’ve gone through so much together. There’s no Teen Wolf without them.

Scott/Stiles/Derek

They were the driving force in S1&2 and had some absolutely iconic moments together. Hate that there wasn’t more of them after that.

Scott/Derek/Isaac

Mostly based on S2/3. I was very invested in Isaac’s struggle to pick between these two.

Scott/Stiles/Isaac

This triad’s dynamic completely changes between S2 and 3. In Season 2, Isaac, as part of Derek’s pack is a slightly antagonistic figure and it’s very much Scott&Stiles vs Isaac but in S3, Scott and Isaac grow closer while Isaac and Stiles erm, don’t. It’s very fun to watch.

Scott/Isaac/Allison

My ot3 and the only trio on this list that I 100% ship.

Isaac/Erica/Boyd

Ayy, it’s the OG Hale Pack aka 3 teens bonding over being thrown headfirst into something they weren’t prepared for and Derek’s horrible leadership. Isaac should’ve ran away with Erica and Boyd for solidarity’s sake.

Chris/Allison/Isaac

Chris’s struggle between hating Isaac for dating his daughter and wanting to adopt him is hilarious. One of my favourites.

Scott/Melissa/Isaac

Who didn’t completely melt at Isaac joining the McCall fam? The scene where they’re ‘guarding’ Melissa was so cute. As a bonus, it made Stiles’s animosity towards Isaac that much stronger. Will forever hate that this trio was more or less non-existent in 3b even though I love Chris/Allison/Isaac.

Derek/Cora/Peter

The non-dead Hales. Why oh why did Cora have to leave? Their family dynamic was great.

Allison/Lydia/Cora

I know they only had a couple scenes as a triad, but there was so potential. We love antagonism with underlying sexual tension. And ofc, the only thing better than 1 terrifying badass that can secretly be super sweet is 3 terrifying badasses.

Derek/Isaac/Boyd

At one point, the only non-dead members of the Hale Pack (TW quickly amended that). I always think of the S3a Loft scene where Boyd and Isaac skip school to protect Derek. Despite how awful of an alpha Derek’s been, they still care about him and he cares about them (as actual people and not just betas that he needs for power like he did originally)

Derek/Allison/Lydia.

Yes it’s my 5th s3 based trio in a row, but can you blame me? This is 100% based off the classroom scene in 3x02.

Allison/Lydia/Jackson

Although Lydia and Jackson were both awful in S1, their friendship with Allison and their immediately taking her under their wing was beyond precious. Additionally, it combines both the asshole-who’s-soft-towards-1-person- dynamic (jydia w/ allison) and assholes-who-secretly-care-about-each-other (jydia) And ofc, the underlying tension due to Jydia’s disdain towards Scott and later, Jackson and Allison’s experiences/knowledge of the supernatural.

Malia/Kira/Lydia

Comedy gold. Their scenes speak for themselves and we needed more.

Liam/Mason/Corey

Their S6a dynamic is sooo underrated and should’ve been given more screen time. I loved watching Liam and Corey struggle to get along for Mason’s sake because they want him to be happy. It was all very wholesome and one of the few things that made 6a worth watching.

Stiles/Scott/Liam

Aka the best part of S4.Their dynamic is so fun and well-balanced and infinitely better because they’re a triad. You’ve got Scott and Liam figuring out their mentor/mentee relationship with Stiles co-parenting and preventing the Scott/Liam dynamic from turning unhealthy. (Liam and Scott’s S6 dynamic veered way too close to parent/child for my taste. They need Stiles to balance it out) It’s also hilarious how quickly Liam accepts being aggressively adopted by two idiots who are barely older than him. And Stiles takes so easily to playing older brother/co-parent. It’s adorable. They’re adorable.

Erica/Allison/Lydia

Very similar dynamic to Allison/Lydia/Cora due to Cora and Erica’s similar personalities but also not, which has a lot to do with Allison and Lydia’s reactions to Erica’s weaponized feminity. Also, there’s a lot more history between these girls and I want to know everything about what Erica thinks of Lydia after going to school with her for years.

Sherriff/Melissa/Chris

Of the top of my head, I can only remember that time where they were trapped under the Nemeton and that’s simply unacceptable.

Sheriff/Noshiko/Melissa.

It’s a crime that this triad never got scenes. Especially after the Sheriff tried to arrest Kira. I know Melissa bitch slapped him but I wanted to watch these two badasses gang up on the Sheriff together. ( the Noshiko/Melissa dynamic would be so iconic.)

Victoria/Noshiko/Melissa

Another triad that never shared scenes (obviously because Vic is dead) but their power would’ve been off the charts. I want to make a joke about milfs, but I’ll refrain.

The Yukimura fam

Seemed appropriate since my last two also included. Noshiko.I love family dynamics and the Yukimuras are no exception. The attraction of this triad, for me, is mostly the dynamic between Kira and Noshiko and how Ken navigates between them. They’re also a trio that we didn’t see nearly enough of in S4 and 5. Like seriously, where were they? Noshiko’s on the dead pool, but she’s barely mentioned. (on a mostly unrelated note, how is the 900 yr old Kitsune worth less than a girl that just found about her kitsune powers?)

Derek/Allison/Scott

I don’t need to explain this one. The angst, the drama, Derek projecting Kate onto Allison and Allison trying to murder Derek and their evolution to reluctant allies with a good dash of Scallison and Scott navigating his own difficult relationship with Derek. Aka the complicated, tension fraught trio we all loved/should love. ( ok, I kind of explained it)

Derek/Scott/Liam

And here we have a two for one deal; two mentor/mentee dynamics in 1 triad. People much smarter than me have written about this trio in extensive detail, so all I’m saying is that Derek’s that one uncle who occasionally comes around and gives somewhat helpful advice.

Braeden/Malia/Scott

Braeden and Scott were great in S4. Braeden and Malia were great in S5. Scott and Malia are pretty great when they’re not in a relationship. Combine, and you get what had to be a kick-ass triad that’s sadly never canonly shown together (I think)

Melissa/Chris/Isaac

Not actually featured in the show, but Isaac deserves all the parental figures and I want to witness the surely epic custody battle between Chris and Melissa.

Malia/Scott/Peter

That this trio is on here is actually pretty funny because I hate both Scalia and the forced Peter/Malia bonding in S6. But I loved the scene where Peter warned Malia not to fall in love with Scott because a) he has absolutely 0 right to advise her on anything and b) because of the history between Scott and Peter. In a way, a relationship with Malia is just another thing tying Scott to someone that’s repeatedly caused harm to him and his friends and was the initial cause for all the pain he’s suffered in the last couple years. I just find this dynamic worth exploring.

Malia/Derek/Peter

The Hales 2.0. Derek and Malia deserve to bond over unwillingly being related to Peter, that scumbag.

Malia/Stiles/Peter

Stiles and Peter are so fun together and Stalia is my jam. Throw in an antagonistic Malia and Peter relationship and they’re entertaining as hell. Much more lighthearted than Malia/Scott/Peter.

Stiles/Malia/Lydia

To clarify, this has nothing to do with a love triangle and everything to do with how their personalities play off each other. It’s one of those trios where together, they’re either terrifying or absolute morons.

Stiles/Cora/Derek

Admittedly, my version of this is very Sterek+Cora and the hilarity of Stiles and his attraction to Hales but it’s also 3x snark and you really can’t go wrong.

Scott/Stiles/Melissa

It’s Melissa and her boys 1.0. This woman is by far the best parent on this show, and I love the specific dynamic among these three. Melissa might not always like Stiles, but she cares about him and there’s the mutual understanding that they both adore Scott and would do anything for him. Also, Mel being exasperated by the dumbass duo is always funny.

Kate/Allison/Chris

Lowkey another custody battle because Kate and Chris do fight to be the bigger influence on Allison This is such a tragic trio to me, and the lesson here is basically that sometimes love isn’t enough. Chris and Kate both genuinely love Allison and she loves them too but can’t have both and at some point, she has neither. Kate and Chris care about each other, but that’s not enough either. In the end, they all lose each other. There’s no happy ending for them, at least not with each other.

Derek/Stiles/Peter

Stiles just has chemistry (not necessarily romantic) with all Hales and this trio really shines through in 3x01 and in S3 in general. “Chess is Stiles’s game” asgdhfjgh. I wanted more of that very specific dynamic.

That was a hell lot longer than I thought it would be, but what can you do. Feel free to tell me your own opinions in the tags/comments.

53 notes · View notes

alexzalben · 4 years

Note

What do you think of all the backlash the last Riverdale episode received? I’ve never seen the writers speak out like this before on all the hate.

This is a pretty complicated topic that I probably can’t do justice with one Tumblr ask, but I’ll try to address some of the broad strokes ideas here. And hang tight, because this is gonna go long.

First of all, a caveat: I have by no means read through every comment the writers were responding to, nor do I know what they discussed or how they’re feeling about things, nor do I speak for them in any way.

However, I do think one of the joys and downfalls of making TV in the social media era is the accessibility of the creative team to fans. Joys because it opens up new ways of understanding how a show is made, demystifying the process, which is always a good thing. Downfalls because to some fans - not all fans, by any means - it makes them feel like they have a say in what happens in the show.

On the latter, it’s not to say that the writers aren’t listening, on many series they’re well aware of what fans think about their show, the plots, the ships, etc. Sometimes they’ll even shift where they’re going based on fan feedback. Nikki and Paolo on Lost are the example I always go to, where they were introduced to show the outside perspective of what other survivors were doing while Jack and his gang were going on adventures... And everybody HATED THEM. So much so that plans changed and they were literally buried alive on the show by the end of the season, in a very unsubtle metaphor.

That said, there’s a difference between what I perceive to be the tone around Nikki and Paolo, which mind you was pre-Twitter days, and what some shows have to deal with now: one is constructive criticism presented as “hey we don’t like this”; the latter sometimes veers into “you suck and you should kill yourself.”

I want to emphasize again: this is not everyone. Usually there is a small section of any group of people that delves into hyper-negativity, and they always get an outsized focus to the number of people who actually do that. Again, example here, but for a while I was part of a pretty popular online sketch comedy group. We got tons of views, tons of comments, I’d estimate 95-99% of those comments were great. Did I internalize those? Of course not. I internalized the one comment out of 100 that told me what a shitty writer I was. That’s the one that rolled around in my head all night, because it seeped into the fear that most writers have that they do suck and will never be successful, at any level. It’s Imposter Syndrome, plain and simple, and it affects everyone no matter how famous (or not) they are.

Reason I mention that is it’s entirely possible that 99% of the comments to the writers of Riverdale this episode were mostly fine, but if 1% of them were of the “fucking kill yourself” variety, that hurts, a lot. It’s not on everyone, by any means, but that pulls the focus, and it’s horrifying every time no matter how often it happens (and believe me, it happens far too often).

Specifically with Riverdale, there are another few factors that are exacerbating this. One is, and I don’t want to diminish this: the pandemic. We’re a year in and people are crumbling mentally. Nothing has been “normal” for a year, that impacts every single aspect of your life, and some things are easier to lash out at than others, like a TV show. If a deadly virus is causing inconsistency? Not much you can do about that. If your fave TV show is shaking up the broadcast schedule and changing your favorite couples? Complain to the writers, the directors, the actors, etc.

The other is the arc of this season so far, which I do think is driving people fucking nuts. This again gets back to the pandemic, but ending with episode 19, waiting months, and then coming back for a premiere that is actually the third to the last episode of the season? That’s unsettling. It throws you off kilter, because it’s not the right rhythm. I know this sounds a little silly, but it’s actually very important: stories have a rhythm to them, and a lot of TV shows in particular have had that rhythm broken. Riverdale had three episodes that were all essentially climax, then upended the show with a time jump, and has continued to mix things around almost every episode. And then it’ll be going into another three month break.

This is definitely the point where someone says “mix things around? they’re doing the same couples they always did.” Sure, theoretical person. But having sifted through fan comments and tweets over the past couple of weeks, every single week one section of the fanbase has been 100% sure it is their ship’s time to shine, and the next they’re being told it’s done forever, and then the next they’re back on, then the next they’re done... It’s an emotional rollercoaster ride, and that’s how the writers designed it, and it’s frankly not over yet. But add in that pandemic uncertainty above, and you have a recipe for people panicking.

Also, and again, this is a small section of any fanbase, but it’s very clear that because of this hyped up panic, some people are being absolutely terrible assholes to other fans. I know I don’t usually curse this much, but the amount of gloating I’ve seen from people on all sides, back and forth, is super gross. Personally, if someone is sobbing for whatever reason, my reaction has never been to quote tweet them with “you lost, get over it” and a peace sign emoji. It sucks when people are sad, and we have a moral obligation to make sure other people feel okay. Don’t know if you’ve ever heard this one, but “do unto others as you would have them do unto you.” Sort of an important life rule.

Overall, I think a fanbase is stronger is they support each other rather than engaging in ship wars, and I do think there’s a lot of people who do do that. Or just express their displeasure, without attacking people. But there are some people who do, and that’s overall making the whole tone of the discussion that much worse.

So what’s the solution here? I always emphasize to my writers that it’s okay to have a negative take as long as you provide something constructive about a way out of the situation, and I’ll apply that both to the Riverdale fanbase, as well as this extremely long Tumblr ask.

There are three things I’d suggest, and both of them are on you. By “you” I mean the general you, and the reason I suggest them, versus what the writers and creators of Riverdale can do is that “you” are the thing you can control and change.

The first is changing the tone of the discussion. Realize that there are people deeply, emotionally impacted in different ways by this TV show. Allow that they may be having different emotional reactions than you, and give them the space and the support to work through it. If you’re a Varchie fan, it actually makes you a better fan to check on a Barchie fan and see if they’re okay. If you’re a Barchie fan, it’s okay to be happy for a Varchie fan and sad at the same time. Mainly because none of you had anything to do with it. This isn’t even a case where you wore your lucky socks and your fave team won the game. The writers are writing what they wrote, and you are a passive observer, not involved other than the involvement you bring to it. So if everyone supports each other regardless of the circumstances, that will improve things overall.

The second? Disengage. Take a break. Stop watching the show. You have no obligation to tweet, or go on any other social media outlet for this series, nor do you have to keep watching the show if it hurts you. In fact, taking a show break if you feel too involved is a very good thing. Check out, clear your head and come back much later and look at it with fresh eyes.

Third? Think before you comment. It took me a long time to get here with this one, and I’m still working on it, but before you comment: pause, read it over again, and think “is this something I really want to send?” You do get that rush of taking whatever anger you’re feeling and getting it out of your body and mind, but ultimately it’s usually more damaging than either waiting, posting something a little more thoughtful, or not posting at all. It’s really thinking about what you’re adding to the conversation, and what you’re hoping to get back.

So there you go. Lots of thoughts there, and I’m sure there’s lots more to say. This is only my outside perspective on this, and I hope it’s helpful at least in some small way. And if not, that is cool, too!

#Riverdale

30 notes · View notes

allycryz · 4 years

Text

Incandesce

Explicit Fic

Thancred x Nerys (WoL) x Emet-Selch / Thancred x Nerys / Emet-Selch x Nerys / Some Thancred x Emet-Selch

When Nerys made the mistake of telling Emet-Selch to surprise her, this is not what she had in mind.

Even more astonishing: that Thancred is interested.

(A lot of other ships mentioned/discussed, primarily Nerys x Haurchefant and Nerys x Estinien x Aymeric)

Shadowbringers Spoilers

[From This Prompt List]

Prompts Used: Hot Springs in Winter / Restraints / Double Penetration Other Tags: Minor Breathplay in the water, Shaping Aether into Extra Hands, Brief Food Mention

Meta Notes:

This is currently not-canon in the general, overarching sense, but everything that happens prior to Nerys entering the hot springs is canon.

Prelude

Beneath the thickest canopy of trees, Nerys can ignore the great and terrible light above. Pretend she is in the Shroud again. There are Duskwight waiting among the Night’s Blessed for her to return with supplies and reports. Never mind that it’s a name they don’t recognize. The elves of the First separate themselves by region and family, not clan.

Many of Night’s Blessed look like the faces she grew up with. It has...been a long time since she was with such a group. Visiting her parents and Uncle Vaquelin had been lovely, but brief. And that was so long ago now. Before Doma, before Gyr Abania, before Minfilia came here with Ardbert and his companions.

The memory of that long-ago visit conjures Haurchefant, who she had brought with her. Her family loved him–how could they not? It makes her miss him all the more. Their too-brief, too-scarce meetings since her arrival are not enough.

She leaves the nostalgia and safety of the trees behind along with her brooding. People are expecting her. A truth no matter what world she lives on, whether they call her Warrior of Darkness or Light. Nerys is thankful this place doesn’t also remind her of Ishgard. Then the homesickness might turn her brooding into outright tears.

Now. Collecting reeds for the girl’s basket. They should be due south from here.

“Far be it from me to meddle…” Emet-Selch materializes beside her, as if picking up a prior conversation. “But my curiosity outweighs my desire to see where ‘the chips do fall’.”

Nerys turns her gaze toward him without breaking her stride. Last time he did this, she was picking berries and near fell over into the dirt. “Saying ‘far be it from me to meddle’ does not cancel out any subsequent meddling, you know.”

One corner of his mouth tilts up. “I expected my company to be polite enough not to mention it. More fool me.”

“What do I know about manners?” She cannot help herself. Maybe it is the pleased, attractive smirk whenever she says something diverting. Maybe she is tired of all the misfortune around them and needs levity. “I am but a simple warrior, a weapon of brute strength raised in the woods.”

“Self-deprecation does you no favors, my dear. Even when it is clear you know it’s all rubbish.” He waves a hand. “You are among the politest of my enemies.”

“Thank you?”

“Mm. I can be generous.” He lifts his shoulders in a shrug. “Now, about my query. Tell me...which suitor do you think will win out?”

That almost makes her stumble. And she can tell from his expression, he is reliving when she almost fell upon her basket of berries. A rare mishap from her that he will never, ever let her forget. “I...beg your pardon?”

“No need to beg for it, this one is free,” says Emet. His tone is insinuating as ever on that point. “You clearly carry torches for both Masters Waters and Matoya. I get the impression he was your lover at one time? The outline I have of your activities before the Exarch summoned you does not include the gritty details. As for her, only the Hrothgar moons after her more than you do.”

Nerys opens her mouth. Closes it. Opens it again. “You truly have been watching, haven’t you?”

“Oh not everything. Mortals are not so difficult to read, once you have practice. And your eyes…” He catches her chin, directing his gaze into hers. “They are terribly expressive, once you know what to look for.”

Emet-Selch wants a reaction. She puts her hands on her hips, lifting an eyebrow. Waiting for him to continue. As if his thumb isn’t stroking over her jaw, gentle as a lover. The touch as stirring as when he graces her with a particularly enticing smile.

“Now...” He does not need her permission to continue so she doesn’t give it. Clearly, this is a soliloquy he wants to perform. “I am not sure you know how many carry a torch for you, and I shan’t spoil it by telling you. But it does make things interesting. Not to mention, this Lord Haurchefant your group often mentions. Shall you abandon your noble suitor for a rogue posing as a knight? Or for a scholar of great and terrible power? Will one of the yet undeclared reveal themselves and win the hero’s heart?”

That heart thuds painfully against her chest. The way he shapes his syllables charges each provoking word. And the directness of those wine-gold eyes, a shade paler than her own but no less piercing for it.

He has gotten so much of it wrong. That does not negate how easily he has gotten so much of it right.

Nerys curls her fingers around his wrist and tugs his hand down. Emet-Selch does not resist, though when their hands are navel-level he twists just so, clasping her wrist in return, They remain locked thus, neither one letting go.

“Surely one as ancient as you, as easily bored as you,” she says. “Must know there are other options.”

“I don’t think a vow of chastity would suit you. Your eyes run too hot upon your comrades-”

“Lord Haurchefant,” she continues. “He is my lover and my beloved. Were I the marrying kind, his ring would be on my finger. That would not stop either of us from sharing physical and emotional intimacy with others.”

Emet-Selch says not a word, betrays no emotion. He does not veer into patronizing congratulations or arrogant dismissal. That same thumb begins to stroke again, over her gauntlet.

“There are others in the Source with such arrangements. I’m delighted to know it’s fairly common in the First.” Nerys cannot resist her smirk. Is this how he feels when he lectures her? “For some, it is about a variety of sexual partners. Sometimes it’s like that for us. More often...we are the kind to fall madly for someone or someones, in addition to wanting the physical parts. So whatever may happen...it is not a matter of winning.”

“Well,” he says, looking at her as if for the first time. Considering.

“Well,” he says again, with a slow smile. “You are full of surprises, my dear. I thank you for not being as boring as I expected.”

“Accuse me of many things, but never that.” Nerys takes a step back, breaking the link of their hands. “But I don’t think my expansive heart is my most unique quality.”

“On that, at least, we agree.” His enigmatic smile inflames just the right amount of curiosity in her. She resists best as she can. “Well, that puts to rest one of my little games. No reason to stay and help you...what is it again? Collecting reeds so a girl may make a basket?”

“Yes, that,” she says. “Would you like to join?”

“Oh, I am not so starved for stimulation to partake.” Purple and black aether swirls around his ankles. “Whistle for me, when you’re doing something actually worthy of a hero.”

“No need,” she says. “Somehow, I think you’ll know.”

He smirks as he disappears.

Weeks Later

"Alone at last."

In one motion: she slams the book shut, jumps up, has the knife pointed and ready. The sharp edge gleams in the lamplight, as bright as his gaze as he sighs at her.

"Really," says Emet-Selch. "I thought we were past this stage."

They were. They are. It doesn’t change that Eulmore is an ever looming spectre at their heels. That this pressure on her chest and shoulders is building. For their last few talks, Ardbert has made sure to catch her attention well before speaking.

She keeps thinking Ran’jit is about to appear and cut her down.

Nerys exhales a breath, blade staying poised for the moment. “Do you always startle trained warriors?"

“Only you, hero.” He touches the pad of his gloved finger against the dagger point. “This is not so beautiful a weapon as your lance."

"A lance is a little more difficult to keep close at all times." It is, in fact, leaning against the wall of her room. Just behind him. By the way his eyes flicker to the side and then to her, he knows it.

They are well past when she might run for it, and brandish it at him. The gaze feels so much like a challenge though, she contemplates it. He wouldn’t expect her to start a physical fight after weeks of banter.

Nerys withdraws the blade.

“It is a well-made little knife. A gift? I don't recall seeing it on you before."

"I always keep a dagger on me, one never knows when an ambush is coming." She slides it back in the sheath, touch lingering on the deep-plum leather of the hilt. "...But yes, this is new."

"I thought so. From Thancred no doubt, as he has been lavishing attention on you as of late." He steps away, spreading his arms. "He was the paramour I expected to win. At least until you explained that you don't limit yourself to just one."

His words conjure visceral memories without much effort. Her tender, still-aching reconciliation with Thancred at the start of this week. What they could have had in Ala Mhigo had the Exarch not spirited him away the day they meant to talk.

But also, the day in the Rak’tika Greatwood with Emet-Selch. His teasing about the choice she would “have” to make. Her defiant lecture. His fingers on her chin and on her wrist.

"Over Y'shtola, you mean?" She leans her back against the desk, arms crossed. "Or the other admirers you claim I have? Which are who, exactly?"

"Ah, ah, ah," he says with a wag of a finger. His pale gold eyes and wicked mouth brim with laughter. "You will have to try much harder than that to get my secrets."

“Does that mean you won’t explain what ‘alone at last’ means?”

"That one should be obvious, my dear." He remains apart from her but his gaze feel like a touch. Like a stroke of hand over her arm or cheek.

Attraction is like that. And she is adult enough to admit he is attractive–painfully so–without it needing to be a problem. It doesn’t change who they are or that one day, she may need to face him on the battlefield.

(Nerys had been able to face Estinien and Thancred both after all. Though unlike them, this man’s mind is his own. She is certain Zodiark’s pull is not the same as Lahabrea’s or Nidhogg’s.)

"I have been busy of late,” she says. “But surely there are others you might visit."

"None of your Scions will play with me the way you will," he pouts. "Even your scholarly Elezen friend will only suffer me so long."

