#sometimes I understand mo's impatience with that sort of thing

[mandiemon3]

The Best Revenge is Living Well- Chapter 30

“Y’know, I know a good number of knots,” Fang said casually, wrapping a thick rope around his arm, skillfully coiling it into a neat loop for storage. “I’d be happy to show the others a thing or two. Don’t want you and Izzy doing all the hard work.” He frowned softly, his eyebrows knitting together as he shook his head, his gaze fixed down on the thick rope snaking across the floor of the storage room he and Mo themselves in. The lucky pair had been tasked with organizing one of the many rooms aboard, still working their way through the ship to sort things out after everything fell to shambles under Blackbeard’s care. “Two of you, you’ve been working yourselves to the bone.”

Mo chuckled, giving their friend a warm smile. “Thank you,” they said sincerely, holding his gaze when he caught their eye. “I’ll run it by the boss,” they promised, returning to their own rope and neatly winding it. “I’m pretty sure Izzy won’t have any issue.” They chuckled, grinning widely as they turned to face their friend, their hands never stilling. “I think he’s finally coming around to the whole letting other people help thing, so I’m sure he’ll take you up on your offer.”

Fang giggled, his kind eyes twinkling and his shoulders shaking as he looked across the room at them, not pausing his methodical winding of the rope. Mo frowned, raising an eyebrow questioningly.

“Sorry,” he said weakly, wiping at his eye, still chuckling to himself. “It’s just,” he giggled again, fighting to stay composed when he looked at them, “well, Izzy’s not the boss.” He grinned at the confused expression on their face, their frown deepening and their brow furrowed. “Oh, you don’t get it?” he asked softly, carefully setting his bundle of rope down on a nearby crate and crossing the small room to ruffle their hair affectionately.

Mo shook their head, still frowning as they dodged away from his hand. “Care to fill me in?” they asked, beginning to grow irritated at not understanding. They plopped their coil into an open crate of similarly detangled rope with a small huff. They could tell he meant no harm, that he wasn’t being patronizing on purpose, but that didn’t make it any less frustrating.

Fang chuckled again at their impatient tone. “He might be boss out there,” he said slowly, nodding towards the door as he smiled down at them softly, “but not to you, dear. Izzy’s never been the type to be in charge, at least not when he’s in love. It’s just not in his nature.”

Mo gave a short laugh, their friend grinning as he watched them, another fit of giggles bubbling up from his chest, rattling his large necklace as his chest heaved.

“Guess you’re right,” they admitted after a moment. They laughed again, more fully as they thought it over. “It’s kind of funny, really,” they said, looking down at the floor. They kicked their boot absentmindedly, smiling fondly as they thought of their partner. “He’s so assertive as first mate, so sure of himself. He knows that he has power and that he deserves it, that he’s worked hard for it and earned it.” They grinned, giggling as Fang gave them a giddy smile. “It’s the opposite of how he is as just…well, Izzy. My Izzy.” They toyed with the chain of their locket, twirling it between their fingers as they spoke. “He’s still confident, even kind of cocky sometimes, but…I don’t know.” They sighed, shaking their head fondly as they smiled. “He’s just different. He never sees himself as an authority, and he treats me like an equal. He’s sweet, and thoughtful. Just…perfectly him.” Fang smiled, his eyes soft as he watched them. He cleared his throat as he shifted, adjusting his stance so he leaned back against the wall of the small room. “Spent 20 years hoping,” he said quietly, watching them happily. He chuckled when Mo frowned, their eyebrows knitting together in confusion once more.

“Izzy’s a good first mate,” he explained. “But he was never happy.” His voice was sad, his eyes downturned as he remembered the way the prickly man once was. “No matter how well we did, how much the legend of Blackbeard grew. Even when Edward was happy, Iz never was.” His eyes grew distant, a small frown finding its way on his usually cheerful face. “Think he knew it wouldn’t last. Or maybe it was just because of Edward.” He shook his head sadly, his soulful eyes dark as he looked at his companion. “Those two, there was so much love there,” he said quietly, his voice betraying the heartbreak he felt for them. “All for nothing.”

Mo nodded solemnly, smiling sadly down at the floor. They had always known that Izzy had a special relationship with his captain. Anyone with eyes could see the way he looked at him when they first joined the Revenge, following behind the legendary pirate like a neglected dog, desperate for a scrap of attention and lashing out in sadness and frustration whenever Edward would push him away in favor of Stede. Izzy was only that fiercely loyal to people who he loved more than anyone or anything, willing to throw away his life in a moment if he thought it would help keep them safe or happy. Mo had never spoken their thoughts aloud, not wanting to bring back bad memories for their partner of the man who never loved him back, but they knew it all the same. Once upon a time, Izzy had been in love with Edward Teach, and it had almost ruined him.

Mo swallowed thickly. “Maybe it won’t be for nothing,” they said quietly, smiling softly at the hopeful look in their friend’s eye. They shrugged halfheartedly. “I don’t know. Maybe Stede can help Edward. Maybe they can both be happy, Izzy and Edward.” They chuckled, their smile growing. “Going to do my best to make sure that Izzy at least is happy,” they vowed, grinning down at their boots as they shuffled on their feet.