Nerys laughs. "Who says I am willing to play with you? Or that is what we do?"

Emet-Selch’s expression reminds her of Aymeric’s cat, affronted over Nerys taking his spot upon the chaise lounge that one time. Unlike Sainte, he does not stomp away with a disgruntled noise. “I have never lied to you. Do me the favor of not lying to me.”

"Never?" She asks without real conviction. Nerys is certain he has not lied to her or anyone in their group. Omitted, yes. Likely a great deal.

“Never.” Emet-Selch crosses the space, moving close to her. The fur of his jacket brushes against the front of her gray linen gown. He leans in, leans in, his breath tickles her face and she tries not to give him the reaction he seeks.

He gets so close his lips graze her cheek and she breaks, breath hitching. And then he leans past her, reaching behind to take up the book she closed. "Collected Folk Tales of Lakeland. I admit, I expected something related to your quest."

His face is hidden but she feels his smirk as keenly as she feels the heat of his body against her. "I needed a little break and stories always cheer me. I wish the ones I heard as a child were collected somewhere."

"Ah, but they lose magic that way, don't they?" He breathes into her ear. "Some in the telling, but far more when we commit them to the page."

Don't shiver. Don't react. "Why not have the stories both ways?"

His chuckle is low. "Why not indeed. You do not like to make choices, do you?"

"It isn't that." Her arms remain folded against her chest. Still, if someone were to come in they would think something else was happening. And that would not be a full lie.

On impulse, her eyes flicker about to make sure Ardbert isn't there.

"Too many people reduce life to hard, either-or decisions," she says. "And I have found there is almost always a third or fourth or fifth way."

"An optimist. How very…" Emet-Selch pulls back to look at her. Sighs. "Very boring. I expected better, given all the pathos I have seen in your eyes."

"I'm sorry to disappoint." She turns towards the book, straightening her disrupted papers.

His hands come down on either side of her, balancing against the gentle curve of the desk edge. She is caged, with his breath upon her nape and his body a wall of flame grazing her back. Nerys has managed this session to not rise to his bait, but her resolve is weakening and this does not help.

Attraction does not have to mean anything. You have the will, to have it be a simple fact; not a catalyst or excuse.

"Come now,” he murmurs. His nose tickles the back of her neck. The skin there is extra sensitive; hair freshly trimmed to the new, shorter length. “You have a better retort than that."

"You think so? Maybe you're the optimist."

His laugh is a puff of air upon her. "Better, but still sloppy. I expect more from my playmate."

She wants to argue that point but he has already exposed her defense for the lie it is. Call it play or teasing, Nerys does enjoy these times. When she might pretend he is just a handsome man come only for banter; not...whatever they are to each other or will be.

She enjoys him.

Her eyes flicker to the window. Fading sunlight catches the light fall of snow, the first in a long time for Lakeland. It pulls at her heart for another reason: terrible homesickness for Ishgard. And the position of the sun now means-

"I have to cut this ‘play session’ short. I'm expected elsewhere." Nerys turns in the cage of his arms and gives him a gentle push. "And you're not allowed to be in my room when I am gone."

"Spoilsport. Whatever do you expect me to do? Languish in waiting?"

Her way cleared, Nerys moves past him to the bag she packed earlier. Just a small thing with the necessities for this jaunt...and if she doesn’t sleep in her room tonight. "I know you'll think of something. Surprise me."

As soon as she says it, she regrets it. Too late, his smirk is wide, his face lit with enthusiasm. “I can do that.”

He disappears in a swirl of aether. Nerys wonders if she made a fatal error.

---------

Amaros fly them to the Ostall Imperative. From there, she and Thancred walk the forest path. The creatures of the lilac-and-bone-colored forest keep their distance tonight, many hiding from the strange weather. They still need to be alert though, lest they or brigands cross the path.

Even still, she keeps having to look at him. Assure herself he is there, with her. Truly with her. Their hands brush together once, twice, three times before he at last laces their fingers together. Smiles up at her with a look that stills her breath no matter how many times it happens.

She has loved him...a long time. Grieved him in different ways for different reasons for a long time. And now here he is, having asked for another chance and she hopes this week is not a long, wishful dream.

“It’s never snowed while you’ve been here?” Nerys asks, using her free hand to dust the flakes off her shoulders. Five long years here, under the horrible light. She cannot imagine. No wonder he felt like a stranger when first they found each other in Laxan Loft.

"Not that I've seen. You've brought balance back to the place."

"We have, not just I." She squeezes his hand.

Thancred chuckles. "You should take the credit."

"So should you. And-"

He cups her cheek, tugging her down into a kiss. Deep and soft and intoxicating. All week he has caressed her like this, each time overwhelming her with the gentle sensuality of it. She can almost forgive him doing it just to win an argument. Almost, until she pulls back and sees the old familiar gleam, the old familiar smirk.

"You can't...do that every time." Nerys says, a little breathless. Hands still gripping the supple material of his coat like a lifeline.

"I would never. Only some of the time." His smirk grows. Twelve, but she missed that expression on his face. Not that she loves this new, more serious Thancred any less. Every part of him, every facet, she adores. "Though, I think I need to do it once more."

Never mind whoever waits for them. Now that she can touch him like this again, feel him like this again, she never wants to stop. And from the way his hands grip her, run over her sides and hips, he doesn't either. She presses herself close to him, lips tracing the line of his jaw to the shell of his ear.

Thancred pulls himself back, eyes hot. "If we don't start walking again, I'm going to drag you into the bushes."

She doesn't move. "That isn't incentive to walk."

"I should have known better." He holds out a hand and she takes it, surprised when he starts down the path again. “Come along.”

He must want this date to happen as planned. Thinking about it...they have not had many formal engagements like this. They were either comrades or they were lovers. Maybe there would be a trip to the market or a shared drink in Revenant’s Toll between battles and bed.

Nerys wonders if he might be inspired to poetry, like he had once with his other paramours. Not all of his couplets were groanworthy.

Bosta-Bea awaits them at Clearmelt, her smile wide and welcoming. The sign near her declares that the springs closed at sundown. That alone means Thancred put down a lot of coin for this. Bosta-Bea’s excellent humor doubly verifies it.

“I’ll be just inside if anyone tries to bother you,” she says after greetings and pleasantries are exchanged. “I doubt anyone will but just in case…”

“My thanks,” says Thancred. He hasn’t let go of her hand yet and he squeezes it while he speaks. “The changing rooms are just through there?”

“Yes, with towels to use in the bath.” Bosta-Bea ushers them through to the first room. It’s filled with large stalls that each contain shower, changing room, and locker. Everything hums with magic, likely a number of convenience charms throughout to dry hair and keep belongings safe.

In her own stall, Nerys strips away her leathers. The cool air of the new winter prickles over her skin until she can get under the hot water, rinsing the day off. She is still not used to washing shorter hair. Her hands reach for phantom length to lather with shampoo.

Nerys misses her curls. The haircut was necessary. For catharsis: chopping away locks that held memories of the past moons. For symbolism: starting again, refusing to let grief weigh her down.

And she did it in the city she calls home. Jandelaine paid a house call to the Fortemps Manor. Lord Edmont tried not to hover. Artoirel did hover, repeating questions and bringing her cups of tea and plates of orange-cardamom shortbread.

The hole in her heart began to scab over, the patch knit in tandem with her brother and second father; her friend wielding his scissors; and all Aymeric and Estinien did for her and with her the days and nights following her rescue from the Ascian in Zenos’ body.

Nerys is glad she did it.

Even still, she misses the length and the curl. Hasn’t acclimated to the change yet. Everyone has been complimentary. Thancred spent last night and the night before murmuring about her beauty as he took her apart. And Emet-Selch-

She yanks on the knob, turning off the shower and the intrusive thoughts with them.

The charms she expected are present, drawing the moisture from her skin and hair. Most don’t submerge themselves fully in these springs, never mind the new addition of cold wind and snow. Nerys wraps the soft towel around her body, slips her feet into the provided sandals. She takes her pack and lance with her. No offense to the lockers, but trouble never picks a convenient time to find her.

The first thing she sees is his gunblade propped up against one of the walls, just out of range of water but close enough to run for. She laughs and walks over, doing the same with her lance before taking the knife from her bag.

"Knifeplay?" Thancred asks. "I'm not sure I want to introduce that in this setting."

She turns to him with a snappy remark but it dissolves away.

He sprawls against the side of the bath, arms draped over the edge and head tipped back. What she can see of his muscled chest gleams with moisture in the moonlight. The light snow falls on his cheek.

“Nerys? It’s cold out.”

“It’s uncharacteristically cold tonight,” he said, standing outside her room at the Pendants. A pile of blankets in his hand. Two nights ago. Three days after they agreed to begin again, starting a slow and sometimes aching courtship.

Her chest tightened. “You had better come in then.”

“Just to deliver the blankets?” His eyes gleamed.

“Hm…” She pulled him inside. “That’s a start.”

His towel is folded, just within reach outside of the pool. Well then. Nerys lets hers fall, watching his eyes rake over her lush curves to the apex between her thighs. She takes her time walking over. A swell of pleasure rises in her gut. At the water’s edge, she bends at the waist to set towel and knife down within easy reach.

"You should come here," he says, a soft growl beneath his words. She fights the shudder wanting to rip through her.

"Just a minute." She slips out of the sandals. Dips a toe into the water, testing it. He starts to move towards her, but stops all at once when she holds up a hand. "Sit. Stay."

Thancred smirks. "You remember right? That I always repay you when you tease me."

A soft warmth incongruous to the moment floods her chest and she is helpless not to smile at him with soft eyes and a softer voice. "I have never forgotten a single moment, Thancred."

He swallows, his eyes telling the jumble of emotions roiling in him. She can see all the Thancreds she has known–the serious, protective Thancred, the closed-off and grieving Thancred. The teasing, playful Thancred who seduced her all over Mor Dhona. The attentive, caring Thancred who always knew when she needed him to take over and give her release, or when to let her hold the reins.

The loving Thancred, though neither of them have said the word yet.

"Nerys," he says, voice raw. "Come here."

She goes to him, sliding into the water and into his arms, into his lap as he embraces her. His tongue slides over her bottom lip and she opens to him, lets him plunder her mouth as his hands slide over her hips and waist. Traces her new scars, every mark she has earned since the Bloody Banquet. She finds the ones he has gained since, and where the First has failed to duplicate them. His soul is a near-perfect copy of the body in the Source, but there are small differences.

He parts from her after an eternity, gasping as he rests his forehead on her shoulder. "My plan was for a long, slow night of seduction. And yet, here we are."

“We always end up here,” she says with a laugh. Just as they had meant to take things slow, at least a few weeks before they became lovers again. Why had they ever thought that was a good idea? "Didn't you have any company, these five years?"

"Very little," he admits. "Almost none, once I took in Min-...Ryne. I couldn't exactly leave her to wait at a campsite while I lurked in a tavern looking for a companion."

"Very little," she repeats, cupping the side of his neck and the tattoo. Rubbing it gently. "You don't have to tell me details but...anyone I know?"

He smiles; a little sad, a little soft. "Despite having all the time to do so...no, I didn't make a move on either of them. By the time they got here, I was once again wrapped in my anger and grief."

Nerys sighs and kisses his forehead. "At our pace, neither of us will confess to Y'shtola before our sixtieth Nameday." As to when he might speak to Urianger, maybe before his fiftieth.

His laugh is gentle. "I forgot you were an optimist."

The word startles her in a way she can’t disguise and Thancred is alert all at once, ready to ease whatever troubles her. She shakes her head to assuage him. “Nothing. Nothing, just reminded me of a conversation I had with...someone, earlier.”

“Sweetheart.” The old endearment enfolds her in its warmth despite the slight reproof. “I can guess who from the evasion. It won’t bother me.”

"The last thing I want is to cause you more pain."

“He is not Lahabrea.” Thancred squeezes her hip. "Not that I am fond of our 'friend.' But it won't injure me to know you talk to him."

"Alright." She wraps her arms about his neck to better balance herself. The cold air and fall of snow prickle at her shoulders and chest, a sharp contrast to the heat of the water and where their skin presses together.

"And what about you?" He asks, shifting his leg just so between her thighs. No pressure against her center, not yet. "Was there anyone since I saw you? I know it wasn’t five years for you but..."

"Ah...yes." More heat rises in her. "...Estinien and Aymeric."

Thancred’s eyebrows shoot up. "Both? At the same time?"

“Mm.” Nerys finds herself ducking her head, vulnerable. Those stolen nights in Ishgard seem a dream now, all the more because she had thought it would never happen. And had made peace with that. "Estinien walked in on us and...well, they are a couple. It wasn't so odd to invite him…"

"And you’ve wanted him as long as you wanted Aymeric," says Thancred. He has that smug expression he gets sometimes. “Perhaps for longer. I wondered when it would happen.”

She huffs, scowling. "Is this what you do? Figure out who I am in love with and wait for me to say something?"

"I can't help it." He dips his head, kissing her shoulder. "I seem to have an extra sense for this sort of thing with you."

“I’m glad we found each other.” She means it teasing but again, her words come out warm with emotion. How long till she can stop feeling so much relief to have him in her arms? Sometimes she thinks she feels more than she is supposed to, with no way to stem the tide.

“So am I.” That leg moves with purpose now, nudging against her folds. He leans forward, catching her cold-stiffened nipple between his lips. She gasps, a low moan following right after. Thancred smirks and looks up at her. “Your exploits make for stirring tales.”

“Well, that answers that.”

In an instant, Nerys is up with the knife while Thancred rises, his fists raised. Their usual weapons are just far enough that blades and hands make sense for the interim.

Emet-Selch lounges on the opposite side of the bath, chest and below submerged in the water. He chuckles. "This is the second time you've aimed a blade at me today. I'm starting to think you don't like me."

Thancred growls. "You're trespassing, Ascian."

"Oh?" He shrugs. Nerys refuses to note how well-sculpted his shoulders are. "I wasn't aware you owned these natural springs, the night air…"

"You know exactly what I mean."

"Mayhaps. But I was practically invited. Isn't that right, my dear?" Emet-Selch turns his gaze to Nerys, making no secret of how his eyes sweep over her nude body, her erect nipples, the drops of water coursing down her blue-gray skin.

She is already bare and it still feels like he is undressing her with his gaze.

“What? No.” She shakes her head at Thancred’s shocked expression. “No. When I said ‘surprise me’, this is not what I meant.”

“Well, this is why being specific is important." Emet sighs, sinking deeper into the water. “Will you put that knife down? Having two things pointing at my way is rather disconcerting...though stimulating."

At that, Thancred seems to remember he is naked and erect, though the cold air is working to amend the second problem. He sinks back into the water.

Nerys stoops to set the knife down, one arm shielded over her breasts and trying keep her thighs together. It wreaks havoc on her balance and makes Emet look even more amused. She gives up–he has already seen her–and sinks back into the water without further attempts at modesty.

The Emperor was a soldier, in his way. If his immortality hadn’t made him immune to being scandalized, being in the barracks surely had. As soon as she sits, Thancred slides an anchoring arm about her waist.

"Better," says Emet. "No wonder you have been neglecting me to spend all your time with him, hero. He is rather spectacular, beneath all the scowls he sends my way."

Thancred rolls his eyes. “You got your surprise and answered your question. Whatever that was.”

“Oh, that?” Emet-Selch’s smirk unfurls, slow as honey without the sweetness. “Our Warrior told me about Lord Haurchefant, how open they are with each other. I wondered if she was so with her other paramours, talking freely about her conquests."

Thancred glances her way again. There was no reason to volunteer that information, it just...came up. When provoked, to be fair. Every other time she’s spoken about it...no she cannot say it was always to score points against Emet.

The look he gives her isn’t accusatory, she realises. It is...considering.

“And then here I find you two, comparing notes. Well, comparing notes against near celibacy. Either way, it’s very interesting.”

Nerys squeezes Thancred’s knee below the water. Rubs her thumb over the joint. “How long were you there?”

“Oh, long enough to be enjoyable but not so much to have been rude.” He slides a hand through his hair, pushing back locks damp from steam and snow. It...does things for his face, which he likely knows. “I did tell you that I like to watch.”

“Had your fill then?” Thancred asks, squeezing her hip.

"It takes much more to sate me. But it seems you two will be boring and stare at me till I leave." He sighs. "And as you are both submerged, I cannot even have something nice to look at. So, I suppose I'll go…"

No wait- She almost says.

She almost says! Twelve, Fury, whoever was listening, preserve; Nerys had actually thought of asking him to stay. This attraction is more dangerous than she thought. Clearly she is not so cool and objective about his beauty, if she is so on the verge.

Thancred goes very still beside her.

Nerys curses inwardly. Of course he catches on. This is what he does–understand what she wants before she admits it to herself. And that is all fine...until it is this man behind everything they have fought, everything that has hurt them and taken away their loved ones.

Attraction is not harmless and objective if Thancred is beside her, hurting because of it and her.

“Depends,” says Thancred, squeezing her hip again. “Are you going to sit there and make remarks, or are you going to do something useful?"

What?

She turns to Thancred, at a loss. Even at his most reckless, he wouldn’t invite an enemy to...maybe she misunderstands.

Emet-Selch is very still, the self-satisfied expression gone from his face. Thancred has surprised them both.

“Are you…” She swallows and starts again. “Are you saying…”

“You’re attracted to him, and he to you.” Thancred says, pressing lips to her temple. The soft pressure is unlike the rigid way he holds himself, tension all through his body. “And while neither of us trust him, sex doesn't have to require that.”

It doesn’t, but it always has for her. Even one night with a stranger requires someone she feels relatively safe with. More than that–he isn’t telling the whole truth. He isn’t testing her. That isn’t his way. But he has a reason she can’t guess at yet.

She does not trust Emet-Selch. He is not safe.

But. But.

If...when he strikes, it will not be while making love to them. It seems too gauche, too crude for him. There have been other times, more seemly times he might have waited for her to lower her guard. Like hours ago, when she presented her back to him and he had all but molded to it.

And she trusts Thancred.

“Okay,” she says. Not even sure that Emet will agree or if he is about to laugh at their temerity. Two sundered beings, thinking they might bring pleasure to an Ascian. “But if anyone says stop, we stop. No questions asked.”

“Agreed.” Thancred says, keeping her close to him.

Emet begins to rise until Thancred lifts a hand, gesturing for him to stay put. Clearly amused, the other man complies.

Nerys startles when Thancred lifts her into his arms and out of the water, carried like a bride through the chill air. He has always been strong but...he lifts her as if she is nothing. His muscles speak to the strength he has honed these five years but still, she hadn’t grasped the change. Not until now, cradled against his chest with her long legs dangling over his arms.

Thancred crouches, setting her into Emet’s lap with her back against the Ascian’s chest, smoothing his hands over her arms before he lets go. At once, Emet slides his hands around to palm her breasts. She gasps at the electric touch–both too much and not enough.

He is not shy. And he is not going to dismiss them.

His hands feel better than he imagined. And she can admit now: she imagined.

"I've no idea what you're trying to prove, Thancred." Emet says, breath against her ear. "But as it gives me something I want, I will examine it later."

Something in her clenches at that. “When you spoke of play...have you been flirting this whole time? Or was that just to rile me?”

“Yes.” Emet presses his lips to the side of her neck, feather light. Almost imperceptible. His hands are the opposite, purposeful as they knead her breasts, roll her dark purple nipples between his fingers until she squirms on his lap. It’s like he knew how sensitive she would be there.

Thancred’s hand reaches behind her, gripping somewhere on Emet. His shoulder? Digging into his hair? He has to lean in close to do it and Nerys takes advantage. She presses her mouth to his brown nipple, chasing a rivulet of water down his chest. Sweet, just like he can be.

"You don't put anything inside her until I say so," says Thancred. His voice is harsh but he shivers beneath her lips.

"Oh," Emet breathes. "Do you always let him boss you like that, my dear?"

He squeezes her left breast and she gasps against Thancred instead of answering. All at once he stills, waiting for her response. “S-sometimes. It depends.”

That earns her more pressure against her needful flesh, the fingers pinching just so. “Tell me.”

Nerys tries to look back at him. He frees one hand to catch her chin, directing her eyes back to Thancred who kneels before her. It almost doesn’t feel real, without seeing Emet and his smile and his pale-gold eyes. It could be anyone behind her, certainly not him of all people.

Except that voice. She would know it in the haunting light of Kholusia or in the darkest cave of the Night’s Blessed. At some point, he slipped under skin as if he was meant to be there.

Thancred watches them, running one hand up and down the outside of her thigh in slow strokes. The other is underwater, mirroring the touches on himself. He nods, giving her permission to tell their secrets.

“We...switch,” she says. “I often prefer someone to hold my reins. But...sometimes I like telling him what to do. Withholding from him until he is good. Making him beg.”

“Thank you, sweetheart.” Emet purrs, proving just how long he watched them. She frowns and puts her hand on his wrist, giving it a light squeeze.

“That’s his name for me. You need to choose your own.”

He sighs and she can feel his eyes rolling. Dramatically. “Oh, very well. I suppose I could continue calling you my dear.”

At those words, his teeth sink into her earlobe and his hands resume their kneading. His erection presses at her under the water, the thickness apparent just from the feel of him. She resists the urge to grind against it, lest it end things too soon.

"Any other orders, Thancred? Or are you content to watch me tease her until she begs for release?"

Thancred cups her face between his hands and kisses her, unhurried and deep. She grows pliant under the luxurious touch of both men. No reins desired in her hands tonight. And from the glint in his eyes when he parts from her, Thancred can tell.

“Hold her arms behind her,” he says. “And you’ll be nice for us, won’t you sweetheart? He shouldn’t have to worry about holding you back."

"I'll play nice. This time."

“Ha." He nips her jaw. "Say stop, and we stop. And if you can’t speak, go very still and I will too.”

Nerys nods. Strong hands grip her arms, arranging them to cross behind her back before locking tight upon her. Except-

Except, there are still fingers on her breast. Palms anchoring her hips tight against Emet. She looks down and sees black and purple aether in the vague shape of hands, cupping her aching chest.

Emet chuckles, low and dark. His cock twitches against her. "I have my talents."

Twelve. Growing wet is...different in hot water. But there is still a heated, slick pulse between her legs and her hips try to jerk in response to the idea of what he could do with all those hands. The heat filling her has nothing to do with the springs.

Thancred pushes the aether-hands off her chest so he can cup her breasts, drawing them up as he lowers his mouth to suckle at one. Her head tips back and Emet-Selch takes advantage, lips pressing to the side of her neck. The barest hint of teeth whispers with them.

“So sweet, so good,” murmurs Thancred. His large, callused hands slide over her as his tongue traces her nipple. "What do you want tonight?"

Nerys can barely shiver, the hold on her is so tight and strong. Emet’s fingers pulse against her, firm but not harsh on her skin. “I want you. I want you both. However you want me.”

He smiles and she readies to receive another litany of compliments. The words always flow from him when he is amorous, praising every twitch of her muscles, every way she takes him into her. Instead, he rewards her with another dizzying kiss; so intense she forgets herself and tries to throw her arms about him.

Emet tightens his grip, tutting against her neck. "And she was so well behaved until now."

“Sorry,” she murmurs against Thancred’s mouth. “I just-I need to feel you-”

“Shh, it’s alright.” Thancred hushes her, his fingers against her mouth as he moves into her space. She parts her lips and takes the tip of one, swirling her tongue about it. “Ah, I’ll give you what you need.”

He slides a hand onto the back of her neck, nudging her down while she continues lathing his finger. The many hands clutching her accommodate, till she is suspended and bent over, balanced by the arms held taut behind her, barely on Emet’s lap. Her chin dips into the hot water and she stares up through lowered lashes.

Thancred stands, sliding a hand to grip just beneath the swollen head of his cock. Not as thick as what she feels against her rump, but it has grown to its full aroused length. Emet hums appreciatively, likely at the outstanding number of ilms on display. She thinks–it is hard to think, held like this, a slip away from all of her sinking into the water, his cock before her-

She thinks there are more hands on her now, thumbs rubbing subtle, light circles into her arms and legs and ankles. Emet follows the orders; nothing is inside her yet. But oh how she wants there to be, an end to the sweet torture of the many teasing touches.

“Well?” Emet asks. “Are you going to give her what she needs? You certainly have enough of it.”

Thancred smirks over her head, slowing the pace of his stroke as he goes from root to tip. Caressing each bit of the shaft before swirling his thumb over the head, worrying at his lip when he does so. Both she and Emet make pleased sounds at the same time, hers much more needy and inelegant.

At last, Thancred slides one hand into her short locks; keeping her in place as he guides himself into her mouth. Slow at first, then pressing deep as she relaxes her mouth and throat. She cannot take him all the way but she tries, savoring the heady taste of him and spring water until her toes curl.

He fucks into her mouth, his hips jerking in quick thrusts. The water splashes up her face and she closes her eyes, the sensations heightening the moment she does. Over the splashing she hears Thancred say something. In response, two fingers plunge into her folds. In and out, pulling back as soon as she tries to grind against them.

She thinks they are Emet’s flesh hands. She cannot be sure.

Nerys squirms to free herself, needing to touch Thancred. Run her hands over his shaft where her mouth cannot possibly go. The grip on her limbs tightens, a third finger slides into her. She can feel Emet’s body move with a chuckle even though she can only hear the water splashing over her nose and closed eyelids. The threat to her breathing goads her pleasure.

Thancred’s grip in her hair tightens, the other hand joining to burrow in the violet and white strands. His fingers in her scalp send a new wave of feeling through her. She moans around him, the pressure in her building but with no outlet in sight.

His thrusts speed up and she knows what is about to happen, groans in encouragement as his release pours into her. He doesn’t let go, not until he is fully spent and the momentum gives way. She can hear him now, the running litany of praise he must have kept up the whole time. “-so good, so good you did so well…”

He drags her off him and kneels, pressing her to sit again with her back against Emet, lips brushing against hers as she swallows and catches her breath. Nerys opens her mouth to him and he follows her, tasting her more fully. Tasting himself more fully.

“Fuck,” she whispers. “I feel like I’m close but also not at all.”

“I can take care of that.” Thancred says, kissing her forehead. He takes a deep breath and submerges beneath the water. She isn’t sure what he’s about until his mouth latches onto her clit, sucking as much as he can below. The fingers inside her curl

“Fuck,” she hisses again. They’re going to eviscerate her like this.

“Look at you.” Emet says, mouthing along her shoulder. "How easily you come apart. How eager you are to obey, and he is not half so dominating as I would be."

She moans–from his fingers, Thancred’s mouth, the implicit promise in Emet’s words. Nerys answers the challenge in them instead. “I-I know he’ll make it good for me. I d-don’t need that much encouragement.”

“Implying what? You aren’t so assured of me?” He catches her chin between thumb and forefinger, turning her head back towards him until it almost hurts. The edge of pain thrills down her spine, joining the rest of the heightened feelings in her. “I think you can accurately guess the heights I could drive you to.”

His breath tickles the corner of her mouth. At last she sees his eyes and the roaring fire they contain, the undisguised need and want. She gasps, not just from the increased thrusting of his fingers, the pressure and seal of Thancred’s mouth. If he had ever shown her that look before, she would have dragged him to bed and the consequences be damned.

Thancred emerges, taking a breath at the same time he slides his hand over the one Emet has on her face. Presses his mouth over the other man’s fingers before kissing Nerys like she is the oxygen he couldn’t have underwater.

His other hand slips between her thighs, direct and purposeful on her sensitive bud. His words pour into her ears–”yes, let go, let go, I want you to come like this, just like this”–and Emet’s fingers move faster inside her. With his wonderful, knowledgeable hand at her clit and his ragged words against her cheek, it doesn’t take long for her to come with a cry.

Thancred swallows her yell, her shaking prevented by Emet’s grip. For a moment, all she sees are the brilliant stars above them in the inky sky. The snow falling on her hair. The crescent moon, reminiscent of one of Emet’s toothier smiles.

Emet lets her go all at once and she collapses against Thancred, melting into his soothing touch. Her breath is loud in her ears, near as much as her heart slamming against her ribs and his against her ear.

“Good girl.” Thancred kisses the tip of her pointed ear. “Do you know what I would do for you, if we were in a different setting?”

She shivers, feeling the cold air for the first time since he put her in Emet’s lap. “Tell me. Please.”

“I would let you take us both, together, at the same time. Get you so stretched and wet for us, so slick...” The soft growl is back in his voice and she might climax again, just from that. As maple-sugar-sweet and poetic he can be, as worshipful as he may choose to be, this is a part of him too. Hungry and demanding.

“True, we cannot prepare her easily in this setting.” Emet says. “Very well, you’ve convinced me.”

There is a soft snap.

Nerys lies in a bed–her bed, in her room at the Pendants. She is warm and dry, not a drop of water on her. Warmer still from Emet, stretched out and pressed along her side, tracing patterns into her abdomen. (Also, the bed is made. The coverlet is far too expensive to come from the inn. She touches the red material in wonder.)

“Hilarious,” Thancred says from the center of the room. Naked and sopping wet, with all their belongings beside him in a careful pile. Emet would not harm their weapons, even if he might be unkind to Thancred’s person. “You might have dried me off too.”

“Hm…” Emet pushes himself on one elbow, the other hand tapping a finger to his lips. “If you fetch the oil from her bathroom cabinet, I shall dry you off.”

For a long moment, Thancred stares him down. Eyes narrowed. But there is no real ire and with a sigh, he makes for the bathroom. The aether lights flicker on as soon as he steps inside.

“How did you know...Emet-Selch! I said you’re not allowed to be here when I’m gone.”

She starts to sit up. Quick as any hunting animal, he braces his arm on the other side of her and swings a leg across. He leans over her, caging her in on all sides without touching her. Yet. “Yes, but I never agreed to those terms. Underhanded but...my hero did request surprises.”

Nerys puts a hand flat against his shoulder with the intent to push. His skin is warm beneath her palm, the silken feel of him unexpected. It would be so easy to shove him off, storm away from the bed. Except this is the first time truly looking at him since they began and...he has her trapped. Immolating in the pale gold fire of his eyes, mesmerized in the quirk of his brow and tilt of his full lips. The longer she stares, the more neutral his expression becomes and he returns the scrutiny.

There is no buffer. No Thancred to protect her or distract her. And she is afraid-

But not of him, she realises with a start. It’s the intensity I feel when he touches me. I’m scared of how much I want him to touch me again. I’m scared at how right this seems.

She pushes herself up with one hand, the other cups the back of his neck. Pulls him down to her. Emet stills only a moment before his eyes flutter shut and he submits to her, mouth moving soft and slow over hers. His hands curl about her waist, thumbs stroking over her skin. He savors her with the slow drag of his tongue coaxing her more open, more vulnerable to his ministrations.

When they part his eyes are half-lidded, expression utterly relaxed. He’s beautiful. He’s always beautiful. But this pierces her in a new way, so lovely he could rend her heart in two with one look. And he just might.

The hands on her hips pull her forward as he leans back. She ends up in his lap, straddling his waist in one fluid motion. Nerys reaches between them to stroke him. He has been patient this whole time, the least she can do is-

Emet catches her hand and lays the attached arm upon his shoulder, then the other. She opens her mouth to protest and he interrupts her with another kiss. Just as slow and aching, one arm hooked behind her back while the other traces fingertips along her jaw. His hand is gentle as it runs over her throat, down between her breasts, stroking circles into her waist and hip.

Nerys realises it is the longest he has gone in her presence without talking. And she feels the laugh bubbling up her throat, mouth trembling with the strength of holding it back.

“Laughing at me, hero?” He murmurs against her mouth. Nips her lower lip in reprimand.

“N-no I just...felt giddy all of a sudden.” Damn her, ruining the mood like that. Just as his hand was traveling down.

“Liar.” His scolding teeth sink into the side of her neck. She gasps against him, laughter dissolving into a breathy sound. “Better. Let’s see what other preferable sounds we can draw from you.”

“You’re getting close,” she says. Now her smile is irrepressible. “A little lower and to my left…”

“Dear, dear, dear,” he sighs. “And you were so obedient before. Do I bring out the minx in you so much?”

“I thought that was part of why you always came back to talk.”

Instead of a verbal riposte, his hand moves down and to her left. Circling her center, finding the clit and pressing down upon it. As if he has brought her to pleasure a thousand times and knows just where to touch.

Nerys buries her face in his shoulder, shuddering until his strokes are too much and she has to moan against him.

“What delicious noises you make, my dear.” He says, continuing to circle. Continuing to scrape his teeth over her skin. “Thancred was a fool to ever let you go.”

“I was.”

Nerys opens her eyes. (When did she close them?) Thancred stands a few paces from the bed, glass bottle in hand. Both of Emet’s hands splay against her back, pressing her close against him. She feels his fingers snap against her, drying Thancred in an instant.

“At least you admit it,” says Emet.

Nerys has to push a moment before he lets her lean back, getting a better view of Thancred. Shakes her head. “It wasn’t as simple as all that, or one person’s fault.”

As mad as she still is at the Exarch...she might have spoken to Thancred a dozen times before this week. Taken the aetheryte to Mor Dhona to see him, pull him aside when he joined their party in Gyr Abania. Or called him over linkpearl, as she did the night they almost lost Y’shtola.

He pushed her away after they found him in Dravania, even more after Minfilia. But she squandered opportunities, each a bright and alarming memory in hindsight.

Before Thancred can respond, Emet puts a hand to her cheek and makes her look at him. His free hand raises, wagging a finger in her face before tapping her nose. “Ah ah ah, don’t let him off so easy. Not when he is doing his best to make it up to you now…”

Nerys sees the moment a thought takes hold, curling the ends of his mouth upward, drawing his brows down. He flicks a glance over his shoulder. “Oh, is that it? Why you asked me to join?”

Thancred cloaks the soft, warm expression at Nerys with a scowl at Emet. “Don’t pretend to understand my motives.”

Emet clicks his tongue in mock scandalization. “Presumptuous of you, thinking you’re allowed to gift wrap and present me as an apology present.”

Oh.

Nerys extricates herself from his lap, climbing off the bed in a hurry. Walking to Thancred. Searching his closed-off expression for a hint. “Is...is that true?”

Thancred reaches out and takes her hand. Lifts it to his mouth. For all the things these two men have done tonight, for all the things they might still do; these soft touches disarm her the most. And then he removes the facade for her, showing the hope and wariness and the mocking little smile. One she knows is always meant for himself, not anyone else.

He sighs “He’s not wrong, but he’s also not right.” Thancred peers behind her at the bed. “But if Emet-Selch feels used, he is free to leave at any time.”

That last part doesn’t sound angry or annoyed as much as...challenging. She watches him smirk and quirk a brow. Daring the other man.

“Naughty boy,” Emet murmurs. “No, I won’t leave. This has proven to be an interesting night indeed and I am not satisfied yet.”

Nerys touches Thancred’s cheek, drawing his gaze back up to her. Looks him dead in the eye. “You don’t have to do this. Your feelings matter to me and-”

“I could have let him leave, and given you a memorable night without him. I decided I wanted to give you this instead.” The old roguish smirk grows on his lips. “And besides, he has a nice prick.”

She exhales slow, deep, making herself relax. Banishing the anxious tension in her neck and shoulders. “Okay. I believe you.”

“You always can.” Thancred draws her face down and she follows, sinking into his embrace. He still holds the bottle and it’s cool against her back as she presses against the delicious heat of his body and the hard planes of his chest. As he moves, so does she until the backs of her legs hit the mattress. Down, down, she goes until she is sprawled with her head and shoulders in Emet’s lap, Thancred holding himself above her.

“That last part,” Emet says, taking the glass bottle. “You couldn’t see my ‘nice prick’ in the water.”

“But I can see it now.” Thancred shifts his balance to one hand, the other sinking between Emet’s thighs. Sliding a hand over the long-neglected length and this time, Emet doesn’t forestall his own pleasure but lifts his hips. His full lips part and he sighs with relief.

Nerys tilts her head to look up at Thancred, who gives her an expectant look. This old game then. They haven’t played this one since the Spring Festival in Mor Dhona. She meets the challenge with a grin of her own and adjusts her position to better participate.

His fingers return to the root of Emet’s cock and slide upward. She chases them with her tongue along the velvet underside. The scents she associates with him–petrichor and ice and stone–are less here. He could be anyone she might bed.

Emet gasps and slides his hand into her hair. Guiding her as much as Thancred. The steady, near-painful pleasure is unlike many men she has taken to bed for a single night. Who often keep distance and treat her like glass. He is unlike anyone else.

The fingers twist over the swollen head and slip away for her to do the same, mimicking the motion with her swirling tongue. Emet increases pressure on her until he slides between her lips. Nerys bobs up and down without further incentive. That his grip remains insistent only makes this sweeter.

He is nearly as thick as Haurchefant, sure to make her jaw ache.

Another hand–Thancred’s–grips the back of her neck and nudges her down, down, her eyes watering as Emet fucks into her throat. Her nose meets the prickling thatch of auburn curls. Emet lets loose a more desperate sound, the groan raw as he pulls her off of him, fingers still digging into her scalp.

“Good girl,” murmurs Thancred.

“And good boy.” The hands in her hair twists, angling her to watch Emet take hold of Thancred and kiss him with teeth and tongue and heat. Arousal pulses through her at the sight. They’re beautiful. They’re beautiful and tonight they are both hers.

Nerys rises up, sliding into their tangle and they open for her, mouths and hands worshipping at her skin. She wants to be at the center of this. She wants to be selfish and feel them attend to every inch of her before they fuck her. She wants them to burn her until she is naught but ash and pleasure.

“I need you,” she says to them both. “Please don’t stop touching me.”

“Oh, my dear.” Emet catches her chin, sliding his thumb between her lips. “As if I-we could. You are a feast laid out for us and we are but beggars.”

She sucks on it, watching desire flare in his eyes. Emet sighs as if resigned, sliding his hand down so that he can kiss her again. The gentleness of it has her arms and neck prickling with awareness, her breath catching. Everything about him screams danger and yet–yet he coaxes her with lips and tongue, courting her instead of simply taking.

As if sensing her thoughts and needing to disprove her assumption, he turns her about in his arms. Bites down on the juncture between her neck and shoulder. Nerys gasps and Thancred is there to catch her, soothing her even as his own teeth drag over her pulse. Behind her is rustling and the soft pop of a bottle uncorked. She can hear Emet moving his hands together, warming his palms.

Thancred has not forgotten her request. As his mouth travels over her, his hands move in long strokes over arms and waist, hips and legs, neck and cheek. A dizzying perusal of caresses, maintaining the contact she needs.

She startles when Emet squeezes her rear, shivers when one oil slicked hand slides towards the tight ring of muscle. When the first finger begins to circle, Thancred kisses her shoulder. As it slides in to the knuckle, he strokes her sides.

“That’s it,” Thancred murmurs. “You’re doing so good. Look how wet you already are, ready for me to slide deep into you. And I will, as soon as he’s done preparing you.”

“My,” Emet says, kissing behind her ear. “He is a chatty one.”

“He is one to talk.”

“He must feel lost without some narration. Or is the talk for your benefit? Do you need me to tell you how good you’re swallowing me, how tight, how perfectly made for my fingers and my prick you are…”

Nerys means to laugh but a moan comes out instead. Digs her fingers into Thancred’s ivory locks and urges his lips downward. “I-I don’t need it but I like it.” She could have them talk to her like this for hours.

“Impatient,” Thancred mutters at her insistent pushing. He puts up a resistance, sliding his tongue over her stomach all the same.

“I don’t see you stopping me.” Nerys smiles down at him. “Unless you plan on making me pay?”

Teeth sink into her other shoulder as Emet adds a second finger. She wriggles against the sensation, tugging at Thancred’s hair in response. Quick, as if this is a battle–and maybe it is–Thancred grabs her wrists and pins them down on either side of her. Nerys grips at the unfamiliar coverlet, meeting his smirk with a scowl.

She tries to lift herself up, presenting herself for his mouth. He ignores the offering, attending to her breasts instead. Dipping down and then back up as soon as she thinks he might taste her. His grip is iron when she pushes against it, squeezing in warning when she does it again.

“Two strikes…” He says.

Now she has to know. Nerys tries a third time and finds herself dragged to lie on her back, his shoulders shoving under her thighs until they press against her stomach. Emet's slick hands leave her and she moans at the loss.

"You'll have him back in a moment." Thancred says. He glances up, has a wordless conversation with Emet behind her. Takes hold of her arms and lifts them, passing them over. Her wrists are shoved down, captured in the harsh grip of one hand pinning above her head.

It should be worrying that they are cooperating this well to make her writhe. Instead, she feels giddy and like she might dissolve from the force of anticipation..

She tests the restraint and finds no give, not even with her two hands to his one. Emet looks down at her, pitiless and expression bright with desire. And then her eyes shut because Thancred devours her. No mercy, no restraint, his hands gripping her thighs so tight they might bruise. He pushes her higher and higher until he thighs shake and she can see the edge-

And then he pulls back completely.

"Please," she gasps. "That's not fair. I need you-"

Emet’s face is upside-down above her, but he finds a way to slot his mouth against hers. She pours her frustration into the kiss, demanding release with a bite to his lip. He only chuckles against her mouth, his slow reprimand becoming something fierce. Engulfing.

When he parts from her, his lips but an ilm from hers, his eyes are unfocused and his breath ragged. She tastes his blood on her tongue. Licks her lips.

"Not yet," says Emet. "Not after we went through all the trouble of preparing you."

His hand is unyielding against her. Nerys tries to move her hips and legs instead and Thancred presses further, going the small distance needed to bend her in half. "I could come again after-"

“Listen.” Emet nips her shoulder. "We’ve staked a claim upon your pleasure. You’re going to have it...when we’re ready. Yes?”

Fuck. His words, his lowered voice...She would rub her thighs together if she could, if Thancred wasn't between them. Instead, she feels herself growing wetter, hotter. Thancred’s fingers slide over her but for all the lewd noises he draws out, he does not touch anywhere that might bring her release.

"Answer him, sweetheart,” says Thancred. "For once he is making sense."

“Yes,” she murmurs.

“What was that?”

“Yes. Yes, I’ll do what you want me to.”

"Good girl," Emet says, the two of them moving her to sit up between them again. "That deserves a reward."

"Please tell me the reward is your cocks," she says, leaning back against him. "Otherwise, I don't think I'll make it."

"Impatient." Emet mutters but he drips more oil into her cleft, the three fingers returning to open her, stretch her. She braces herself against Thancred, half slumped over and cheek pressed against his heart. If she tries to touch herself, he will stop her but she considers it. Dares one hand down against her stomach. He grabs at it, kissing her as he does.

Nerys groans, rocking back against the fingers stretching her. Grasping for the peak Thancred almost brought her to.

"She's ready," says Emet at last, his voice rough. His hands dig into her cheeks, squeezing as he parts them. "Needy creature. Who knew you had it in you to desire so much?"

"I knew." Thancred kisses her shoulder. "He'll learn, sweetheart."

"That you think you can teach me anything…" Emet mutters. "Mortals. And their arrogance."

"Please," Nerys begs, her voice taut with need. She clutches at Thancred as an anchor against the sweet torture they’re putting her through. "You can lecture us all you want but first give me your-"

At that, his head presses against her. Rocks a moment before sliding into her oil-slicked passage, his hands stroking circles to soothe her as he enters slow and steady. When her breath hitches and the ache is almost too much, he stops and kisses her nape and spine until she relaxes again.

She’s trembling in his arms, overwhelmed at the fullness, the sensation of him deep in her, wrapped around her. His aether seems to sink into her, embracing her as if he has re-manifested all those phantom hands again. But it is just him, just a barrier taken down between them.

When she beds someone with strong aether...those times were just a shade of this. This is beyond anything she has ever experienced.

Emet skims his hands over her muscular thighs, hosting her close until his chin rests on her shoulder. She opens her eyes as he eases them back, watching the view trade Thancred for the ceiling and instinctively reaches out for balance. And then Emet kisses her neck and soothes her skin and she relaxes again.

"Well?" He says, holding her legs open. "She wants you too, Thancred.”

Thancred crouches between her thighs, running a hand over his cock. It has returned to its full aroused length, a tantalizing bead of moisture at the head. His refractory period is always impressive, and they have taken their time since the hot springs. Teasing her until she feels ready to burst.

"I wonder if you'll even physically be able to take it all." Emet says in her ear. "Stuffed as you already are."

He rocks his hips just so and she whimpers at the feel of him. It is true–she is already full to bursting. It is also true–she wants to take as much of them as she can. All of them if she is able.

“If it’s too much…” Thancred leans over her. Presses his cock against her folds as he lines himself up. “Look at me.”

She looks at him, into the warm depths of his eyes. Into the need and heat. Nerys lifts her hips in invitation and Emet is there to slide them back down, groaning softly.

“You know how to stop things, sweetheart. If it gets too much.”

“If it gets too much,” she repeats, licking her lips. “Thancred please fu-”

He slides into her without resistance, slick and ready as she is. It is almost too much and he isn't even half-way seated inside of her. She bites her lip so she doesn't say the word because she wants more, she wants to be utterly lost-

Emet bites the back of her neck and she cries out, but her body relaxes. Thancred slides deeper inside her, bracing his forearms on either side of them. Tension furrows between his brows.

“Alright?” He asks, more breath than sound.

“Yes,” she whimpers. “Please-please-”

"How sweetly you beg." Emet curls one hand around her breast, the other sliding down her stomach. Dragging to where Thancred is buried inside her and her swollen nub waits succor. He traces outside it, slow and taunting. "It almost makes me want to see how long we can keep you just shy of climaxing."

Thancred smirks. Some of the tension eases in his face. "Keep talking like that, it's making her clench around me."

"Bastards," she moans, reaching for Thancred. Resting arms on his shoulders as he begins to move, his slow, vexing strokes in rhythm with the lift of Emet's hips.

"Oh, do be nice," Emet continues as his fingers brush against her core. "I have only ever admired you. And here you are, exceeding all my expectations. You, who shine brighter than most mortals, you're almost radiant now-"

Nerys cannot think enough to string a response together. Sex is often a release for her, a way to center herself. This feels like...being remade. Like the tandem motion of their bodies strips everything away until there is only the pleasure and the ache. Even the growing cramp in her calves cannot compare with the ecstasy coursing through her.

They are both talking, dropping praise upon her but now she cannot hold onto their meaning. Only the feeling of them sliding in and out of her, the ache and stretch of her body, the slap of their skin on hers. Especially as the pace picks up, both men pushing each other to a greater tempo, snapping hips to drive her back and forth between raging fire and raging fire.

The fingers at her clit press down. The edge is in sight and she sobs aloud for them to keep going. To keep moving. Not to stop again, not when she is so close.

Thancred kisses her. Lips press against her nape and she can feel Emet's smile, his breath as he mouths words into her skin that she cannot hear and cannot parse. They move faster inside her, the finger circling, teeth on her flesh-

Nerys screams as her pleasure rips through her, clutching at whatever she can as her mind enters the strange place of release–a mind so focused on one thing as to feel almost blank, a mind so overcome with feeling that there is nothing but relief and pleasure and not a single thought. She gasps and arches and sobs as they work her through it, the frenzied rhythm milking every onze of pleasure from her

Emet gasps and she feels the final, desperate thrusts of his release. And Thancred, Thancred keeps going, keeps moving in her and moving her against Emet until they are both sensitive and depleted and keening and then, and then Thancred lets himself go.

Nerys is nothing but ash and pleasure, smoldering between them.

Emet moves first, lips pressing to her back as his hand traces patterns into her skin. Idle, swirling loops and flourishes that guide her back to the land of the living. She follows their trail without hesitation, her hand sliding over his as she follows.

She opens her eyes just as fingers slides over her cheek. Thancred leans over her, forehead pressed to hers. Studying her as if he has never seen her before. Maybe he hasn't. Maybe she is someone else on the other side of what they shared.

Maybe they all are.

He slides out of her and she whimpers at the loss, both of him and the heady sense of being filled completely. But he returns to her, resting his cheek against her the swell of her chest while the rest of him lies flush against her.