Fang nodded, smiling softly. “He is,” he said, with a certainty only someone who’d known the man for decades could have. “More than I’ve ever seen.”

As Mo had expected, Izzy accepted Fang’s offer to help teach the crew knots. Between the three, and with Jim’s help filling in any gaps in their curriculum, the crew continued to make steady progress. The sharing of responsibilities, something Izzy was becoming more amicable to day by day, relieved some of the tension weighing on the overworked man, and he slowly began to return to his former self.

One morning, he suggested to his partner at breakfast that they resume their night lessons, dedicating an hour or so a night to working on the advancement of their own skills. Mo was eager to accept, knowing that each day the crew grew closer to catching up to them, and that before long, they’d have nothing left to teach. They were also more than happy to spend time with Izzy, listening to him explain how to navigate using the stars as a guide, or how to predict the weather based on the wind, clouds, and waves.

More than once, Izzy would turn back to them after pointing out something noteworthy, just to grin at the lovestruck expression on his partner’s face, taking the chance to scold them teasingly and remind them to pay attention.

Mo frowned, looking up at their love with adoring eyes. “How am I supposed to be able to focus on the clouds when you’re here with me?” they asked softly. They rested their hands on Izzy’s hips, his arms wrapping behind their head as they stepped closer, facing him more fully.

He smirked. “Need me to find someone else to teach you?” he teased quietly, tilting his head closer, his nose grazing against their forehead. “I could go get Fang, or even Edward.”

Mo huffed a short laugh, grinning as his eyes twinkled. “I think I’ll stick with you,” they said, standing up taller to kiss him softly. They laughed as they pulled apart. “Unless you’re sick of me,” they added with a grin, their face inches from his.

Izzy hummed quietly, his hand tangling itself into the hair at the base of their neck. “I’ll manage,” he said lowly, already pulling them in for another kiss.

Mo had only just brought their hand up to cup his face, pulling him closer by the back of his neck, when a loud whistle rang out. The pair startled, breaking apart as each turned, searching for the source of the sound. Mo gave a quiet sigh of relief when they found Roach and Oluwande standing by the door leading below deck. Izzy huffed, his hand resting on his partner’s shoulder as he noticed their observers. Olu at least had the decency to look embarrassed, doing his best to suppress his small smile, and turning away from the pair, his ears dusted with pink. Roach had no such discretion, doing nothing to hide his wide grin, a wild glint in his eyes as he watched them.

Izzy shifted, turning to face their unexpected guests. “Can we help you, boys?” His voice was level, meeting Roach’s gaze unashamed, even as the cook chuckled.

Roach waved his hand dismissively. “No, no,” he said, still grinning. “Don’t mind me.”

Mo scoffed. “Why the fuck’d you whistle if you didn’t want our attention?” Izzy nodded beside them, his hand slipping down to rest on their lower back.

Oluwande coughed, looking uncomfortable at the situation he found himself in. “We, we were just finishing up in the galley for the night,” he said awkwardly, finding it hard to meet either of their gazes. "Sorry, didn’t mean to intrude.”

Izzy grunted as he frowned, clearly not convinced. “Roach doesn’t look sorry,” he noted levelly, nodding towards the tall man.

Roach chuckled, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back against the railing of the ship. “Just never seen a navigation lesson with this much kissing,” he said casually, his eyes glinting mischievously. “Is this what you always do?”

Mo laughed, wrapping an arm around Izzy’s waist to rest their hand on his hip. “I wish,” they joked, giving their partner a fond smile. He rolled his eyes, shaking his head in an attempt to hide his small chuckle. They turned back to face the cook, giving him a stern look as they pointed at him. “Don’t think this means you’ll get a kiss from Iz if he teaches you navigation,” they warned. “He’s all mine, so you’ll have to go find your own man.”

Roach scoffed. “As if he would know what to do with this,” he said, gesturing to his own body. He didn’t react when Izzy scoffed or Mo grinned. “Besides, I have no interest in your angry little man,” he continued. “Wouldn’t if he was single,” he stressed. “Certainly don’t when you two are practically wed.”

Izzy sighed wearily. “Alright, Roach,” he said, nodding back towards the door leading below deck. “Off you go. We’re busy here, if you haven’t noticed.”

Roach smirked, giving Mo a smug look. “Ah, yes,” he said, nodding slowly, his eyes squinted coyly. “Very busy.” He turned, opening the door leading down below deck, pausing as he moved to walk down the steps. “Just remember to give me advanced notice for that cake,” he called, not bothering to turn back as he waved his hand over his shoulder in their direction. “Takes a while to make the fancy ones, and a wedding deserves a fancy one.” Olu smacked at his raised arm, jerking his head towards the open door and silently pleading that he stop.