Nerys strokes his hair and finds the energy to speak. “Okay?”

"Okay," says Thancred. Smiles a little. "I don't ever want to move again."

A soft snort behind her. "Your time is short as is."

"Hush," she says. "You're not going anywhere either."

"Oh?" Emet kisses her shoulder. "Bold of you to-"

Despite what he just said, Thancred moves. Slides up and nudges Nerys just so until he is able to press his lips against Emet's. The Ascian hums in response, submitting to the delightful reprimand.

At last Thancred pulls away with a sigh. "Much better."

Emet chuckles. "So, you two plan on keeping me here tonight. Well, I put myself at your mercy...provided you let me lead the figure at some point."

"If you're good," Nerys teases, and then gasps as Emet rolls his hips against her.

“My dear,” says Emet. His hands slide up her stomach, cupping her breasts. She can tell from Thancred’s expression, they’re sharing a conspiratorial look. Anticipation and wonder sing through her. “Let me prove just how good a playmate I can be."

#nerys eluned #emet-selch #thancred waters #thancred x wol x emet-selch #thancred x wol #emet-selch x wol #thancred x emet-selch #ffxiv #duskwight warrior of light #dragoon warrior of light #elezen #water cw #ally writes

20 notes · View notes

xxyumeno · 4 years

Photo

Disclaimer: Teucer is headcanon heavy with whatever canon facts have been provided in-game or other canon material.

INFORMATION

Name: Teucer Gender: Male Nation: Snezhnaya Age: 8-16 (verse dependent) Birth: 11/23 Zodiac: Leo Vision: Electro (inherited) Constellation: Unknown (at a later date) Weapon: Catalyst Sexuality: Greysexual Status: Alive Family: Mother, Father, 2 Unnamed Older Brothers, 1 Unnamed Older Sister, Childe, Tonia, and Anthon (all alive) Older Facelcaim: Mizushima Arata of Kiniro no Corda 3 Arthur Lewyin from The Beginning after the End

PERSONALITY

Teucer holds a great love and admiration towards his older brother Ajax. Always veering for his attention on those occasions when he does visit home and brings him a gift. Mr. Cyclopes always being the favorite of gifts he would receive from him. Cherishing just about anything he receives from Ajax. He does not turn away the doting Ajax does, just seeing it as affection with him being the youngest among his sibling. Yet, it is due to this doting that has left him quite naïve having him believe that the dangerous Ruin Guardians to be a harmless hero Mr. Cyclopes. A story to lead him astray from Snezhnaya’s “darker side”.

He has proven himself to be a brave young child, accidentally making his way to Liyue after stowing a way in a ship. More so that he made it across a country with little to no combat skills and only a bag of mora on him. Maybe it bravery or it perhaps it luck that Teucer that made this possible for anyone else such a feat would not been possible for anyone else. His luck has proven to save him from time to time and he’ll simply smile like it nothing. It is said luck that help him find Ajax. He’ll claim it their brotherly bond when asked.

Despite being a child, Teucer is pretty observant of how his family acts around and toward him. He can sense that there is something his older siblings and parents are hiding from him. It makes him feel that his family does not trust him to know what it is they know. Sometimes even doubting that his family genuinely love him. He does not fall too deep into his negative emotions and believe that one day they’ll come to trust and tell him the hidden truth. When that time comes, he does not know if he’ll have the capability to forgive them or not.

HISTORY

Teucer wasn’t born with the greatest of health, but he wasn’t sickly in the slightest. His health was still a concern enough for a doctor to recommend to keep Teucer indoors until his health improved. Thankfully, he wasn’t confined to a bed and was able to somewhat to grow through his infancy with not much problems. Just an occasional check-up here in there to see if his health had improved. Little by little it did, but not enough to allow Teucer to safely go outside which disappointed his parents and older siblings. As they wanted to show the baby Teucer the magical wonders of the outdoors. Give or take getting lost somewhere along the way.

By the time Teucer was three and already walking he had come down with a fever when he was getting so well. Unlike most fevers he was bed ridden for a long duration of time. There was much fretting and making sure he was kept warm from his fever worsening. The family at least made sure he wasn’t completely confined to his bed for at least one to two hours. During those one to two hours, he got some form of exercise inside their home to keep his body healthy. After a long two-three months of this his fever was gone and a three-year-old Teucer had a sudden burst of energy. A three-year-old apparently being impossible to catch when they put their mind to it. He would eventually tire himself out in the process. Peace has been restored.

It was when he was four that big brother Ajax started to tell him these wonderful adventure stories and of him being a toy salesman. His eyes would sparkle with excitement waiting to hear these stories from Ajax. Holding onto each and every word gasping and laughing at the right moments, sometimes even screamed. Which more or less freaked Ajax out to some degree as he never really expected Teucer to scream when he told him stories. Eventually, he got used to it… he never got used to it. Hey, Teucer did receive neat gifts from his dear older brother and cherished them very much. His favorite being Mr. Cyclopes, a Ruin Guard that he didn’t even know was called a Ruin Guard to begin with. Good job bro.

During this time he started learn how to read and write. What came as a surprise to his family and teachers in their small village, Teucer was genius when it came to math. Even when he was young, he showed a great aptitude for it and things mechanical, which would be found out later when was thirteen.

Up until he had turned eight Teucer noticed how dodgy his family was when it came to questions concerning Ajax’s job. Well, more in detailed questions about it when Teucer got really curious. It would always leave him perplexed to why no one would answer his question without changing the topic. It felt like some kind of secret everyone knew but him and it made him feel sad. Why was everyone allowed to know what Ajax did, but him? Wasn’t he just a toy salesman? Was there something dangerous about it? Why wouldn’t anyone answer him directly? These were things that always ran through his mind. If no one was going to tell him it would be best to ask the person themselves, right?

One day he put a plan into motion that he had gone over in his head for a good couple of months. While playing hide and seek with his siblings outside he accidentally stowaway on a ship that was headed to Liyue. Maybe that was just his luck that it was heading to Liyue to start. Otherwise, he would have went about asking anyone was heading there. It just made things easier this way… supposedly.

Teucer didn’t exactly know how long it took for the ship to reach Liyue he just knew he had arrived there when the ship had docked in Liyue Harbor. Carefully sneaking off the ship so no one would notice there was a stowaway to begin with he left the harbor and traverse through Liyue’s wilderness. Somehow avoiding any danger along the way, he did question this for when he noticed there weren’t any monsters in sight. Either a) no one found him interesting enough to go after him (thankfully) or b) he was extremely lucky and since he liked luck a lot he preferred the latter and stuck to it.

Eventually he found Ajax very far away from Liyue Harbor talking to some strange people. Hiding somewhere where Ajax couldn’t see him he just waited with anticipation to see what would happen. It was then he was approached by the Traveler wondering what he was doing and of course he answered. Which did catch his older brother’s attention to his presence, not that he minded he came all this way to see him anyway. It definitely worked out for him… or so he thought when he was suddenly dumped onto the Traveler for babysitting reasons. Though, he didn’t make it apparent that he knew that was the reason why Ajax had done that. Not surprised, but disappointed but at least he made a new friend.

The next day he disappeared before Traveler and Paimon were even awake. Teucer liked to believe he had perfected the art of sneaking out neither friend even woke up when he left. Once again, he found his brother without much trouble at Qingxu Pool, selling toys to some people. He always wanted to watch his brother work as he went and interrupted his transaction to greet him. He did notice was something funny in the way he talked and the tone he took at certain times when talking to his client. This required further investigation was he was once again left in the Traveler’s care.

Despite Ajax’s attempt at getting rid of him, he was still able to find him right away with Traveler eventually catching up to him. This time Ajax was talking to a new group of toy sellers just like himself. He found that to be really great that he got to watch his brother train the new people. Though, he found it a bit funny that it sounded like his brother was hiding something more so that he even fought with the new toy sellers! Was that how it really worked? He didn’t quite know, but if that how it was done then he’ll believe it… for now.

Teucer bargained with Ajax tat if he did one thing for him, he would be a good boy and go home. He did catch the bit of reluctance in his big brother’s voice to him agreeing. Where did he have Ajax agree to take him to? Simple enough, the Toy Research Facility where Mr. Cyclopes was made! He was quite thrilled that he got what he wanted for once. Off they went to the Toy Research Facility the next day. Teucer ran straight in without any warning as the doors slammed shut behind him.

He ran further inside the abandon facility being amazed by what he saw. Though, a bit disappointed he hadn’t found a Mr. Cyclopes yet but was sure he would eventually. Time most have flown by, he didn’t even notice that Ajax, Traveler, and Paimon had somehow caught up with him. Caught up but separated due to a barrier at least. After helping with what he could from his side and Ajax and friends doing what they needed to do on theirs, they were reunited. Teucer grinning as if it was just one big adventure much to the chagrin of adults and Paimon in the room.

Now Ajax wanted to play Hide and Seek of all games, that was very disappointing to him. He reluctantly agreed to it as the turned around, closed his eyes, and count down from one-hundred. Even though he was counting down it didn’t mean he went deaf. He pretended not to hear the fighting that went on behind him or the explosions that went off. It did have him worry to what it really was Ajax was doing, what his actual job was. If he was a toy salesman he wouldn’t need to fight, right? At least that is what he kept telling himself as he counted down.

He had reached zero and waited, until Ajax spoke up asking for ten more seconds. Of course, he called him a cheater, no one would ask for more time to hide. Teucer gave Ajax the additional ten more seconds like he requested and eyes stayed closed. Fighting once again reached his ears as he looked over his shoulder without opening his eyes. Was that lightning he heard as well? What was that crashing? A number of questions raced through his head. No answers when he reached zero again and announced he was going to find Ajax.

Finding Ajax wasn’t a priority once he saw all the Mr. Cyclopes laying around or in some kind of weird position. It didn’t matter to him as it was how he imagined a Mr. Cyclopes world would be. After that some of excitement had experienced, he became disappointed again that Ajax disappeared to work again. Even though he believed Traveler’s words he had the feeling he was also being lied to about his brother’s current where abouts. They returned to Liyue Harbor and he left the next day back to Snezhnaya with the small Mr. Cyclopes action figure Ajax had given to Traveler to give to him the previous day. He returned home safe and sound.

Verse: A Young Genius, Fatui’s Interest

When he returned to Morepesok with his escort, he was greeted with many hugs and kisses from his family. Apparently, his disappearance was noticed and everyone was worried because of it. He did feel bad for causing his family to worry about him. Though, it was not enough compared to how little he saw of Ajax. Now that he was sure of it that his family was hiding something from him became suspicious of them any time he asked about Ajax’s real job. Will anyone ever tell him the truth or will they continue to lie to him?

Over the course of the next several years Teucer had studied really hard and began researching the Ruin Guards and Hunters he came across in Snezhnaya’s vast wilderness when he went out exploring. Eventually tinkering with their mechanisms, taking them apart, and reassembling them. Which was only possible once he figured out how to disarm them after much trial and error and maybe a couple of explosions along the way. Eventually he got the ones he reprogrammed to follow his orders and not their original programmer. Unfortunately, he knew he couldn’t bring them home unless he wanted to scare his family into an early grave.

Yet, it was due to his experiments on the Ruin Guard and Hunter that had caught the eye of the Fatui, specifically a Harbinger, even more specifically Dottore. He was personally recruited by the Harbinger to enlist in the Fatui. Teucer was both surprised and not surprised with being approached by the mask wearing man. Already aware that man had been observing for the past couple days. Did nothing to acknowledge the man’s presence, believing it would be best if the man approached him instead. It eventually did work, but he didn’t expect for the man to want to recruit him.

Teucer didn’t give Dottore an answer right away on that day nor did he mentioned it to his parents, but that issue was solved for him. A day or two later a letter arrived at the household and chaos ensued along with the truth finally coming out. It wasn’t the ideal situation for the truth to be revealed when Teucer had already discovered it one day when he tailed Ajax without being detected. To discover in such a way his brother served the Tsaritsa and a Harbinger did more than rattle his mind. It made him question his trust in the brother he idolized so much. He was twelve.

Once Teucer was inducted into Fatui’s ranks he was immediately taken under the skillful wing of Dottore to help develop his young genius mind. In the end a young mind turned out to be most terrifying thing one could come across. Being able to construct miniature Ruin Guards and Hunters and have them function properly was fascinating. Though, it ended up scaring some when Teucer couldn’t figure out what would be the correct power output should be when it came to them firing their missiles and lasers. Give or take a couple walls missing or having massive holes in them in the lab thanks to this. Eventually, Teucer did find the right power output, but he wasn’t allowed to construct more than what he had.

He now been with the Fatui for a couple of years now. Despite his years in the Fatui (and somehow being home before Ajax would arrive for a visit) Teucer made sure he and Ajax had never run into each other. Though, he was suspicious of why Dottore would even help him in this. Fully aware that all the Harbingers didn’t exactly like his brother due to differing methods of dealing with things. It still made him wonder how the Harbingers haven’t exactly offed each other yet with how dysfunctional they seemed to be when working with one another. In the end he just chalked it up to their loyalty to the Tsaritsa.

NOTES

ELECTRO VISION – Teucer did not receive his vision in the most common way others have obtained theirs. More rather his once one of the uncommon ones. He had inherited his vision from a dying warrior that had gotten lost in Snezhnaya’s frozen lands. Teucer had come upon them by chance when he was on his way to an inoperable Ruin Guard he had found. Laying, half covered in the snow, Teucer ran to their side and noticed the amount of blood that covered the ground. Try as he must to get the bleeding to stop so this warrior could get sufficient help it wasn’t enough. The warrior thanked him for what he had done for him to help prolong his life, but it was too late for them. Of course, Teucer had a hard time accepting it, even he had to acknowledge if he went back to the village and returned with help it would be too late. They were quite the distance from Morepesok for him to make it back in time. With much struggle the warrior handed something to Teucer wrapped in cloth before they passed on as Teucer cried. He attempted to give the warrior a proper burial even if he didn’t have the right tools to do so with. After hours of digging through the frozen ground he finally managed to dig a hole deep and wide enough to bury the warrior in. After praying the warrior would have a safe trip to the afterlife Teucer returned home with a cold and near frostbitten fingers. Worrying his parents to what he was doing out for so long and why he just now returning when it night. It would be a week so later that Teucer would actually remember the item the dead warrior had passed onto him. Digging through his drawers he eventually found it buried underneath some socks. He went over and sat on his bed and stared at the item wrapped in cloth. Eventually he opened the cloth to find a vision within it. Yet, what he found strange about it was it lack of colour making it look empty. About to stuff Vision back into his drawer it started to resonate with him causing his eyes to widen. It pulsed for a few seconds before he felt a surge of electricity go through him. A vibrant color returned to the Vision revealing it to be an Electro Vision. Teucer was quite stunned by this wondering why it would even react to him let alone choose him. In the end he accepted it without much fuss.

THE SUPPORT – Teucer doesn’t go out into the field that often, but when he does, he basically plays support when in a group. Typically buffing and healing his colleagues when it calls for it. At times not when they do something stupid immediately after he heals them, which lead to him outright refusing in the end. Electro Shock Therapy is what he uses to encourage his colleagues to stop doing dumb shit when they’re with him. Thankfully it works, but it earned him a reputation and the nickname Sparky. He distastes the nickname and will shock anyone who call him it.

#🕊 ＊ catch all. muses to be learned #🕊 ＊ about. you gotta dance like there's nobody watching #🕊 ＊ headcanon. time waits for the dream maker as it gives us pride #🕊 ＊ about. teucer 「 ajax's youngest brother 」#🕊 ＊ hc. teucer 「 ajax's youngest brother 」#🕊 ＊ profile. genshin impact

9 notes · View notes

calliecat93 · 4 years

Text

When I was fifteen years old, I found out about Star Trek: The Original Series. Back then, Star Trek as I knew was only The Next Generation, and I was apathetic about that. I found out through simple curioaity, but I had nothing to better to do so I looked into it. It sounded kind of interesting, so I found the show on Hulu and decided to give it a shot. I quit midway through the third episode. I saw it as old, cheesy looking, and dumb. Why waste my time on something old? Over the years, the more I got involved in online fandom culture, the more I would see it pop up. The more I would ehar about how having PoC inr egular roles was revolutionary just because it showed that they existed. How the show enrained so many science fiction tropes and ideals into modern Americn media in the vein as Dotor Who has in Britian. Heck a review show I used to watch went over the comic adptations of the films, and came off as so passionate about the franchise that I remembered my previous stance. Remembered how I threw it aside as a relic of the past, despite me even thn seeing the value as I valued classical animaiton and children’s media very highly.

IDK what provoked it, but in January of this year, I decided to watch the entirety of Star Trek. Maybe it was quarentine rentine making me snap. Maybe it was me giving in at last to those urges that had been prodding at me for years. Regardless, I made the choice, and it only made sense to begin with the one that started it all. I am now 28 years old. I have grown far more patient and respectful with the things that came before my time. Media holds a great deal of value and whether I understood it or not, Star Trek was vital to popular media. I was ready to give it a second chance. I expected to go in with a greater appreciation, but otherwise not have many strong feelings abou it. I got through those three episodes again with my feelings better than before, but not too different. But I was determined to keep going. So for two months, I watched episode after episode and this weekend I ended it with the original films. Now here we all at the end of the journey. How do I feel?

I felt very regretful for throwing it aside the way that I did.

I greatly enjoyed TOS. Far more than I had ever expected. It is very much a product of the 60’s. There was a limited budget and it showed, though they made the most of it. There were many ridiculous plots, rampant sexism, and hammy acting that is utterly laughable. Some days I could go along with it, other days I just wanted them to get it over with. And yet, none of it kept me away. There were ideals revolutionary for the time like PoC standing equal to others, themes of all kinds such as anti-war and humanity, great science fiction concepts that may be standard today but don’t rob them of their enjoyability, and so much fun but also many moments that made you think. But most of ll, it had such lovely characters. For me to care about a show, I have to care about it’s chracters. I knew a few things via pop culture, butt hat’s not the same as understanding them as a viewer and media can frequently exaggerate the reality. And as I found out, there was far more to them than what mdia lead me to believe.

Kirk I only ever knew as a brave captain who made out with a lot of women. While that’s true, I can’t call him a reckless womanizing asshole. He was brave, optimistic, diplomatic, and charming. He could be light-herted, but also very much a devoted Starfleet Captain whose duty is his entire being. I was shocked at how much I grew to care about him. Seeing his triumphs, his failings, his strengths and flaws, even on an off day I cared about him. Even when William Shatner hammed it up too much, I enjoyed seeing him. Spock was who I knew the most about consideirng how popular he was and I wasn’t sure what to expect, but I also grew to love him. His logic, his struggle with his dual being as half Vulcan and half Human, his loyalty to Kirk and his dedicaiton to his duty. I could see why he meant so much to people, esecially witht he level of depth and work that Leonard Nimoy put into the character. There’s s amny little things that you begint o notce and it makes Spock feel all the more real. But by far the biggest appeciaiton I grew was for McCoy. He was the character I knew the least about aside form him being a doctor and remembering the first episode. But GOD I love his character so much. His crankiness, snarkiness, and his arguments with Spock were entertaining but seieng how compassionate, devoted, and caring that he is especially when I watched The Empath ahead of time and saw his sacrifice... damn. Not to mention DeForest Kelley’s perormance with him imo being the best peformer aside from Nimoy. He gave it hus all even during the dumbest episodes and that always earns my respect. I didn’t think I’d care about Bones that much, knowing him as that guy who’s more important than the rest but not even close to as much as Kirk and Spock, and he walked away as my absolute favorite character who I will continue to give the love and appreciate that he deserves.

The others were great too. Scotty was funny, great at his job, and the amount fo times he saved thm all via some miracle is to be admired. Sulu was significant for being an Asian man as a regular and in a high position, and I just loved having his prescence. Uhura being a Black woman treated as an equal by her white male peers and being a dedicated, sassy communicaitons officer as well as her lovely musical talents made her a delight. Chekov when he came along added a nice, youthful prescence without him getitg annoying and having a Russian as a hero at that time was also a big deal. While the show struggled BIG TIME with gender and feminism, it was major at the time for presenting PoC and those of other nationalities as equal to others, and the cast clearly did their best to make them feel like actual people. I respect that a great deal. We all should sot hat we can keep improving from there.

I didn’t expect to care. I expected to get the show over with and have something to occupy my time. And yet, I do care. I care about these characters. I care about the shenanigains that they get involed in. I worry when they get into distress even though I know that they’ll be fine. There were plenty of things I knew in advance like Spcok’s deaht in the movies... and I cried anyways. I knew that nothing long-term bad would happen in the series, yet I feared for the cast and their situaton anyways. I grew invested in them. In their relaitonships. The Kirk-Spock-McCoy dynamic was by far my favorite thing and it kept me wanting to keepw atching. Not to occupy my time, but because I genuienly wanted to see what they got into and how they got out of it. To see Kirk and Spock’s mutual respect and trust in each other. To see Spock and McCoy argue over logic and emotion and be wiling to defend the other, to see Kirk and Bones joke and be at ease with each other as the close longitme firends that the are, and just having the three together... it was such a perfect dynamic. Hell I didn’t expect to ship anything aside form maybe Spirk due to knowing it’s significance to fandom, slash,a nd the LGBT+ community. And I came away shipping all three dynamics...a nd veering on all three together, but IDK if I’m quite there yet. But whether shippy or platonic, their relaitonship together is perfect and I loved it.

Now, the journey is over. Oh I plan to go back and do it all over again. I plan to pay even more atteniton. I plan on giving each episode as good of an analysis as I can give. I plan to try and seek out things like the novels and the comics so that I can have more itme with them. I plan to watch the reboot films to see what happes in a different universe. I plan to watch TNG and hope that I enjoy those charactrs that I ignored my entire life just as much as I did these. But for now, it’s over. It is a ride that I am thankful to have taken. I came in indifferen, and am leaving a fan looking forward to whatever else awaits. Thank you Star Trek TOS for this amazing two month journey. Thank you tot he cast and crew who put so much into it despite everything working against them. Thank you to the fans who watched it and kept it alive for all of these decades. And to those who read tot his point and all of my watchthrogh posts, thank you for sitcking with me. It was, without doubt, an experience that I’m never going to forget.

#star trek #tos #st watchthrough #god i still cant believe its over...#but at least now i ge tto do it all over again #star trek tos

13 notes · View notes

othercat2 · 3 years

Text

Writing Update, Bunny, and Snippet(s)

So! While searching for porn I found a series called Taming Riki on Amazon, which is apparently original fan fic of Ai no Kusabi. It is not very good fan fic, and only semi okay porn. It reminded me very much of the kind of yaoi porn one used to be able to find on LJ in the early 2000s. I did end up reading it, but was very impatient with it. (Writer, have you ever actually met human beings? I wonder!)

This somehow led to reading Ai no Kusabi fan fic. Which was very odd since I was not impressed with the Ova! (I am probably not going to read the novel(s) since they apparently end in Bury Your Gays Under Piles of Rubble.) Anyway, the AnK fan fic seems to tend toward the "rewrite canon so characters survive" variety. And is often quite optimistic that the mains could have a relationship.

Bunny 1: Due to the part where Iason "Why is my surname a Mustelid, it must be because I fuck like Weasels" Mink is an android he was never actually in danger because all you need to do is down load a backup. Problem: he keeps crashing because Riki was made of meat, and he does not know how to grieve. Jupiter POV as they/it/she tries to get Iason back to operational parameters. (Ricky don't you lose my number plays ironically in the background.)

Bunny 2: Almost exactly like AnK except with Homestuck style quadrants. So much quadrant vacillation. SO MUCH.

Speaking of Homestuck, I've been working on Rebel and Conqueror! I have also been working on Pernstuck, and the next installment of The Yiling Almanac ("the young master most likely to be found disappearing into the kitchen garden") Wei Ying's love of potatoes is featured. (I need to find Ursula Vernon's rant on potatoes.) I've also managed to get some writing done on Build a Life from Scratch. However, I'm slightly frustrated because I can't segue over the GHB/Signless debate. And I hate debates.

Snippet the First: (Rebel and Conqueror)

Trolls had all kinds of mind control powers. They could terrorize you into catatonia or turn you into a puppet. It depended on the caste though. Lower castes tended to have telekinesis powers, higher up the scale started to be telepathy and fear projection. At the very top it was mostly resistance to the mind control powers (and you suspected, regeneration and other weird shit you've only heard rumors about). It probably made sense to trolls to keep you away from Vantas, if things like what happened to you happened a lot. “He’s fuchsia,” you say, and even as you say it, you know it’s a stupid thing to say. Vantas doesn’t need to have been the one to fuck with your head, with or without the pheromones. “Is there any proof he had anything done to my head? Aside from fucking with it just by being his normal asshole self?”

“No evidence was found in the initial investigation,” the Dolorosa admits.

"So he didn't do anything," you say. "So I think I should get to see him sentenced." You pause, looking down at your hands. "For closure. Since I'm not allowed to be in contact with him anymore." The Dolorosa gives you an odd look. It's part concern and part curiosity, and you realize what you said might sound like. "It isn't Stockholm Syndrome," you tell. "I don't feel dependent on him for safety or something." You just want to know what's going on with him. "And don't ask if I want to see him, because that opens the entire do you want to be his kismesis can of worms, and the answer to that is still and will always be fuck no."

The Dolorosa smiles a little at that. "That's understood," she says. "Would you want to be in contact? From what I understand that also seems to be an issue."

"So, troll doctors don't have confidentiality?"

"I think you've made it clear that it's an issue outside Doctor Coyotl's office," the Dolorosa says. "It would be hard to keep common knowledge confidential." Her tone is dry. "Wanting to see him doesn't necessarily correlate to wanting to be in a kismesis with him."

"I want to see him," you say. "I don't know about contact. Maybe I want to ask what he thought he was going to do, raising my kid and screwing with me at the same time. How he thought that was going to work. What was he going to tell my kid about me, if he thought he was going to get away with it. Maybe I want him to delete that fucking 'I hate you' wall he has. Maybe I want to point and laugh at all the 're-education' he's going to go through."

"He already knew he wasn't going to get away with it," the Dolorosa says.

"What's the Black Tower like?" you ask, veering slightly off the subject.

"A prison," the Dolorosa says. "Or in some ways a hospital. I'm sure Pyrope has explained some of the details."

"Re-educated, supervised visits, supervised everything, Earth still conquered but the Viceroy can't have a hate boyfriend, yeah."

"Among other possible punishments," the Dolorosa says. "But those are the most likely." She pauses. "Are there any penalties you'd prefer?"

"Be pretty stupid for me to ask for execution, wouldn't it? Maybe ironic after all the effort not to kill me." Probably also stupid to suggest it to his grandmother, but she asked. "Maybe freedom for Earth and he doesn't have command of anything bigger than one of those ships you stick in a bottle. But freedom isn't on the table either."

The Dolorosa doesn't lecture on the benefits of imperial rule. Instead she says, "Dr. Coyotl mentioned that you had been losing a considerable amount of time during your captivity." She decaptchalogues a data grub, and sets it down on a low table by the couch. It's stubs around a couple inches before curling up, mandibles opening and shutting. You absolutely do not want to pick it up. "This data grub contains the complete security footage from your time on the then-Viceroy's ship. After viewing this, we can discuss if and when you can see him."

"I have to watch the home movie if I want to see him?" you ask. The Dolorosa nods. You know that you're stalling. (You still don't want to pick the data grub up.)

"You can watch it on your own, or with your partner, Rose Lalonde," Dolorosa says, and gets to her feet to leave.

"Wait," you say. She gives you an inquiring look. "So, if this is the complete footage, that's a lot of hours. What's the amount of hours before you'll let me see Vantas?"

"At least seventy two hours within a twenty four hour time frame," Dolorosa says.

"Okay."

Something resembling manners has you get up and follow her to the door, and see her out. When she's gone, you lean against the bulkhead and shudder all over, face in your hands. You slide down the bulkhead to the deck. Take it in steps. There was a computer in the corner of the living room, built into a desk. It wasn't too organic or alarming in appearance. Get the grub to the computer, and open the files. Did you really want to watch it on your own? Did you want Rose there, knowing how badly she wanted to kill Vantas? (It takes a moment to wrap your head around the way the argument wants to phrase Rose's presence as a negative. You don't want me her to be hurt. You don't want her to hurt Vantas.) Did you want to watch it, already knowing what you were going to see? (All the parts you couldn't remember and all the parts you could.)

"This is bullshit," you say, half hoping for a comment from the intercom. "You're hoping I don't watch, which will prove I shouldn't see Vantas." You don't get an answer.

With cringing fingers you pick up the grub (soft squashy urgh) drive and stick it in the port. As the drive opens you send a message to Rose: so i have umptybillion hours of video footage to go through before they'll let me see vantas please come hold my hand. You don't get an immediate reply, so you start going through the files.

You see that you have lots of raw footage. As far as you can tell, no editing was done at all. You are going to be doing a lot of skipping and fast forwarding, is what you're saying. Opening the first file, you get started. It starts with him getting you into his ship, and his quarters. Your hands clench as you watch yourself wake up, the combination of anger and panic on your face as he fucks you, how it turns to lust and desperation. You fast forward.

You fast forward a lot. A lot of this, you remember, and don't much want to go over it again. From a third person perspective, it's weird watching him with you. Watching you with him. (You don't remember the times you tried to make a shank--three times--or biting him as often as you as you actually did.) You can see the moments of concern or confusion on his face, see him arguing with Egbert and Harley. Or meeting some official. (Those are the times when you can remember having been locked in your room. )

Snippet the Second: (Build a Life from Scratch)

After some more talk you all break camp and head west. As you all walk, you stretch your Aspects out, figure out what they can do. It's at least half way to sense for danger, half to practice. You might lay down a "beat" that Redglare joins in on, that Disciple sings along to, that Zahhak hums absentmindedly. Or Jade and Signless have a "song" that Dolorosa joins in on, accompanied by Disciple. Demoness can sound like an entire choir, with Highblood coming in over the top, "sounding" something like a theremin crossed with a bass fiddle. Dave joins in, and Roxy, doing odd little solos or "duets" with one of the trolls, or with Jade.

The next few nights not much happens. The terrain is uneven, the sky is endless, and the air is muggy and damp. There are a few high-flying clouds that disappear by morning. You can see mountains in the distance, and the glinting snake of a river edged with trees. On the third day, you get closer to the river, it starts to get cloudier and the wind kicks up. In the early evening, you can see the wall of an approaching storm. It's a solid green-black wall, and you can see the trailing mists of rain as it dumps down, along with flickers of lightning. "Well, that's going to suck when it gets here," you say.

At the same time you hear this huge sliding crunch off to the side. Exactly like someone pulled up a whole hell of a lot of chunks of ground, all at once. You turn in that direction and see huge chunks of dirt and rock floating around Jade and the Demoness. "Hopefully we can make it suck less!" Jade says cheerfully. The chunks orbit Jade and Demoness as they began to quickly create a shelter. Everyone helps with pounding the dirt and rocks into a rough shelter big enough to hold everyone plus the not-horses. Demoness and Jade (with help from Alter Dave and Dolorosa) smooth out the inside and make everything solid and waterproof.

You all get inside as the storm hits. Roxy pulls out a couple of battery powered lanterns, and sets them up. "Getting better at that," you say.

She grins. "This trick's kind of fun," she says. "Watch." She shows you everything she can make appear, and then disappear. She starts with green cubes, then goes on to various toys, a pair of shoes, a laptop computer, a 3rd Edition Dungeon and Dragons Player's Handbook and DM Handbook. And various sets of dice. And a DM screen. "So, how about a game?"

"That game's for nerds," you scoff.

She rattles one of the clear tubes of dice at you. "Dirk, you are in fact a nerd." She tosses the tube at you, and you catch it reflexively. She also tosses one at Alter Dave, who steps back and lets it fall.

"Nah," he says. "I want to be Debbie."

Roxy laughs, eyes a little bright. "Rose had a brief stint of leaving Chick Tracts in odd little places. I covered the door to her bedroom with a print of The Time of the Dark."

"The one with the wizard sitting in the kitchen with can of beer?" You ask.

"Yep!"

"Mean," Dave says. "Isn't Hambly kinda homophobic?" Quickly. "Not that I would know, except from what my Rose might have ranted about a time or two because she's read a few of the writer's series. I'm way too cool for wizards."

"Wizards are extremely cool," Roxy says. "And I'm not sure one way or another, except yes, if she had written certain books today the way she had then, she would be up to her ears in angry letters and tweets, because holy crap."

It turns out trolls also have roleplaying games. Redglare, Disciple and Signless join in. To your surprise, so does Demoness. Highblood, the Dolorosa and Zahhak do not.

#writing #homestuck #ai no kusabi #update #untamed #plot weasels

3 notes · View notes

certifiedskywalker · 5 years

Text

Bounty, Meet Hunter (Part Two) Din Djarin (The Mandalorian)

Originally requested by chritsiandior

In Part One:

“You’ll have to stay around to find out.” That and your name, you thought to yourself with a smile.

With that teasing response, the Mandalorian turned and stomped back up to the cockpit. Once he was out of sight, you looked around the ship. You could make this work. As the thought entered your mind, you looked back up to the cockpit only to catch the shine of the Mandalorian’s helmet. Yeah, you could definitely make this work.

Now, for Part Two:

You’re not used to working on a team. A life of crime and scraping by made trust a hard thing to find; let alone foster. But something about this Mandalorian kept you around. Call it fate, call it the Force, you were willing to make things work. Even when budding feelings made things more complicated.

“You got what?”

“Four bounties.” As he spoke, the Mandalorian threw a bunch of tracking fobs down in your lap. All four of them were active, red lights blinking steadily.

“So the phrase ‘stop and smell the meiloorun blooms’ means nothing to you?”

“Nope.”

“Chit, Mando,” you grumbled. “We have enough credits to-”

“Set course to Corellia. After we capture the target, we can refuel in their ports.” The Mandalorian took his spot in the pilot’s chair.

Your eyes widened. “Corellia?”

“Yes,” he replied coolly. As he plotted the course, he pushed off your feet from where you were resting them on the console. What had been a bad habit was now your favorite way to annoy him. Although, the idea of visiting Corellia killed any joy pissing off the Mandalorian would have brought to you. That planet was a death wish.

“You do realize that the entire sector was under Imperial control right? And that Corellia was the center of the Empire’s industry?”

Mando turned his head and you could feel the incredulous look he was giving you, even from under his helmet. He didn’t have to speak for you to hear the implied ‘really?’.

“The place is in ruins since the Empire’s fall! Gangs, syndicates, and the like!”

“Scared you’ll run into someone you know?” Your mouth fell open at his question but you promptly shut it, unwilling to let on about your worries. Instead you forced a mask of confidence over your features and smiled bitterly.

“I would never gamble on Corellia. Laying bets on a Core World is throwing yourself into a Sarlacc pit, no Hutt needed.”

Mando let out a huff and turned back to the steering apparatus. “Then it sounds like we have nothing to fear. Setting course to Corellia.”

You scooted up in your seat to peer out the viewport. The sand of Nevarro swirled up as the engine of the Razor Crest roared to life. Almost like snow, the sand fell back to the ground. You wouldn’t miss this place, even with how much you wanted to sit still for a while. Perhaps the Mandalorians’ work ethic was rubbing off on you.

Or maybe, you were glad to leave behind the planet where the Mandalorian could easily collect the bounty still placed on your head. Each time you landed on Nevarro, the trust you put in the Mandalorian was tested. Though, you imagined, whenever he was alone with you, Mandos’ trust in you wavered as well. Resigned, you leaned back in your seat a sighed.

“Who are we after?” You asked as the planet’s surface disappeared. The sand dunes became obscured by the haze of grey clouds and smoke that lingered in Nevarros’ atmosphere.

“Far right fob,” the Mandalorian answered, too engrossed in flight to show you. You sighed and grabbed the blinking fob.

If working with Mando had taught you anything it was that it was better to be informed about a target than to charge blindly after them. The first few bounties you worked with the Mandalorian didn’t end with full payment; some without any payment, for that matter. You had fallen back on your impulsive ways, much to your detriment and your new partner’s pocketbook. Now, more than a few cycles in, you had fallen in line with the ways of bounty hunting; most of them, at least.

“I need the holo-display,” you muttered as you stood up from your seat. You sidestepped over to the console where the slot for the holo-display was. When you leaned over, your shoulder knocked against the Mandalorians’. The smell of ash and smoke from Nevarro still clung to his armor. Both were scents you felt familiar with now; scents you associated with a feeling of safety. You hadn’t felt safe in...

You shifted to break yourself from your thoughts and inadvertently knocked your shoulder against your partner’s harder than before. “Sorry, Mando, gotta read.”

He let out a scoff as he turned back to the main viewport and rolled his shoulders. You couldn’t stop the smile that spread on your lips. For a man of few words, he was more expressive than any person you had ever met and you had met a lot of people. Granted, they weren’t always good people. Was Mando a good person?

Before you could dwell on the question further, the hologram flickered to life and projected the face of your bounty. “A Devaonrian?”

“You know the species?” Mando asked as he pulled the lever to initiate lightspeed. The force of the movement had you taking a step back to brace yourself. You scowled and studied the hologram closer and nodded.

“Hard to miss ‘em with horns like those. They like to gamble too.” You squinted to read more of the displayed information. “Cikatro Vizago...that name sounds…”

“Familiar? I thought it would,” the Mandalorian said smoothly. The slightest twinge of pride in his modulated voice did not go by unmissed. “Ex-crime lord and renowned smuggler who founded the Broken Horn Syndicate on Lothal.”

“Vizago, he worked with the Rebellion. I remember hearing about how Broken Horn was dissolved. Didn’t he fight for the New Republic?”

“He did,” your partner replied and you furrowed your brow. “Read.”

“Wanted for violation of Ordinance 20098-B and…flying a spacecraft without a Class-One Wavier.” Your eyes widened and you leaned closer in disbelief. “New Republic laws...the Senate put a bounty on him?”

“The Guild doesn’t ask questions.” You smiled broadly and shook your head.

“You only say that when I get too close for comfort or too close to being right.”

“Then you should take the hint,” the Mandalorian said sharply. You watched as he checked on the navigation system that tracked the jump through hyperspace. The Corellia system grew closer with each passing second. “You should sit. We’re coming up on Corellia.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you ejected the fob from the holo-display and took your seat. Throwing your arms behind your head you reclined and kicked your feet up on the console. “But a Class-One Wavier? What is that? Enlighten me, Mando.”

“Allows flight and landing privileges to spacecraft that don’t meet standard specifications and regulations.” He reached over and pushed your feet off the console. “Enlightened?”

“And what is Ordinance-”

The Mandalorian scoffed before you could ask your question in full. You shut your mouth and peered at your moody partner as he reached for the nearest lever on the console.

“The Guild doesn’t ask questions.”

“Good thing I’m not technically Guild then, huh?”

“Leaving hyperspace now.” You smiled to yourself and Mando pushed the lever down. A moment later, a war-torn planet was all you saw.

The Corellia was just as desolate as Nevarro, although in a different sense of the word. Whereas Nevarro lacked a hearty population, Corellia was missing something else. A means to support its people or was it hope? One thing you were certain the industrial world was missing was proper sanitation. As an Ex-Imperial Core planet, you had assumed the more residential sectors would be relatively clean. You were grossly mistaken.

The streets, riddled with potholes and excrement, served as a horrible mixing pot of odor. Scents of sweat and urine mingled with the acrid smell of fuel. The air of Corellia could only be described as disgustingly sharp. Smoke trailing out of plume on the tops of factories stung your nose and made your eyes water. Sadly, the tears did nothing to mask the ruddy, emaciated faces of the people wandering around storefronts and ramshackle huts.

“I got a bad feeling about this,” you whispered as you trotted alongside the Mandalorian. With careful eyes, you glanced around and watched all those you passed as they watched you. Although they weren’t watching you; their eyes were glued on the Mandalorian. “Everyone is staring.”

“Keep your eyes to yourself,” he huffed as he kept walking.

“What’s that supposed to mean, Mando?”

“It means,” he veered suddenly to the left, his hand grabbing your elbow and dragging you along with him. It took everything you had to ignore how your stomach flipped at his touch.

Before you could speak up, your back was pressed up against an alley wall. Mandos’ hand, the one that still wasn’t holding your arm, was pressed against the wall near your head. Your entire vision was filled by his armor. Heat gathered between you and you thought back to the first day you met the Mandalorian; when you had taunted and teased him in the hopes of escape. Now, you found it hard to speak and you didn’t want to leave.

“Mando-”

“It means we have to be careful,” he said in a low voice. You looked into the visor of his helmet and you swore, just as a guard droids’ light shone red, you could see some glint in his masked eyes. A pregnant pause consumed you both and, sensing it, Mando let his arm fall to his side. “The shipyard is this way.”

Your eyes never left him as he let go of your arm and strode down the length of the alley. After allowing yourself a moment to catch your breath, you pushed off from the wall. There was no time to dwell on the feelings that swelled up in your chest.

“Could’ve jus’ told me that,” you hissed as you started after him.

Flapping in the slight breeze, you caught the sight of the Mandalorians’ cloak as he rounded the corner. You picked up your speed and followed his swift shadow. As you turned out of the alley, your eyes widened. You felt the tension in your muscles relax at the sight that greeted you.

A tower of Imperial design, all sharp edges and gray stone was split in half. The walls that still stood were covered in carbon scoring and blaster holes. Bricks and machinery from within toppled over leaving the interior of the building exposed like an open wound. A wound that not even the Empire could recover from.

You let a content smile spread along your lips; the confusion from before fading from your mind. “I’ll never get tired of seeing the Empire in ruins.”

“Focus, bounty,” the Mandalorian grumbled. You gritted your teeth at the nickname.

“I have a name, ya know,” you snapped, “and I’m not a bounty anymore.”

“Tell that to the two thousand credits on your head,” he fired back.

A small gasp slipped out from between your lips. “Only two thousand?”

“It’s the standard payment for someone like y-” He paused and turned his helmet away from you; he was looking at the building now. You, on the other hand, were still staring at him, anger bubbling up inside of you. How could you be so easily quantified?

“Standard? I’m worth a standard-”

“Move!”

Just as the Mandlorians’ order reached your ears, you let your eyes divert back to the ruined, Imperial tower. A large, yellow-white ball of flame suddenly erupted out from the rocky depths. Adrenaline rushed through your limbs but before you could start running, Mando was rushing towards you. With an outstretched arm, he captured in you a hapless embrace and threw you, and himself, to the ground. The impact knocked the air from your lungs.

“Stay down!”

The Mandalorian yelled above the rumbling of the explosion. You curled closer to the pavement despite how the metal and rocks below bit into your skin. As you moved, your head knocked against the beskar of the Mandalorian’s chest. If you had the courage, you would have opened your eyes to look at him one last time. Maybe even thanked him for your second chance at life.

Instead, you pressed yourself as close to him as possible. His arm tightened around you and, for a moment, you felt regret. You didn’t even know his name. How could you thank him without knowing him? You were about to try, readying yourself to shout out your gratitude just before a flaming death engulfed you both; only, that death never came.

Heat licked at your boots but came no further. You waited a moment longer, giving whatever looming darkness a chance to finally take you. Yet, there was still nothing. Timidly, you opened your eyes as you felt the Mandlorian’s arm slip off of your waist. You watched as he got to his feet, crouching down for cover as he glanced around.

He stood up to his full height after a scan of the area and extended his hand to you. You reached out for it and stumbled to your feet at his side. Smoke hit your nose and the back of your throat as you took a breath. Coughing fits gripped you with a vengeance and you had to grab the Mandalorian’s shoulder for support.

“Are you alright?” You nearly choked at the concern in his voice before you nodded.

“What was that? Was that our guy?” He looked out towards the tower that now reduced to smoldering bouts of rubble. You watched as he took a step forward and bent down. One of his gloved hands reached down and thumbed at some of the fresh ash. “Mando?”

With his ash-free hand, he pulled a tool compartment from his belt. Shining under the dim light of the Coreillan sky was the glass of a microlense. It was a tool you were familiar with from your engineer training. The lense was used to find microscopic fractures, leaks, and blockages in the fine-tuned pipes of droids and small spacecraft.

“Mando?”

“Ordinance 20098-B,” he said coldly. He lifted the microlense for you to take and stood up by your side. You wrapped your fingers around the handle and raised a brow at him. “Look.”

Warily, you leaned forward and put the microlense up to your eye. When the lense focused on the Mandalorians’ gloved hand, the image was foggy. Scowling, you pulled back and adjusted one of the dials on the handle of the lense. When you looked back, the image sharper, alarmingly clear. The sight was full of insect-like bodies although they were far from natural organisms.

“Nano-droids? Those were…” You pulled your face from the microlense and looked at the Mandalorian. He let the ash fall from his hands and took a step towards the remains of the tower.

“Banned,” he finished for you. “NM-K reconstitutors, specifically.”

“So...Ordinance 2…”

“Contraband,” Mando took the lense from your hand and shoved it back into his belt. “We need to keep going. The bomb was a distraction. We’re close.”

Just as he was about to take a step forward, you grabbed his arm. “Whoa there! You want to head towards the explosion, right behind the guy with nano-droid bombs?”

“We have a bounty,” he said, turning to face you. There was something cold in the helmet when you looked at him. Something tense in the way he held himself. He was angry.

“Yeah, but not a death wish,” you fired back. He pulled his arm from your grasp and shook his head. “Mando, don’t get laserbrained on me now! We need to go!”

Despite being the Mandalorians’ partner for many complete cycles now, you were still learning things. You had never seen him angry before, at least you had never been unable to read it so plainly in his posture. Including his name and his face, there were other things about the man you didn’t know. So you weren’t entirely surprised when he ignored your pleading and ran off into the smoking ruins of the tower.

However, you were surprised when you followed him.

You weren’t as coordinated or practiced as the Mandalorian was at moving through the rugged terrain. Although, when you looked up in his direction, he too was stumbling through the broken stones. Somehow, you managed to catch up with him. So much so that you nearly stepped on his cloak as it whipped with his every stride.

“We better get paid well for this.”

Your quip was half-hearted for, as you spoke, you lept from the rubble and into the main, somewhat cleared plaza right outside of the tower’s entrance. The putrid smell of Coreilla’s inhabited sector was replaced by the near-chemical odor of melting metal. It was so strong that it left a taste in your mouth that made your face screw up in disgust. There was little, no, there was no time to make a remark about the horrid conditions. Mando was already moving again.

You followed him as he turned sharply to the right. As the scent of stone and metal faded, the dense, overpowering stench of fuel filled your nostrils. There was no escaping it as you and the Mandalorian neared the shipyards. With every step, you grew more and more nervous.

Nano-droids could be placed anywhere. There could be some clinging to the bottom of your boots, dormant and waiting to be activated. If Vizago was smart he would have spread the little explosives out behind him; like the portion bread in that old Twi’lek tale about the lost children. Sadly, there was no ‘estimated intelligence’ section in the bounty file.

“There’s his cruiser,” the Mandalorian pointed over to a strange-looking vessel. It had to be more custom than Mandos’ own Razor Crest. Sharp, horn-like cones of metal stuck out from around the thrusters of the ship.

“Leave it to a Devaonrian to-”

“Well, well, it seems you’ve finally caught up with me!” There was no mistaking the Devaron accent or the shadow that suddenly loomed on the ground before you and Mando. “Perhaps I can offer you a better deal, yes?”

Before the Mandalorian could speak up, you started to laugh. “Don’t try it. He doesn’t take deals from bounties. I would know.”

You could feel the Mandalorians’ gaze on you. The piercing stare had you turning to look at him sheepishly. You shrugged and, wordlessly, the Mandalorian took a step towards Cikatro Vizago. The green-skinned humanoid shifted and his large, right ear twitched; something you just barely saw.

“We can bring you in warm or we can bring you in cold.”

We, he said we. You snuck a glance at the Mandalorian, a curiously content little peek at him, your partner. A warm sense of pride ran through you that nearly made your brush with death worth it. Nearly. You still didn’t know his name.

“You forget third option,” Vizago snarled, “you die.”

So much for your pride and ever knowing Mandos’ name.

“I have placed many nano-droids around my ship. If you dare to come get me, you will...explode.” Vizago’s pointed right ear flicked once more. “You die right here unless you let me go.” Another flick. You smiled.

“He’s lying,” you whispered. The sound of beskar clinking caught your attention and you looked to see the Mandalorian looking at you again. “He’s got a tell.”

He didn’t have to speak for you to know his hesitation. You needed him to believe you.

“Trust me,” you pleaded quietly, “really trust me.”

Silently, he dipped his head and pushed his cloak to the side. He pulled his blaster out of its holster slowly, almost teasingly. You looked back up to Vizago whose eyes were now wide enough for you to see the fear within despite the distance. He pulled his own weapon out of his belt although it was no weapon at all.

“Stop this,” he said, panic evident in his tone. “I will activate the droids. You will die.” A bloom of nerves twisted in your gut. The confidence you felt in reading the Devaonrians bluff was now faltering. You bit your lip and tried your best not to show your worry. You had asked the Mandalorian to trust you; the least you could do was trust yourself.

You glanced back to Mando who was now stepping towards Vizago, blaster gripped tightly in his hand. It was alarming, how smooth, fluid the Mandalorian’s steps were. You could only imagine how many times prior he had done this. It was probably impossible to count how many times he had to face down his bounty. You had only bore witness to it a handful of times but the sight never failed to impress you.

“You’re one of the last of your kind, Mandalorian,” Vizago snapped. His caustic tone stung even you. You half expected Mando to stop, ask the criminal what he meant. But Mando had a job to do. “You are a dying breed.”

Without stopping, the Mandalorian lifted his blaster and aimed it true. The Devaonrian let out a hearty shout and threw the activator towards the two of you. In the second after, Mando fired. A blue stun bolt shot from the end and struck Vizago in the chest. He fell to his knees and you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

You rushed towards the activator switch and pluck it from the ground. In your hand, loose wires tickled your palm and you smiled to yourself.

“It’s not even a switch,” you called out to Mando.

He was already striding over the Vizago and cuffing his wrists. When you looked up, the Devaonrian was sat up against a near by storage unit and Mando was walking inside the oddly designed ship. You stood at the end of the loading ramp and watched the familiar beskar helmet become shrouded in shadows. Nervously, you shifted an waited for your partner to return.

“Mando?” You took a step up the ramp to get a better glimpse inside. As you moved, the Mandalorian came out and you nearly ran into his chest. Before you could, his hands reached for your arms and caught you. “Sorry.”

“How did you know?”

“What?” His hands were still on you, the touch more distracting than you could have ever imagined.

“How did you know he was lying?”

“Oh, his uh, his ears. Back when I...I played Sabacc with a Devaonrian and every time he had a good hand his ears would twitch.” Mando’s head cocked to the side and you shrugged. “Guess that tells are consistent in species.”

“Seems that way,” he replied, his hands still grasping your arms. It took all you had not to pull away for fear you might lean into his touch. After a moment, the Mandalorian seemed to sense the tension growing between you. He let his hands fall and said, “the client will meet us in the shipyard. They tracked the ship here.”

“Wait. They tracked the ship?” The Mandalorian started to walk past you in the hopes of ignoring you. “Why didn’t they just pick up this guy then?”

You followed him out of the ship as he strode towards Vizago. He turned around sighed. The sound was enough to make you smile. You knew exactly what he was going to say.

“The Guild doesn’t-”

“Ask questions, yeah, I know.” You sat down on a storage box as the Mandalorian check Vizagos’ vitals. “He good?”

“He’s alive,” he says as he straightens. He stands by your side, the visor of the helmet not ever leaving your captured bounty.

You nodded and turned your eyes to your fiddling hands. Your nerves were still alight and bouncing through your limbs as residual adrenaline ran off. There were so many questions you wanted to ask. What’s your name? What do you look like? Why are you so blasted stubborn?!

But the question that came out was something else entirely.

“So...nano-droids...what’s the deal?” The Mandalorian turned and glanced at you before going back to Vizago. “I mean...you were so angry.”

“There were used in the Clone Wars.”

“The Clone Wars? That feels so long ago. Why are you-”

“They were developed by the Separatists, used in their droid armies.” Mando shifted, visibly uneasy about this topic. There was something there, below the armor he wore and something he kept close to his chest. Losses in war were often kept that way.

“You don’t like droids?”

He glanced down at you and all you felt was cold. “No, I don’t.”

“I don’t either, at least not the killing kind,” you said softly. “I didn’t know my parents and during the war I came under...servitude, we’ll call it.”

“Slavery?” You looked up at him and swallowed hard. For years, you hadn’t let yourself think of your early days.

“Servitude,” you continued, “it was where I learned about ships and the like.” You stopped speaking then, let your tongue still so you could catch up with your thoughts. You felt dirty digging up and talking about your past. It would be better to leave the dead to their silent graves; but you were alive. You were alive, thanks to the man standing at you side and you wanted to tell someone your story. Who knew how long either of you had left.

“I worked and worked. There wasn’t ever any stopping,” you lifted your eyes to Mando, “that’s why I gave you sucha hard time on Nevarro. But uh, anyway, I worked enough to get myself out of servitude and wanted...I wanted something more.”

“Smuggling and gambling,” Mando said coolly and you nodded with a slightly embarrassed smile.

“Yeah, smuggling and gambling.” You turned you gaze down to your boots. “But then you came around and...I found that something. Even if that something isn’t what I imagined it would be. So, uh, thanks.”

Shyly, you let your eyes travel back to the Mandalorian and found that he was already looking at you. His body language was no longer nervous. Instead, his arms were loose at his side and his shoulders, almost always tense, were slumped. He was listening, you realized and that alone made your chest tighten.

“How sweet, the little thing likes you, ‘Mando’,” Vizago’s rough accent broke through the moment and pulled you from your thoughts. The helmeted head of the Mandalorian turned and stared down the older Devaonrian. “How charming you must be.”

You swallowed hard and shook your head. The tension was there and if a criminal could feel it, that meant that Mando, despite all his seriousness, could too. A sigh slipped past your lips and you looked up to the overcast skies of Coreilla in hopes of some escape. What you saw was a strangely shaped darkness and you heard a low hum in the air.

“I would stay quiet.”

“Why is that?”

You stood up as a ship, a lightweight freighter, broke through the clouds. “Your ride is here.”

The hexagon-shaped ship slowly descended, trailed down with a strong gust of wind as it landed. Sections of it’s metal shell were painted a bright, yellowish orange that was broken up by carbon scoring. This ship had seen war, battle after battle for years. Your well trained eyes could see every repair to it’s underbelly: from the patches of discolored metal to cover severe damage to the hissing hydraulics of the loading ramp as it lowered.

You watched, eager to see the client that, most likely, worked with the Senate to put the bounty on Vizago’s head. New Republic officials were said to be young but wise and so very eloquent. You had seen holomovies of Mon Mothma and the spunky Princess from Alderaan. Little did you care for politics but you did like their speeches.

So when an older, middle-aged Twi’lek with light green skin, wearing a rather ratty looking flight suit made her way down the ramp, you were shocked. There was something bright in her blue eyes that made you feel small, yet safe all at once.

“No,” Vizago murmured, “no. Is not possible!”

“Oh, but it is, Vizago. I would like to thank both of you for this undertaking,” her voice was gentle, yet stern; almost motherly. She was something of a contradiction. The Mandalorian dipped his head and you gave the Twi’lek a slightly skittish smile.

“No problem,” you swallowed, “as long as you have the credits.” Despite you sudden lack of tact, the Twi’lek woman smiled.

“Yes,” she pulls a pouch from her suit and handed it over. Mando outstretched his hand and took it. “I do hope that he wasn’t too much trouble.”

“He blew up part of a tower,” you quipped, setting your hands on your hips.

“Was anyone injured?” The Twi’lek’s eyes went wide with fear.

“No one lives in the old Imperial sector,” Mando explained. The Twi’lek let out a breath of relief.

“The New Republic will send relief to Coreilla as soon as this criminal is tried. I’ll make sure of it. But, for now.” Reading between the lines of her words, Mando stooped low and pulled Vizago to his feet.

“His contraband is inside,” you jabbed your thumb behind you in a gesture towards Vizago’s ship. The Twi’lek nodded and dipped her head. With the movement, her long lekku fell from over her slim shoulders. She pulled herself back to attention and smiled.

“The rest of my crew will handle it. Thank you, and the Guild, for your service. I wish I could say the Senate would be pleased to work with you again.”

With that, the Twi’lek turned and pulled a worried-looking Vizago aboard the freighter. You glanced at the Mandalorian and found he was already walking out of the shipyard. Quickly, you followed after him and back to the Razor Crest.

“So, where to next?” You asked as you plunked down in your seat. The Mandalorian turned in the pilot’s chair to glance at you and you raised your brows. “What?”

“Where do you want to go?”

You were taken aback by his question. Without a word, your mouth fell open and you blinked absently a few times. Mando scoffed, an almost chuckled, and you shook your head.

“I-I, I don’t know. I mean,” you leaned over and pulled out the three, active tracking fobs that remained. “We got more of these. One’s on Tatooine. That could be fun.”

“If you wanted to stop working for a cycle, I would understand, Y/N.” Your name; he had used your name and it sounded so natural coming from him. The Mandalorians’ voice was also different as he spoke. There was something soft in it and it made you melt. You fought to keep back the smile that threatened to spread along your lips. He had listened.

“I’m good, Mando.”

“Din.”

You furrowed your brow. “What?”

“My name is Din.” Your eyes widen as the new knowledge rolled in your mind. So lost in the sound of his name, you didn’t notice as Mando, as Din, removed one of his gloves. He stood and extended his bared hand to you.

You took a moment to study his palms. His fingers weren’t long but not really shirt; his nails were blunt and, somehow under the gloves he wore, there were calluses on his skin. Before, you had focused on imagining what his face looked like. Never before had you considered what his hands looked like or how much effect seeing them could have on you.

It took all you had to pull yourself out of your own mind. You found what confidence you had left and took his hand. Din’s skin was rough but you liked how it felt against your own. At the feeling, a natural smile spread along your lips.

“Well, then I can thank you properly.” You gave his hand a shake. “Thank you, Din.”

You liked to think that Din was smiling as widely as you were underneath his helmet. You liked to think that there was questioning the trust between you and Din now.

At some point, you stopped shaking his hand but Din did not let go. Not right away at least. Although he let your hand drop after you gave his a small squeeze. He turned back to the control console of the Razor Crest and sat back down in his seat. Din slipped his glove back on and flicked a few switches.

“So, Tatooine?”

Your smile remained glued to your features as you reclined back in your seat. Proudly, you set your booted feet up on a cleared portion of the console and sighed.

“Yeah, I have a good feeling about it.” You heard your partner sigh before he pulled the lever to bring jump into hyperspace.

270 notes · View notes

ultfreakme · 4 years

Text

Some To Veer the Tides notes

Yes I know no one cares about this kinda shit but I worked hard on creating this fic and need to get this out of my system because it’s literally only in my brain and echoing in there and disrupting my life. This is just word vomit. If, for some reason, you actually got through all the currently 50k + words of my akafuri fic and want some more, here’s some notes-

Overarching themes:

1. Sun and Moon

When it comes to AkaFuri, I use a lot of comparisons to sun, the sunlight, and metaphors regarding the sun. It plays a huge role, at least in my fics, in defining their relationship. Akashi seems to be influenced by the sun a lot. In his manga introduction, he was standing right in front of it, the light hiding his face(as far as I remember), and it stayed in my mind. He’s unreachable, and even if you manage to get close you get burnt. It can be cruel and kind, and it colours the sky in so many different colours and the one I most often remember when thinking of Akashi is the setting sun when the sky is red but the sun is this blazing ball of orange. (something like this)

Furihata’s always been filtered sun rays, the ones that peek through clouds, coming down like rain through leaves of trees. He’s Komorebi. His aesthetic and presence are meant to be gentle in the manga and he looks it. He looks sorta wispy and soft, the most beautiful and gentle form of sunlight to me. But it’s not something too many people think about because you get caught up in the grand colours of the sun.

(the pictures are here to make this less tedious. Also, nature’s cool.)

But they’re the one and the same. In the end they’re of the sun, from the sun.

In To Veer the Tides, a lot of the hard-hitting and emotional scenes happen based on the sun.

- Their first conversation was in the dead of the night which is neither of their domain. They haven’t met eye to eye it’s a dodgy interaction where both of them are hesitant. Their first kiss was in the night too. A kiss may seem like progress but it was the worst possible decision to have been made then.

- The time at the field was in full sunlight and it was the first time they met eye to eye.

- One thing I was giddy writing, was Furihata’s birthday. It starts at night, they aren’t meeting eye to eye, Furihata’s not having a good time and everything sucks. But as the night goes on and it gets close to sunlight, they slowly start to understand something with each other. Furihata was so averse to Akashi until the gift moment and suddenly he’s like. “Okay fuck what is happening I was planning on avoiding you forever.”

Was it annoying trying to line up events to time of days? Yes. Did I do it? Abso-fucking-lutely because I’m horny for symbolism in stories.

Now the MOON. In this fic, Nijimura is the moon. Sun and Moon parallels are the bread and butter of romantic analogies and the “we’re totally bros” (a no-homo cannot fix this) build-up in queerbaiting anime targeted at boys which are enjoyed better by people who aren’t cishet men.

Akashi and Nijimura are like that. One can’t live without the other, they depend on each other. They are seemingly different but of equal importance. I straight up said it in chapter one. In this fic, NijiAka are the soulmates. But the fic is called ‘To Veer the Tides” right? It’s about defying fate and what’s supposedly set in stone. It’s about Akashi learning that just because you are always winning doesn’t mean you can’t lose, and that just because you hit rock bottom doesn’t mean you can’t get back up.

Also, I do love the idea of two people being made for each other, fitting perfectly, but I love the idea of two people loving each other enough to say “fuck it!” to fate just to be together more.

Had the siege at Rakuzan not happened, NijiAka would’ve been satisfied and happy together, it would’ve been perfect. For Akashi and Furihata to be anything real, I feel like something radical would have to happen because, as we all know, it’s a crack pair.

(Even MayuAka falls into the Sun & Moon, Light & Shadow analogy. No hate to both ships, y’all actually have canon backing ;_; which is always fun.)

We as shippers and artists are what made it something legit. You could hypothetically ship Kawahara and Kagami but literally no one does and just the idea of it sounds a little ridiculous right? Well AkaFuri is like that for people who don’t get it. But then we made it into something plausible (and the cute art and fics dragged me in, man akafuri creators are convincing).

ANYWAYS- something stupid and impossible needs to happen for AkaFuri to have a chance- and where did our beloved ship originate? When the blessed Chihuahua-Lion thing happened and Akashi, THE AKASHI SEIJUUROU, miscalculated. Something that shouldn’t be happening, happened. And Akashi fell so hard. It was a ripple effect from Furihata standing up against Akashi, the making that basket, Seirin getting pumped up again, etc(I’m not saying “uwaaaah Furihata caused that” cuz he didn’t, Kuroko’s responsible for pushing Akashi to change but shipper brainrot dictates that I mention it).

So something like that needed to happen. Thus, Akashi fell.

2. Flowers

I started it for the aesthetics. Pretty boys in flowy clothes surrounded by flower symbolism. That’s how it began and then I accidentally put plot in it. It’s not as heavy as the Sun and Moon comparisons, but they do have a level of significance. Chrysanthemums are symbols of royalty and prestige in Japan, so obviously the Akashis get that. Camellias are for faithfulness. Zinnias, are for loyalty and perseverance. The flowers define the House, the state they’re in and the clans.

The biggest moment was with the Kiku and Niko story in chapter 12.

3. The concept of being truthful

The story, to one extent, is about how hypocritical and broken some of the land’s ideologies. If you look at it past the romance, it’s about how literally no one is sticking to the virtues of the land, or the basic decencies of being a human being. In canon, Akashi’s the ‘villain’.

I disagree.

The true villain of KNB are the adults. Teikou pushed middle school children into hierarchies in a basketball club just to keep up the prestige of their name. The coaches never approached the kids when they were emotionally broken and needed someone to ground them. Akashi’s dad pushed him so far that he developed a mental disorder.

We never see the actual villains and they’re never defeated. This is because in reality, the children are powerless. KNB lasts just one school year. What about when they get out? What happens when they face the real villains?

That’s what happens in this fic. They’re all more aged up, but Akashi suffered his worst defeat as a child in the conflict of adults. Now that he’s grown up, he stands a chance. The entire fic is, to an extent, the cruelty of the adults and the powerful.

People go on and on about honesty, truthfulness and being honourable but no one is, and no one should try to be so rigidly perfect. These phrases or virtues according to which people are supposed to live are taken to be used whenever it’s convenient for them.

Seirin is the biggest example of this because that’s where a lot of the story takes place. “Honesty Above”, but they’re always gossiping and rumours keep spreading like wildfire there. False and romanticized rumours. It’s what Akashi depends on to brush up on his reputation and it works.

Akashi didn’t really do much good in the grand scheme of things but his closeness to Furihata, Kawahara and Fukuda along with ratting out on Yuito and Toshi was enough to sort of sway their opinions on him. People used to be terrified of him in the main house but after a while he gets respect (though imposing and kinda scary).

Yes I’m trying to be a pretentious fuck but I’m no….idk insert awesome writer who actually can handle these kinda things. Writing like this is difficult ngl and I accidentally create analogies I don’t intend because of the already existing stuff.

Eg: To Veer the Tides- Nijimura’s the moon. What can ACTUALLY veer the tides and is associated with it? The moon. But Nijimura doesn’t have that big of a part in the story.

Anyways, here’s my word vomit. You can use these analogies for your fics to and jump off these ideas cause’ I need more fics dang it ;_;

#akafuri #furiaka #tvtt #to veer the tides #i made tha tag to keep track of my shit lol #knb #kuroko no basuke

6 notes · View notes

aki-draws-things · 4 years

Text

NaNoWriMo 2020 #06

I was in love with that prompt from the beginning of the planning, but once again my plans for lot of angst dissolved. But don’t worry, there’s a couple of them that will be so painful I will almost regret them (no, I never regret angst.)

Let this little mouse know what you think ~

Day: 06/11/2020

Prompt: Ignoring an injury / Wound reveal

Ship: Mingjue/Zonghui

Word Count: 2756

They had been brothers long before Meng Yao even came in the picture, one becoming Sect Leader too young, the other his loyal shadow, the general who would never turn his back on him.

They've been partners for years before meng Yao came in the picture too and if someone dared to think the young man had stolen his role they weren't paying attention.

Meng Yao was capable, he was a good, really good, strategist, but he was no general. He could never lead them into battle and make them sure they won't only win, but they will go back home too. He was capable, but Qinghe always needed more than just ability. Qinghe needed power, and control. Qinghe meant loyalty and trust and the Nie sect always kept those words close to their hearts even when their own control faded. And meng Yao… he wasn't a Nie, and he didn't want to be one. Zonghui in the other hand embraced the name the previous sect leader gave him and made it his own. He was a nie in everything but blood, his name too reflected that.

For inner and outer nie disciples there was only one thing that would make them lose faith in a potential victory, and it was their leader and general fighting on their own. Not that this happened frequently, on the contrary, and if they did there was always a good reason.

For someone that curious, meng Yao never asked many questions, only a couple, and only to nie huaisang.

"I've studied the history of your family." he said once while the young Master was painting. "It's unheard of a dual wielding."

Nie huaisang briefly lifted his eyes from the fan paper and studied his face.

"are you referring to ZongHui?"

"is that his name?"

"tall as me, twin sabers on his back, - his eyes twinkled briefly as he grinned. - possibly currently trying to drag Da-ge out of the training ground and into a bath before dinner is ready?"

"the first two, yes. - meng Yao nodded. - not sure about the third one…"

"Then yes, the name is Nie ZongHui. Advisor, general, shadow, probably your secret supervisor."

"dual wielding." meng Yao pressed, his curiosity dripping out of him. He wanted to know, to understand. - he wanted to know how actually dangerous the man was, to him and to everyone else. -

"twin spirits. When he chose the saber he got called by both, they didn't want to be divided."

"but how? How can he do that? I've read of men, stronger men, succumbing to their sword spirits, and they only had one."

Nie huaisang smirked and leaned over as if to tell him a secret.

"dual cultivation."

That night at dinner meng Yao couldn't look at nie mingjue without feeling his cheeks grow red. He never asked about zonghui anymore. - but it was obvious now, the way they seemed to lean over the other, the way they showed up at the same time, the way they seemed to always touch each other, even just brushing. Meng Yao regretted his new knowledge. -

It came to no one's surprise when at nightless city they were back to back fighting the puppets. Their attacks coordinate to an almost impossible level, a twirl of dark gray robes intertwining together, strings of golden magic as they dipped into each other's strength, borrowing speed and energy and martial knowledge. It was like being one, they could fight blindfolded and still never miss a hit.

They still could be hit, even when together, it just happened in different ways. Because they belonged together it was more the times they got hit to protect the other than when it was due to a minor distraction, there was always some sort of pattern, and they hated every time it happened. Nie zonghui would scold him for being a too reckless leader, that it wasn't his duty but the contrary. Nie mingjue just stared at him in shock when he said that, like nie zonghui had offended him in the worst and most vicious way.

"it's not your duty either. You're not my guard."

"except for the part where this is one of my jobs. Need a refresh? General, your shadow and personal guard. Old Master Nie personally made me that." nie mingjue groaned, he knew he was right and he couldn't win on that side.

"fine, you are my guard, but you're my partner too. My energy is yours, and yours is mine. - he lowered his voice to a mere whisper and looked at him sadly, knowing what effect that had on nie zonghui. - what would I do without you? What would I be?"

Usually it ended with zonghui crashing against his chest, arms wrapped around the taller man uncaring of his own wounds, they would slide on the floor in a mess of crumpled robes, doing nothing but hold on each other like their lives depended on that single contact. - sometimes it did. Sometimes that contact was their personal dual cultivation way. Grounding and yet powerful. -

Nie mingjue was sure that this was how things would go at the end of that battle, he was so sure of that in the moment zonghui twirled around him, placing himself in front of nie mingjue, the sword from a Jiang disciple turned puppet slashing through his armored robe. Baxia behind him beheaded the man and MingJue's arm circled his shoulders, his body colliding against his chest.

"I had it under control."

Nie Zonghui smirked and slipped out of the hold to prove he was hurt badly, the armor was stronger than what it would look like.

"I'm faster." and it's my duty. They both knew those unspoken words.

For the rest of the battle nie mingjue kept himself even closer than usual, never straying too far, never leaving him out of his sight, the cold weight on his chest uncomfortable and choking. Fear, and worry, and regret. He let his qi flow into him the moment they were back to back for a couple of seconds, he did it when he caught him the moment he almost fell while ducking a blow.

That was when he felt it. Nie Zonghui's qi was quivering unstable, the hit was probably worse than they both thought, and zonghui knew better than to underestimate a wound, especially on the battlefield. Perhaps adrenaline was the cause and zonghui really didn't know how bad it was. He would have to take him to a healer once the battle was over, even better, carry him, so he wouldn't tire himself too much. He would complain, people would see them, who cared?

Still the coldness didn't leave. It was unsettling and, worse, it was shared.

“Stop worrying.” How could he? Hit after hit he could feel their connection stretch thin in his mind, he feared the moment he would feel it break, the mere thought almost made him sick.

When the puppets suddenly stopped and crumbled like broken dolls on the field he didn’t care, the battle was over, whoever stopped Wei WuXian now had his gratitude. - He never felt real darkness and evilness coming from the young man his brother befriended in Gusu, he felt if from his Dizi, but never the boy. The problem was people never truly listened. - He turned in time to see Nie ZongHui sway on his feet, a hand pressed over his chest where the robes had been cut and blood trickling through his fingers and from the mouth. There was surprise in his eyes when he looked up and met Nie MingJue's eyes, surprise and shock and fear.

He tried to speak, to explain or to call his name, instead he spit more blood and his legs gave out. Nie MingJue's hands were around him in a moment, they slid on the ground slowly, Nie MingJue kneeled behind him holding his body up against his chest, a hand desperately trying to stop the bleeding before it was too late.

“I didn’t notice.” Nie ZongHui whispered anticipating his question and MingJue believed him, he had no reasons not to, he fought with him, he could have noticed too, but he didn't, it took time for the blood to finally reach the outer layer and seep through the robe, and once there there was no stopping. He was quickly getting paler and cold and yet he was calm.

He placed a hand veer MingJue's and shook his head before exhaling slowly and trying to settle against him more comfortably, he didn't know how he could remain that much calm in a moment like that, as life was slipping away without him doing anything to prevent it. He was dying and there was nothing he could do or say to change it. Maybe it was the place he was in, his body cradled carefully against the chest of someone he loved, the one he had always been ready to die for. Maybe it was because he fulfilled his duty, Nie MingJue was safe, he survived yet another battle and that was enough for him. Maybe, maybe, maybe. Maybe dying wasn’t that bad if it was like that. He let his head loll to the side, blood dripping from his lips and he closed his eye, the hand covering MingJue's falling on the ground.

Nie MingJue screamed.

The first time they tried dual cultivation was after a particularly hard night hunt. No matter how much he trained, wielding two sabers left Nie ZongHui spiritually drained for days, the healers often showed concerns for his health, saying that his life would be even shorter than what usually a Nie would live, the two spirits would feed on his qi and he won’t survive long after the 20s. From where he was laying on his bed ZongHui studied his young master, curve over books at the desk, studying even harder a way to suppress, or at least quiet, the saber spirits.

“I don’t wish them to be any less, and neither you do with Baxia.” He said softly as a greeting, within seconds Nie MingJue was at his side helping him sit and placing a glass of water in his hands.

“You’ve heard the healer, I know you were awake, you won’t live long like that.”

“There’s another way.” He laughed at his confused look. “Dual cultivation.” And then he laughed even harder once Nie MingJue understood what he was talking ab pout and got flustered. He dropped the talk after a moment and slipped into a dreamless sleep.

“Would that really help you?” Nie MingJue asked him a couple of days later when he was regaining his strength and managed to stay awake for more than a dozen minutes.

“What?”

“Dual cultivation. - He took his hand and squeezed it. - If you think it will help then it’s fine for me. I— we’ll do it.” Nie ZongHui smiled and nodded.

“I… I think so. Your energy is unparalleled. If we share it I won’t only be able to wield both my sabers, but you’ll have more control over Baxia too. Or… well, or so I’ve read.”

“It’s worth a try. - But then Nie MingJue blushed, he really blushed, cheeks turning a bright red and he felt his face grow hot. - There’s one problem…” He admitted at the end. “I’ve never… I don’t know…”

Nie ZongHui didn’t laugh like MingJue feared, he moved closer and took his face in hands before kissing him. He was sixteen.

When Lan Xichen found them Nie MingJue was still kneeling in the middle of the battlefield, curled over ZongHui's body.

“Da-ge?” There were tears streaming down his face he noticed when MingJue lifted his head to look at him, his chest wrecked by silent sobs and his hands, covered in blood, caressing the man in his arms. Lan XiChen met him only a couple of times, not more. He was, if he wasn’t mistaken , the person who took A-Yao’s place by Nie MingJue’s side, they probably got close during the past years, they had, or Nie MingJue would have never reacted like that.

“XiChen… XiChen you have to help him. It’s… he’s been wounded — he…” Lan Xichen could see it without him specify it, he could see the blood oozing from the cut robes, he could see his chest rising as his lungs tried to keep working, with enough concentration he could feel his heart trying not to give up. “You have to save him.” He had known Nie MingJue for years and he never heard him beg before, not even for his little brother’s sake. It was a sound he didn’t even know could come from his mouth, so broken and desperate.

“It’s too late.” Lan XiChen almost said, but he stopped. Nie MingJue moved the man carefully, held him a little closer in his arms, cradled against his chest, his cheek brushed against ZongHui's hair before he kissed the top of his head. So Lan XiChen tried. At least he could say he tried.

Nie MingJue forgot what day it was, or how long it had been since the battle was over and won, he slept sitting on the floor, his head on the mattress of the bed and complained every morning that his neck was hurting, that he shouldn’t fall asleep, in case Nie ZongHui needed him. And that his back too was hurting. And yet every night he sat in the same, uncomfortable position and waited. And fell asleep. And complained.

And days merged into each other and he waited.

When Nie ZongHui finally woke up, endless days after, his qi had never been that low in all his life. The loud voices of his twin sabers were now reduced to a distant whisper, like the bond between them had been irreparably broken and was now kept together by a single thin string. He was weak, he probably wouldn’t be able to move for many more days, heavens only knew if he would be able to lift his swords again. But he was alive, and that had to mean something at the very least.

“That’s the last time.” Nie MingJue's voice was hoarse from disuse. He looked at him from the end of the bed, sitting cross-legged agings the wall and staring at him with dark circles under his eyes and an almost sickly pale face. “You do something like that again and I swear, I will never forgive you.”

It was a lie, they both knew it, but Nie ZongHui nodded anyway in agreement.

“Understood, Master. - He whispered looking away. - This one is truly sorry for worrying you that much.”

A hand caressed his cheek gently forcing him to lift his face and look at him.

“Don’t do it again. Don’t go where I can’t follow. Don’t leave me. Ever.”

“MingJue-xiong, - Lan XiChen said entering the room with Jin GuangYao behind him. - I was thinking about some way to help you general regain his strength faster and, maybe, even the use of his sabers.”

Both men looked up from the plate in their hands, they were sitting close enough their side was touching, Yao briefly looked away, the memory of Nie HuaiSang's answer still haunted him even after years.

“Please don’t think wrong of me, - Lan Xichen continued with a smile. - I’ve made some research and there are many ways people can share their spiritual power, even without using a complete Dual Cultivation. Which I suppose would be… embarrassing.”

Nie MingJue frowned for a moment, stared at Lan XiChen and then turned to ZongHui.

“Would it be embarrassing?” He shook his shoulders taking another spoonful of soup.

“I believe I’ve seen more embarrassing things than that.”

“Mh… Do you mean HuaiSang's paintings?”

“No, I believe they're pretty realistic, even though I’m not sure where he got the ideas… I always make sure the door is sealed.”

“He always had a big imagination.”

Nie ZongHui suppressed a laughter and leaned on his shoulder.

“There was one that had a truly striking resemblance with you—”

With a loud cough, and his face getting redder, Jin GuangYao muttered something about how they shouldn’t worry about ways to help the Nie general get back on his feet fast, and dragged Lan Xichen out of the room. Nie MingJue laughed passing an arm around his shoulders.

“I can’t believe XiChen out of everyone really went and suggested Dual Cultivation. I thought it was obvious by now.”

“Not so much… I think they didn’t understand I am the one bedding you.”

#Nie mingjue #nie zonghui #mingjue/zonghui #ignoring an injury #almost dead character #dual cultivation #meng yao regrets asking questions to huaisang #and huaisang paints things he shouldn't...#the untamed #cql #mo dao zu shi #mdzs #mdzs fic #Grandmaster of demonic cultivation #Founder of diabolism #fanfic #nanowrimo 2020 #angst collection in cultivation #aki writes

7 notes · View notes

rainingskyguy · 5 years

Text

Dr. STONE (Late Night Reviews)

It’s very late, I have slept a total of 3 hours and my mind just can’t stop thinking about this anime.

So y’all have a review on it. What’s it about, my impressions and thoughts.

Let’s start with the basics.

What’s it about?

A friend asked a bunch of us, so-claimed fans, and we reached a screeching halt.

What is Dr. Stone about?

It’s about a lot of things, truth be told. I guess you could say it is an overarching narrative of how Ishigami Senkuu, resident genius with a heart of gold, tries bringing back Civilization to a world that has long forgotten about humanity.

After a mysterious green light turns all human beings into stone, nature takes back what was originally hers, so when Senkuu finally breaks out of the stone, it’s like the time’s been reset to zero.

He has all the knowledge to bring back Humanity’s old splendor, but he’s only one person.

That is, until he’s no longer alone.

Thus begins a long, and difficult journey to bring the Kingdom of Science to the future.

The anime is honestly so much more. But there’s only so much I can say about it without spoiling.

Something I’ve found surprising is that people have been put off by the Bok Choy Boy’s hair?

It’s funky looking, but he’s an outlier, not the norm. This is not Yu Gi Oh after all. Also you should definitively see him with his hair down, it’s quite a sight.

What’s up with the girls?

It is often joked that Boichi (the manga’s artist) has never seen a woman.

And it’s for a reason.

I have no idea how men and women look so damn different, especially in the anime. Like look how adorable she looks in the manga. If only the anatomy and clothes were less, uh, funky. BUT! Unlike every other generic WSJ series, ALL of them are amazingly written.

Like, there’s not a single woman I’ve met so far I haven’t liked, or haven’t felt compelled to know more about them.

Yeah the clothes make me go wtf Boichi, as well as some or other poses because it wouldn’t be a shonen otherwise, but it somehow doesn’t feel... that sexual.

I mean, as I’ve said Boichi has no clue what he’s doing but, clothes and weird eyes (in the anime, jfc Yuzuriha is absolutely gorgeous in the manga) aside, this is the first time I’ve felt this interest in knowing more about the girls.

They’re not props, they’re not there to make the heroes look cool. They are part of the narrative, they are there to tell their own stories, to live their own lives and it shows.

The same goes for the boys, everyone has a story to tell. The way relationships are forged, the way they openly care about each other, is such a breath of fresh air.

Is Dr. STONE about science?

Yes and no.

LMFAO.

It tries, okay! And Senku is incredibly intelligent and creative! I love how he doesn’t always succeed on the first try. How it is evident that he can’t do everything on his own, that he needs the help of others to further his plans. How things go faster after he has reserves from all his other experiments. It’s very nice to see no outrageous magic, but outrageous science instead.

BUT!

Keep in mind this is a weekly shonen series.If you have any knowledge on any branch of science, don’t look too close at it. LMFAO. At least they’re trying.

Wine? More like vinegar, honestly, Senku what are you doing?

That’s all I can go into detail without spoiling anything, or veering off into the manga. But I feel like i must add that this series tackles things like:

Actual friendships.

Compelling character dynamics.

Found Families.

Adopted fam seen as normal (as it well should).

Hurt and then comfort, and oh god the feels.

Redemption done right (??? apparently the manga’s getting lit?? oh my god, let’s just hope this keeps going strong).

Time actually passes, like oh my god.

So many heart-wrenching scenes.

Canonically non-binary characters (manga only, for now).

Senkuu and a couple others read as being on the asexual spectrum (I personally hc Senku as ace).

At least one of these fuckers is bi, and I am still shook about it.

Again, main male character is a FUCKING ACE ICON.

The ships. This is a ship-fest, they all get along so well.

FRIENDSHIP THAT TRANSCENDS GENERATIONS, INAGAKI WHERE DO YOU COME FROM OMG

There’s so much more that I’m probably forgetting at this fucking hour, but I think you get the gist.

It’s not a series without flaws, but if you’re even slightly curious I recommend you give it a try. Who knows, maybe you’ll get sucked into this tiny fandom as well, and will never be let go.

Also! Talking about the fandom.

While Inagaki (at times) misses spectacularly with the science, the content created by fans of the series is littered with all these tiny scientific facts, actual chemistry, physics, science jargon that is just a delight to read, or see.

It’s a baby fandom, but it’s filled with potential for more. Hope you give it a chance, and maybe even help make it bigger!

Good night!

#dcst #drst #dr stone #ishigami senku #anime review #no spoilers #why you should check it out #forgot to mention #everyone's fucking hot #also peak dumbass #how are any of them alive is beyond me #jk #kinda #RSG reviews #apparently #Late Night Reviews #part one??#maybe??

60 notes · View notes

sebthesnipe · 5 years

Text

The Dreamer by Whatwashernameagin an Analysis? Part 2

All portions:

Chapter 1: Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4

Chapter 2: Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4

The Dreamer

by @whatwashernameagain

Reminder: Spoilers under cut!

So… Where were we? Aw yes… The desperation for acceptance of a POV which is both unique and far out of the reach of the human populous as a whole. In other in other words, Logan being very lonely and wanting to share his ideas with the world and hoping against hope he will not always be alone in them… heartbreaking…

The next portion of Whatwashernameagain’s work introduces The Dreamer. Going into the work with foreknowledge of the ship and the characters within, we as the readers (or I, rather) know that Roman is The Dreamer and thus know that Logan is referring to him. So, to be completely honest I am not sure if I am imagining this next bit or if it is truly the case (hence why I have chosen to focus more on Reader-Response theory rather than some of the more closed reading disciplines). However, in Logan’s first description of The Dreamer there are a few …. Odd choices in wordings. Eva writes:

“The one thing consistently standing between him and the fulfillment of his plans had turned out to be an outrageously insignificant detail…. This thorn in his shoe showed up at the most inopportune moments, predictably puffing up his chest in his ridiculous, unpractical costume, ready to boldly reassure the public before thoughtlessly storming in to hinder his plans with his irritating presence” (Whatwashernameagain).

There are a number of things in this small paragraph that gives way to yet even more of Logan’s personality, still molding the mental image that the author is painting while still leaving the blanks to be filled in our heads. ‘Consistently’ being italicized, for example, provides me with the mental image of a small tick of annoyance like Logan is mentally hissing the word while his index finger and thumb are pressed together drawing it out with annoyance (kinda like Moriarty during the pool scene in BBC’s Sherlock). Anyways, it immediately pulls the reader back into his frustration but this time… something is different.

Lets recap a moment, So far we know that Logan is a cold calculating man with only his work to keep him company; we know that he wishes for someone to share his view points but otherwise hasn’t really shown any emotional fluctuations (he obviously has emotions, there just seem muted almost) and yet his train of thought here, indicated by the italics is fairly harsh. His choice of words far less calculated than we’ve seen thus far. Here we see him use something akin to an oxymoron calling The Dream ‘an outrageously insignificant detail’. Why would he use so many words when a simple ‘insignificant’ would work? Unless… He is compensating. Many authors will push a thought or description to further lengths than necessary to give the owner of said thoughts a unique perspective. One of the best I’ve ever seen/read would be Robert Jordan in his The Wheel of Time series. Jordan switches from POV to POV flawlessly without pausing to explain it to the reader but as talented as he is at making each so unique the reader never needs the explanation, following along without a hiccup. As much as I would love to say that Eva is there, she isnt... at least not yet… but then again, I haven’t found anyone on par with Robert Jordan’s use of POV and character development as of yet. My point is that she uses the type of flow shifting POV very fluidly without having to spell it out for the reader; and the use of the additional descriptors are a testament to that. (I hope I am making sense I am so very tired #dead).

Logan goes on to talk about the ‘puffing up’ and how ‘unpractical’ The Dreamer’s costume is and his ‘irritating presence’, he talks about grand speeches and attempting to appeal to Logan’s ‘humanity’. The tone of the paragraphs is that of annoyed humor as if it were amusing to think Logan had any humanity at all. That being said… another literary study comes to mind when reading this portion of the work. I will do my best to keep from going too much in depth but basically back in the early EARLY 1900s Sigmund Freud invented psychoanalysis with his publication of The interpretation of Dreams (Rivkin, Julie). Why was it such a big deal? Well, before the publication psychology assumed that what goes on in the mind was limited to the conscious (Rivkin, Julie). What does that have to do with Logan? Well, the revolution was a huge part of history and the strides that were made in psychology didn’t only affect the medical world but the literary one as well. Psychoanalysis wasn’t only limited to a person but the work they created as well; it began to be used as a way of studying literature, analyzing the author through their work. But… I’m veering a bit too far to the left. The reason this is important is because some of Frued’s research was based on the ‘defenses’ that the ego mobilizes against unacceptable libidianal or unconscious material (Rivkin, Julie). I.e. The mind can invert a feeling into its opposite, so that a yearning for contact can become a desire to do violence (Rivkin, Julie). That, of course, is an extreme but we see the same psychological mechanism here for Logan. The Dreamer is a man who represents the very thing Logan is determined to pull down; it would be extremely illogical to have any sort of attraction to the man. There for, to put it simply, he’s in denial. (Yes… I am aware I went into a bunch of Fruedian jargon just to say Logan is in denial and everyone already knew that… He would have approved though so I’m not editing it out. You will just have to deal with it.)

This says a lot about Roman’s character as well. Those who are familiar with the character knows how outrageous the creative man can be, but Eva writes (from Logan’s POV) ‘the idiot was actually attempting to change his mind’ (Whatwashernameagain). This give another shift in the emotional tone of the work, feeding off Logan’s annoyance and dark undertones and changing it into something more hopeful; giving us our first glimpse at the painting of The Dreamer; so far nothing but a symbol of hope (and a ‘thorn in Logan’s shoe’).

Going to reverse for a moment as well. Bringing up the metaphor of ‘a thorn in his shoe’; there is a lot to be said about this line as well. It really puts The Dreamer in perspective from The Utilitarian’s point of view…. At least his conscious one. It shows that Logan wants the hero to be beneath him, that he consciously tries to convince himself that he is. That The Dream is at his feet causing more annoyance than actually damage. I’m a sucker for a good metaphor and this one certainly isn’t a bad one.

Within the next paragraph Logan goes on ranting about The Dreamer being a nuisance, continuing on his rant that really only cements his attraction to the hero. But, once again, the image of The Dreamer is becoming more detailed. Logan describes him as ‘clinging desperately to his ancient, deontological ethics with its rules that mustn’t be broken at any cost’ (Whatwashernameagain). It sounds as if despite the way Logan whines about The Dreamer he sees him as misguided. If he truly believed that the ethics The Dreamer represents were the man’s own then we would no doubt see the frustration we did when Logan spoke about the state of the world. Instead, we see the deflection of the blame from The Dreamer to ‘ancient, deontological ethics. It is obvious that Logan doesn’t blame him but rather sees that he is attempting to simply ‘do his duty’. This provides a sense of honor for The Dreamer which is quite fitting for Roman really.

Logan only cements his denial and affection for the hero but commenting on his concern for the man’s well-being despite his inconvenient presence: “Many a times he’d foiled his operation with simple stupidity, like running into an already unsafe sweat-shop he was about to blow up in order to rescue the industrialist he’d tied up in the vicinity” (Whatwashernameagain). It is possible that he has this concern for everyone that is not directly involved in the crimes he is attempting to shine some light on but it is doubt full.

To add to the growing case against Logan’s inaffection for the man, he actually tries to defend himself! He claims that he hadn’t planned on killing the industrialist, just make a statement and ‘singe his eyebrows’ (Whatwashernameagain). I love this line; it does a lot for the story is so few words. So, first it paints Logan, the cold calculating villain, as a sulking teenager who has been scolded. I love the imagery. It also brings a bit more humor into the work than the subtle outlines of Logan’s denial had been providing. It is makes it even more clear that Logan does not dislike Roman enough to actually want to hurt him; in fact, quite the opposite. It paints Roman as someone he would like to protect, emphasizing the ‘misguided hero’ view of The Dreamer once more.

Now to the good bits: “He knew very well how much the media loved [The Dreamer] with his uniform accentuating his broad shoulders and his lush, caramel hair, his blinding smile and perfect, tan skin” (Whatwashernameagain); Really Logan? Lush, caramel hair? Who talks like that? Only someone with a crush…. And boy do you have it bad! You think he’s smexy with a capital ‘M’! I don’t even have to explain this one… we all know… We all understand.

After that oh so very subtle remark, Eva follows up with a ‘He was a nuisance, is what [Logan] was trying to say’ (Whatwashernameagain)…. Mhmmm suuurrrrree D-E-N-I-A-L. Freud would love you! Just saying!

I think from now on I’m just going to break it down paragraph by paragraph. This is getting quite long and I don’t want anyone having to jump back and forth. So:

“The Utilitarianist prided himself in his polite, calm manners, yet this – man – brought out a temper he was not fond of. How dare this simpleton speak to him about right and wrong? Despite knowing the math advised against it, he found himself drawn into moral arguments repeatedly … and had almost gotten caught by those strong hands several times due to his frustration. He found himself simply unable to refrain from correcting the man when his claims were just so utterly stupid.” (Whatwashernameagain)

We’re going to jump back into Freud’s work now… be prepared. So, obviously Logan blames Roman for Logan’s reactions, his loss of self-control. This is known as projection. In projection, we assign to others feelings or thoughts in ourselves that are unacceptable (Rivkin, Julie). What possible feelings could Logan be having that are unacceptable? Maybe it has something to do with being caught by those ‘strong hands’. -eyebrow wiggle- This is also a good example of intellectualization. In intellectualization, we avoid potentially overwhelming feelings by focusing out attention on things that allow us to exercise that part of our mind devoted to reasoning rather than emotion (Rivkin, Julie): Hence, the arguments.

Before I move on, I want to point out the author’s talent here. Writing characters with a lot of depth can be difficult especially with characters that weren’t originally yours. I say that because I do these analysis’ constantly; I do them for work, I do them for school… I obviously do them for fun on occasion… but, while talking psychoanalysis can be daunting and perhaps a bit boring; the fact that I can apply these theories to a CHARACTER not the author is astounding. That is when you know someone has a great talent for their character formations. Sure, I can slap a few fancy words to describe a character but to actually be able to analyze a fictional character’s psyche… that is when you know that they are fully formed.

I’m afraid I will need to end Part 2 here. Once again work is approaching. I will be back with a Part 3 When I get the chance, however. Hopefully, I can get through more than 5-6 paragraphs of the work then… Some dialog is coming up so it should be a bit quicker. I am quite enjoying this analysis and I wanted to thank everyone who had read/commented/liked/reblogged Part 1; and for all of the asks I have received. I quite enjoy hearing from you and love answering questions so feel free to drop a line! Special thanks to Whatwashernameagain, as always, for writing so brilliantly and just being a genuinely wonderful human being. Until next time…

(Please forgive any poor grammar or misspelling. I tend to run short on time so I don’t really proofread)

Rivkin, Julie. Literary Theory: a Practical Introduction. Wiley-Blackwell, 2017.

Whatwashernameagain. “The Dreamer - Chapter 1.” Hello Guys Gals And Non Binary Friends, 8 Sept. 2019, https://whatwashernameagain.tumblr.com/post/187581477262/the-dreamer-chapter-1.

#THe dreamer #villain!logan #hero!roman #sanders sides #logince #logan sanders #roman sanders #logan/roman #analysis #readerresponse #sigmund freud #reaction #fanfiction

26 notes · View notes

sparklyricee · 5 years

Text

JVTFOE: 1B: Junior Jitters

Today will be the first day for everyone. Tom’s never been to a high school or any kind of school in his life. And for the other three, it would be their first day of being a junior. Oh how time flies by.

The four teenagers all planned to meet in front of the school in the morning to share schedules and help Tom go where he needs to go.

Tom and Janna were on their way to the Echo-Mewni Academy. Janna chose to wear the same shirt she always wears, pale blue jacket, yellow shorts, brown combat boots and of course, her olive green beanie.Tom had his usual outfit on though he wished he did switch it up a bit like Janna did, but it didn’t bother him too much, he was satisfied with what he was wearing.

“Man why does school have to be so early? Couldn’t they just change the time to like 10am or something?” Tom complained.

“I wish it was that easy, but high school has always started at 7am. Besides if we were here any later it would be chaos.” Janna explained.

“Ya know, we should be able to pick what classes we want to take and then have times available for whenever we want to come. I feel like that would be a LOT easier.” Tom said.

“That’s college, which isn’t that far from us either.” Janna sighed.

The two were almost to the school when they saw two other familiar faces. Star and Marco were standing their waving at them, but Star looked a little different. She had dark blue jumper with a white collared shirt. But something else was different, she cut her hair..really short.

“Oh! Looks like Star cut her mane!” Tom joked.

The blonde looked over and then waved to Janna and Tom. “Hi Janna! Hi Tom!”

Janna felt her face get hot and her heart start to pound. She actually didn’t think she was gonna do it. Star said she was gonna try something new for this school year and that she was gonna cut her hair short. Janna teased her how she wasn’t going to but sure enough, she did. It didn’t help that Janna still had complicated feelings for her, even though she knew how to hide it very well. She hated it honestly, she knew Star was happy with Marco and it would be a waste of time convincing her otherwise.

The Filipina girl grumbled in frustration with her overwhelming thoughts. Tom looked over at Janna, a bit confused actually. “You don’t like it? I thought you were the one who suggested she should.”

“No no, I like it. It’s something else.” Janna stated, veering away from telling him what the real issue was.

The four teenagers gathered by the front of the school and talked about their schedules and what lunches they had. As they all hoped, nothing had changed and they all had the same lunch period.

“Ya know, I think we should show Tom the ropes of school. I’m pretty sure they didn’t have that in the underworld.” Marco stated.

“Yeah, I’m not really sure how this works, only from what you guys have said.” Tom said fiddling with his schedule. This was gonna be interesting teaching him about earth school, then again he wouldn’t be the only one having this experience. But having all of us together who knows how this was gonna play out.

“I’m kinda nervous about this, this place looks kinda different from what I remember..I guess maybe because I’ve only been here once a long time ago.” Tom continued.

“Don’t worry man, we got your back. Once you’ve got the jist of school, it’ll just be a regular dumb routine you do for nine months.” Janna said.

“Yeah after the first few weeks it won’t be as scary as it looks. We’re all kinda adjusting to this new combined situation.” Marco agreed.

Tom grinned, he liked Marco’s words of reassurance but he was still really nervous. “Hey, I’ll show you around, it really isn’t as bad as it looks.” Janna said, bumping Tom’s arm with her elbow. Tom looked down at the short Filipina girl. “You would? Thanks Janna!” Tom said. She smiled and motioned him to follow her into the building. “We’ll catch you guys at lunch or whatever.” She said to Star and Marco.

Janna knew if those two were to show Tom around the school, they wouldn’t stop talking about themselves and unintentionally rubbing their relationship in his face. She rather her and Tom awkwardly walk around the school than him be more hurt than he is now.

“And this is the detention room, one year I was in there for almost two months, then they just had me to do community service because our teacher was tired of sending me to detention.” Janna explained.

“Geez, Why did they keep sending you?” Tom asked. Janna put her hands in her jacket pockets. “Various reasons, I was a bad kid. But it was mostly because I didn’t care.” She said.

Tom looked inside the window of the door, he saw a few kids just staring at the wall in front of them. Then he saw one curled up in a corner, gods know what they were saying. “This looks..depressing.” He said frowning.

“Yeah it was to be completely honest, but Star would come in some days and it would be really fun.” Janna said leaning against the hallway wall. “We’d always do some dumb shit to pass time and made being there not so bad. Sometimes I thought she went in because she didn’t want to be in class.” She continued.

“Well, maybe because you were there also. You two seem to have a good time together regardless.” Tom said turning to Janna.

Janna bit her lip trying not to say something smart about her. Knowing what he said hit hard but she knew he didn’t know it made her upset.

“Yeah, they were the good ole days. Sort of.” She said. Tom saw her smile fade after he said that. Did he say something that upset her? Maybe it was that she misses hanging out with Star all the time. If anything, he knew how horrible that feeling is.

“Hey Janna! Is that your boyfriend?” Someone behind them called out. It was Starfan13.

Both the girl and demon boy jumped by the sudden question. Janna was immediately irritated.

“Us? No no no, we’re just friends.” Tom answered.

The girl grinned and pushed up her glasses. “Uh huh, that’s what they all say at first?” She said and walked away.

“Man, I don’t know we’re doing anything..couple-y, right?” Tom asked.

“No. We weren’t.” Janna said. “We don’t have to, to have these bozos ship us together.”

Tom frowned. “Welp, lets just hope no one else does it to us then.”

Later that day the two met Star and Marco at the cafeteria for lunch. They all sat at one of the tables in the middle of the room after they got their lunch.

“This place is kinda weird, it has rooms for almost anything here.” Tom said holding his sandwich. Janna snickered as Marco chuckled. “Well, there are now more than five thousand students here, they definitely did a lot of remodeling.” He explained.

“Hm, I guess that makes sense.” Tom said.

There was a brief silence as the four ate their food. The cafeteria was filled with a variety of humans and monsters, all sitting together and groups and couples. A handful of them where even sitting outside because it was getting so full.

Janna sees some old friends walking towards her way. It was Ferguson and Alfonso.

“Hey! Guys!” Janna yelled waving her arm in the air. The two boys notice her and wave back. “Hey Janna! Long time no see.” Ferguson said walking towards her table. “Marco? Star? How’ve you guys been?” Alfonso asked.

Marco wrapped his arm around Star. “We’ve been doing great!” He said as Star nodded. “It’s been perfect, and I know it’ll be like this forever.” Star said softly, looking at Marco.

The two boys aww’d, Janna groaned and rolled her eyes.

“Oh come on Janna. You can’t pretend you’re the same way with your boyfriend.” Furguson said.

Janna froze. “Haha...what?”

“Yeah aren’t you and Tom dating?” Alfonso asked.

“Oh my god- Why would you guys think we’re dating? We’re just friends man!” Janna said in an irritated tone.

“Yeah man, Janna and I are just friends. I don’t even see her that way. Plus, I’m not really into girls that are mean to me, to be completely honest.” Tom added.

“Janna is a ‘play hard to get’ kind of girl, if she’s mean to you, that means she cares.” Furguson said.

“No it doesn’t actually, like at all.” Janna said.

“Besides, Marco and Star said they were just friends in the beginning, and look at them now. They’re a great example of a best friends to lovers scenario.” Furguson added.

Janna’s eye was twitching and her hand was in a fist. She was trying so hard not say something mean. Especially since the prime example was sitting right next to her. Tom was feeling quite uncomfortable how confident these two were that him and Janna were gonna be a thing.

As the two boys walk away, Janna and Tom turn to the couple. “Now look what you’ve done.” Janna joked. Was she really joking though?

“Hey! We didn’t know people were looking up to us!” Star laughed.

“But, why do they think we’re dating though? We’re not doing anything that show signs of that.” Tom said.

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure Tom wouldn’t want to date someone who can put cameras in someone's body.” Marco said.

Janna unclenches her fist. “First of all, it was one time. Second of all, it was for a very good reason.” Janna states.

Marco’s eyes widen and throws his arms up. “Wh- WHAT GOOD REASON-”

“Yeah anyways, we’re not even best friends. No offense.” Janna interrupted.

“No no, I understand.” Tom said.

“I’m not sure either, but don’t listen to them. Don’t let them ruin your friendship because they want you guys to be a thing.” Marco said.

It’s taking everything in Janna to not say something smart, because that’s literally how him and Star got together.

“It’s easier said than done, ya know.” Janna sighed.

To her it feels like she can’t have a guy friend without people thinking they’re a thing. It’s so irritating that not even her friends listen to her when she tells them to leave them alone.

Finally the day was over and the gang were making their way out the door. It was quite exhausting but at least it’s over now. They were almost out of the building until suddenly Starfan13 jumped right in front of them. She had some papers that were stapled and written on. This could only mean one thing.

“Guys, look! I wrote some fanfiction about you guys.``she blurted out.

Janna already felt her blood boiling, she thought she told her not to write about her anymore. Especially right now about her and Tom. She was so fed up with a lot of her friends today it was hard for her to be chill about anything at the moment, or act like it wasn’t a big deal, like the reputation she’s been trying to put on for the past few years.

When Starfan13 was about to hand her a stack, Janna put her hand in front of it and pushed it away from her. “ Dude, I told you, we’re not a thing.” She said sternly and pulled her hand away.

“Oh come on Janna! You can’t deny you at least like him!” Starfan teased.

Star walked up to the two girls. “Janna it’s okay! She wrote fanfics about Marco and I all the time, it’s not anything bad.” Star said.

Janna deeply inhaled. “Are you not understanding the difference here? You two LIKED each other. I don’t like Tom like that at all and I don’t feel comfortable with her making scenarios about us romantically! I’m pretty sure he feels uncomfortable too.”

“Okay but this isn’t anything to make a scene about!” Star said irritably.

Janna’s eye wided out of disbelief. She didn’t even try to make a scene, she didn’t want to. If she was really looking for attention, She would’ve ripped it up or smacked it out of her hand. As mad as she already was with everyone else, she didn’t have the heart to.

Janna sneakered. “I’m going home, I’m done.” She said and walked towards the door.

Star tried to catch her before she left.“Janna wait! This isn’t something to take personal-”

“Don’t talk to me!” Janna raised her voice and went out the door.

The rest of the group was silent for a second. “Starfan, I’m sorry she yelled at you.” Star said.

The brunette stared at the floor. “No, she has the right to be mad. She told me not to do it and I did it anyways.” She said.

Tom didn’t even know what to say, he was shocked at Janna didn’t explode since he could sense how tense she was. But he felt like he would be the only one to try to calm her down and talk to her.

“Hey, I’m gonna go too. I’ll see you guys tomorrow!” Tom said walking his way to the exit.

When Tom walked out of the school he found Janna sitting on the grass in the courtyard. She was cradling her face in her arms and had her legs up to her chest. Him talking to him will either make it better or worse, but it was worth a try.

Tom walked towards her and sat beside her. “Hey..” He said nervously.

Janna automatically recognized his voice. “What do you want.” She said, still having her head down.

He already knew it was gonna be hard to have her talk. He didn’t even know what to say to her.

“I know your frustration, it sucks when people won’t leave you alone about your personal life.” He started.

Janna sighed and put her head up. Her eyes and face were a little red, she was really upset about this.

“I feel like every time I’m friends with a guy, people harass me about getting together with him or the guy wanting to go out with me. It’s like I’m not allowed to have guy friends without some expectation of stupid romance going on. I know they might’ve been joking around, but it still irritates me to no end.”

Tom was surprised that she was telling him all this, they’re not even that close. He didn’t even know that she was holding all that inside.He doesn’t blame her though, he can see why she would feel uncomfortable and pressured to give in.

“ Yeah, I don’t blame you for feeling that way. I was kinda uncomfortable how persistent those guys were. It’s like they don’t take ‘no’ for an answer.” Tom said.

They were quiet for a few seconds. Janna started to feel a little better that her and Tom were really on the same page. She knew that he wouldn’t take those things lightly either, but she was mad at a lot of people right now.

“I’m glad you understand how I feel.” She started. Tom looked down at her, seeing her faintly smile. “ You know, you’re not really so bad of a guy.” She said looking up at him.

Tom wasn’t really expecting approval, however he was glad she was feeling better and that they could possible start a friendship.

Not much later, Star spotted the two sitting against the wall. She felt bad for what she said earlier, she realized shortly after what she said was kinda insensitive. Plus Janna isn’t the only to get mad, so she knew it was bad.

“Hey guys.” Star said walking towards them. Janna and Tom looked up at the blondie. Janna was still kind of mad at her and she wasn’t gonna hide it, but she wasn’t gonna ignore her and make things worse.

Star crouched down in front of them. “Janna, I know you probably don’t want to talk right now, but I’m sorry for being a jerk earlier. I didn’t know that stuff bothered you so much.” She said.

She really didn’t want to hear it, however it was nice that she was acknowledging what she said was a jerk move. Really the ones who should be apologizing were Starfan and the boys. But at this point,who knows if they even realized it made her and Tom uncomfortable.

“No one likes being pressured into things Star, I don’t want people telling me who to date because they want me to.” Janna said crossing her arms.

“Yeah, I understand that and I feel really bad for not thinking of it that way.” Star said.

“Ya know, today wasn’t a total disaster. Janna and I actually had a lot of fun checking out the school, and we learned a few things about each other. She’s not too bad of a gal.” Tom said.

“Yeah I liked hanging out with you today, it was pretty cool.” Janna said.

A/N:

Before some of ya’ll yell at me for “killing Jantom” , please understand the moral of the episode

Peer pressure isn’t cool, it isn’t funny nor cute. There are times where friendships could end because shipping them together makes them uncomfortable. Some people take it differently, but in this case it’s uhhhhh not cool.

That is all! Big update coming soon!!

#Janna Ordonia #tom lucitor #star vs the forces of evil #svtfoe #janna vs the forces of earth-ni #jvtfoe

9 notes · View notes

sharada-n · 5 years

Text

(7: A kiss to shut them up) Ah yes, the poly ship sails once more

Anybody with a working pair of eyes could plainly see that Moomin was absolutely, completely, head over heels in love with Snufkin.

It wasn’t exactly surprising. Moomin was the kind of person who craved adventure, who always went looking for some interesting situation to absorb himself into or a new story to be a part of. Who utterly lived for excitement, no matter where that may lead him.

But Moomin was also the kind of person who often found those things in others instead of himself, and when it came to interesting or new, Snufkin stood out in Moominvalley like a Woodie in a row of Hattifatteners.

Most of the other creatures in the valley were of a more complacent nature. While many fascinating and sometimes rather bizarre things happened there, most of them regarded these happenings with a kind of detached unease, largely concerned whether this latest strange occurrence was likely to intervene with their habitual afternoon tea.

Snufkin was of the wandering variety though. Somebody who knew a whole lot but said very little, full of surprises and unexpected musings, who distanced himself from others but was always kind and polite in the most unmundane ways possible. It wasn’t hard to imagine why so many adored him, and it wasn’t hard to imagine why Moomin was smitten with him.

And he wasn’t exactly subtle about it either. It was only for so long that a boy could stare longingly out the window wondering when his best friend would reappear to figuratively and literally chase away the cold of winter before people became suspect.

So it came to be that everybody knew. Everybody but Moomin himself, who was all kinds of amazing but could be daft as a pile of bricks when it concerned Snufkin. And Snufkin himself, who had the average communication skills of a potato and was not at all adapt at handling emotional matters. So there wasn’t much hope of the situation resolving by itself.

People often asked Snorkmaiden if this irritated her. Moomin was her boyfriend after all, had been ever since they started playing house and make-believe on the grassy downs of the valley and really, wasn’t it rather irksome to see her love pining so desperately for another?

And if pressed she could tell them that yes, it bothered her. It bothered her endlessly, in fact. Just not for the reason most people assumed it did.

Principally, she just wanted Moomin to be happy. Snufkin made Moomin very happy. She herself made Moomin very happy as well. And he made her the happiest Snork in the world, because if anything he was devoted to her like no other was, kind and soft and thoughtful. He was just similarly devoted to Snufkin, of course, and seeing him tying himself into knots over the whole situation was what really bothered her at the end of the day.

The heart of the matter was simple. Moomin was in love with Snufkin. Snufkin was clearly in love with Moomin. Moomin was in love with Snorkmaiden as well, and she herself obviously fancied him a lot. But what people often forgot was that Snorkmaiden was friends with Snufkin too, had known him at least as long as Moomin had even and spent many sunny summer afternoons together in quiet contentment. And he wasn’t exactly hard on the eyes either.

Moomin and her were already girlfriend and boyfriend of course. But the way she saw it there was no reason why Snufkin couldn’t be their boyfriend also. The solution shouldn’t be any more complicated than that.

“Do you like Moomin?”

Snufkin stalled for a moment, almost losing his grip on the fishing rod and having it tumble into the river. He recovered quickly though, fake-coughing politely into one fist instead but refraining from answering immediately. Snorkmaiden either didn’t notice or didn’t care, she was busy making flower crowns out of the wild geraniums that grew on the riverbank.

“Of course I do.” He answered after a few moments, cautiously. Snufkin wasn’t exactly opposed to company when that company was content with sitting in silence next to him enjoying the peaceful afternoon and not bothering him directly. But conversations that started with questions, particularly questions like these, had the disconcerting tendency of veering into terrain he rather steered clear of.

Moomin had taken Sniff and Little My on some kind of adventure today, Snorkmaiden decided to stay behind and that in itself should have been enough to tip him off that something was not right really.

But she didn’t say anything more and Snufkin had just started thinking he might have been let off the hook (unlike the fish he was currently reeling in) when she spoke again.

“Do you like like him though?”

The reel handle spun rapidly as he lost his grip once more, the minnow was probably under some sort of divine protection because it used the sudden slackness of the line to try and extract itself from the hook post-haste, and Snufkin didn’t even have the presence of mind to notice.

“I don’t know what you mean.” He lied.

Snorkmaiden huffed, the kind of little annoyed huff some people do when they can tell you are telling them a fib but are too courteous to call you out on it directly. She finished her crown and put it on her head, trying to admire her own reflection in the river but the fish was causing too many ripples with its great escape attempt for her to see herself clearly.

There were another few tugs and then it succeeded in freeing itself and swam merely down the stream, saved from becoming Snufkin’s dinner for at least another day. Snorkmaiden looked at him and if he didn’t know any better he’d say she was smirking.

“I think you know exactly what I mean.” She said.

“I really need to be getting back.” He answered instead, dropping the fishing pole right then and there and leaving his bait too. Moominvalley wasn’t exactly a hotbed for criminal activity so he was sure it would still be there when he came back for it.

And if not he could always get a new one.

For the next few days Snufkin avoided being alone with Snorkmaiden as much as possible. This wasn’t exactly a hard thing to do, usually Moomin would be spending time with either of them (if not both of them) at any given moment after all.

But he noticed her watching him more shrewdly than was usual, as if analyzing his every movement and it made him slightly nervous. Normally Snufkin wasn’t the kind of person to be much bothered by other people’s opinions of him, but just once Moomin had embraced him in a moment of sudden exhilaration, throwing his paws around Snufkin’s shoulder shortly and impulsively and he had been able to feel Snorkmaiden’s eyes burning into his back.

Only on one occasion did she manage to corner him in the kitchen of the Moominhouse, staring at him intently for a moment, before standing at the counter next to him and watching him make coffee. Moominmamma had been so kind as to lend him her kettle, since he had lost his own during the previous winter.

Snorkmaiden leaned onto the countertop slightly, batting her eyelashes up at him almost innocently. Girls could be so weird sometimes. “I know you like Moomin.”

“Oh?” Was the only noise he had been able to make at that moment.

“I think he likes you too.”

And that had sent a very undignified blush all the way onto his cheeks, though he tried using his scarf as cover to hide it.

Snorkmaiden and Moomin were dating. Snufkin knew this. And he wasn’t scared of a lot of things, you really can’t be a good nomad if you are, but on the other hand there was this belief that hell hath no fury like a woman scorned and Snufkin had not the slightest intention of finding out if this was true.

“It’s fine.” He said, abandoning the coffee half-done. “It’s nothing, really. We’re just friends.” And then he fled the kitchen without waiting to hear her response.

So far Snorkmaiden could only assume her purpose had been awfully misconstrued.

The subtle approach clearly wasn’t relaying her intentions correctly, for Snufkin had taken to darting away from her at every chance, much like a frightened animal will do when backed into an unpleasant situation.

She had tried most everything she could think of now to get the conversation going without having to resort to drastic and dramatic gestures. Snufkin wasn’t the type of person to go for those. It would make him uncomfortable, she knew. Then again, he had already begun to refuse to be around her at all lately, and by extension around Moomin too and that had quite been the opposite of her goal.

Though it would be unbecoming of a lady, she had no choice but to wait for the perfect opportunity to present itself and then do something completely uncouth.

The perfect opportunity did present itself a mere two days later. Snorkmaiden had been out for an evening walk, as she was sometimes wont to do, to admire the beauty of nature and also to get out of the house since her brother had worked himself up into a frenzy again about one thing or another.

She had stopped by the Moominhouse but her love wasn’t there. It was reasonable to assume he might be off with Snufkin then, but when she crossed the bridge who should she find but the wanderer himself, busy at work on alighting his fire pit.

“Snufkin.” She called, and the boy startled so badly he banged his head against the pot hanging above the fire. Snorkmaiden giggled, but hid it behind her hand. She was still a lady, despite what she was about to do.

“Snorkmaiden.” He said, without turning around and while rubbing his forehead gingerly. “Moomin isn’t here.”

“I know.” And she walked around to sit on the tree trunk opposite him.

She could tell Snufkin was thinking about running off again. He did that thing where his eyes darted around as if looking for convenient excuses. However, she didn’t think he was desperate enough to abandon his tent, which was a lot harder to replace than a fishing rod, and leave his dinner to burn completely. In fact she was counting on it.

“Can we talk?”

Snufkin stopped tending to his forehead (which was probably less a case of concussion and more of crippled pride) and returned to his pot. “Of course.” He mumbled. “We’re talking right now.”

“It’s about Moomin.”

“Is it?” He leaned back gingerly, the flames of the fire reflecting unsteadily in his dark eyes.

“I think he’s in love with you.”

“Do you?”

“I think you’re in love with him as well.”

“You reckon?”

Snorkmaiden crossed her arms and he looked at her for the first time since she arrived.

“I’m sorry.” He said then and she could tell he was trying hard not to get flustered again. “But I can assure you it’s really nothing.”

“It doesn’t have to be nothing though.” She said, getting up and walking over and he straightened, tensing.

He took a step back but she ignored that. “Snorkmaiden, I really didn’t mean to-”

She took both of his paws in hers then, effectively shutting him up. They were rough like tree bark, nothing like Moomin’s, but warm too. His eyes were wide, and when he took another step back she followed.

“Nothing happened.” He breathed quickly. “Really in fact, I think nothing ever happened or ever will. I do know how much he adores you and you adore him and surely you know I only wish to be a good friend-”

Snufkin was rambling now, voice just a tiny bit desperate and Snorkmaiden couldn’t help but think herself cruel. Of course she could remedy that.

His lips were soft. She pressed against them firmly, so there might not be another misunderstanding as to her intentions now, and he swallowed any other words as she did so, nuzzling against him slightly.

When she pulled back she couldn’t tell if his face was just that red or if it was the glow of the campfire.

“What was that?” He nearly squeaked, blinking numbly at her.

“It was a kiss, dummy.”

“Was it?”

Snorkmaiden glared at him, annoyed. She had quite forgotten kisses were probably not the same for a Mumrik as they were for a Snork or Moomintroll, but he had seen her do this with Moomin enough times to know, surely.

So she did it again, light and feathery and he closed his eyes, pressing into the motion, his paws still clasped in hers. She could hear the frantic movements of a tail swaying side to side rapidly but didn’t know if it was his or her own.

“Moomin?” He whispered, uncertain, once they pulled back. Snorkmaiden smiled.

“Oh, I think he will be quite pleased with the whole ordeal.”

Snorkmaiden wasn’t the type of person to think she was always right. Others might think she was self-absorbed at times, but really she only was in a round-about way. Things concerned her if they involved her and otherwise they were rather tedious.

The sun was still bright and the weather warm and lively for late autumn, though the trees had already changed hues to breathtaking colors. The flowers now were late-bloomers, the air heavy with their scent.

Snufkin shifted in the grass. Snorkmaiden didn’t know if he was sleeping or not, his hat discarded somewhere to the side, but he looked very comfortable with his head resting in Moomin’s lap. The troll was idly playing with their boyfriend’s hair, which was becoming quite long now.

She leaned against Moomin’s side, shoulder to shoulder and he turned to her and nuzzled her cheek for a moment. Then she leaned forward and booped Snufkin’s nose, just because she could.

“I can’t believe autumn is already ending.” She sighed, as he opened his eyes to look at them for a moment. “And then you’ll be leaving.”

He hummed in answer, closing his eyes again and then smiling slightly. “I will have to write two goodbye letters this year then, I suppose.”

“Or just one addressed to the both of us.” Moomin said matter-of-factly, then adding slyly. “A grand love declaration, with a poem and everything.”

Snufkin made a non-commital noise, using one hand to shield his face from the glaring sun, though it was more likely he was trying to hide his blush again.

He still wasn’t very used to that word, even in reference to their newly blossoming relationship. Snorkmaiden knew it would only be a matter of time though.

“As long as you be careful in watching out for yourself.” She said. “Then we will be watching out for each other. And missing you terribly.”

Snufkin didn’t comment, but it was clear that he knew. Next spring, there would be two people eagerly waiting for him to return.

#moomin #moominvalley #snufkin #snorkmaiden #snufmin #snormin #snoomin #i don't know what all the relationship tags are send help #my writing #prompts #Snufmaiden

113 notes · View notes