“Sorry, ‘bout that!” the friendly man said sincerely as Roach ducked through the door. He looked like he would shrink into the shadows if he could, just to avoid the pairs of eyes fixed on him as he scratched his head nervously. “Ha-have a good night!” He gave a small wave, one Mo returned before he hurriedly ducked below deck, closing the door with a click behind him.

“Fuckin’ Roach,” Izzy grumbled, turning to look over the rolling waves of the ocean. His voice lacked any anger, finding himself only lightly annoyed by his friend’s pestering. “Needs to keep his nose out of things. I expect this much from Spriggs,” he added, looking over at his partner, his brow furrowed, “but not him. Guess that’s my mistake.”

Mo smiled, resting their weight on their arm against the railing next to him as he returned his gaze to the sea. “You know he’s just teasing,” they said softly, brushing their fingers through the greying hair at his temple. Their smile grew when Izzy turned to look at them.

“I know, Mo.” He took their hand in his own, lifting it to his lips to kiss their knuckles. His gloved thumb smoothed over their skin as he lowered it back down. “Doesn’t make it any less annoying though, now does it?”

They laughed. “Think he just wants an excuse to have a wedding,” they said, smirking at their partner. “Don’t know if it’s for the cake, or wanting an excuse to try new recipes, or actually being happy for us.”

Izzy hummed in thought. “Could be all three,” he pointed out. “Either way, he’ll have to learn some patience.” His eyes softened, his gaze fixed down on their still intertwined fingers, hanging between them. “Doesn’t come as naturally to everyone as it does to you,” he teased dryly, his eyes flicking up towards his partner, a small smile pulling at his lips.

Mo huffed a short laugh, squeezing his hand. “I’m not always patient, Iz,” they said reluctantly. “Been known to blow my fuse a few times.”

He shook his head slightly, his soft gaze fixed on them, a small smile still gracing his lips. “You’ve always been patient with me,” he insisted, “even when I didn’t deserve it. Even when I’ve been a twat, you’ve been there, never pushing me for more than I could give.” His smile widened, his eyes soft as he looked down at them. “Fuckin’ love you,” he whispered, looking deeply into their eyes.

Mo smiled. “I love you too.” They leaned forward, kissing his cheek, chuckling when he squeezed their hand. “You know, Roach isn’t exactly wrong,” they said carefully, stepping away from the railing to circle Izzy. He turned to face them as they moved, letting them pin him back against the railing, their thumb stroked over his swallow tattoo as they looked into his dark eyes. "At a certain point, we might want to stop calling these lessons and start calling them dates.”

Izzy grinned, giving a short laugh as he pulled them closer, his hands resting on their waist as he leaned back against the railing. “Not my fault,” he retorted cheekily. “I’m doing my part. You’re the one with the hots for your teacher.”

Mo laughed loudly, resting their forehead against his shoulder as they shook. When they began to calm, they looked up, still chuckling as their eyes shone. “Can you blame me?” they teased, standing up to press another kiss to his cheek. “Have you seen yourself, Israel? Not to mention your voice.” They grinned as Izzy blushed, his nose and cheeks dusted with a light pink.

He dipped his head lower, resting his forehead against theirs. “Will you ever give me a break?” he asked, chuckling softly. Mo hummed, pretending to think before they shook their head, smiling as Izzy leaned down to kiss them.

When he pulled back, he took their hands in his own. “A date, huh?” he asked quietly, his low voice coming out soft, seeming to enjoy the thought.

Mo chuckled. They nodded, giving him a bright smile. “Yeah, a real date,” they said, meeting his soft gaze. “Y’know, we’ve never been on a date. Done a lot of fun things together, but never an official date.”

Izzy hummed, frowning slightly as he looked down at them. “We had that time at that tavern,” he said levelly. “Back at Saint Francis.”

Mo laughed, relishing the feeling of his gloved thumb running over their hand. “Right before I hauled you off to the inn?” they asked, grinning impishly. They laughed again as Izzy chuckled, letting his head fall down to rest on their shoulder. “Real classy of us, Iz, I gotta say.”

“I see your point,” he mumbled, breathing out a short laugh as Mo kissed his temple. He slowly raised his head, releasing one of their hands to cup their chin, guiding them to look up at him. As if they could look anywhere other than his dark expressive eyes.

“And what would you have us do?” he asked, his hushed voice coming out low and rumbly, the perfect gravely sound that they had come to love so much. “If we were to have a proper date.”

Mo hummed, a small smile flickering across their face as they looked up at the man they loved. From anyone else, the contact would feel stifling, making their heart race for a different reason. But this was Izzy, the person they trusted above all, with every fiber of their being.

They shrugged after a moment. “I don’t really know,” they admitted quietly, leaning into his touch as he held their cheek. “If we were on land, we could go somewhere, get away from the crew for a bit. Maybe get some food, some drinks.” They smiled. “Maybe I could convince you to dance with me,” they suggested bashfully, their eyes dropping down to look at his tie, and the ring that hung from it. The polished gold caught the moonlight reflected off the sea’s waves, making it look like it was glowing in the low light. Izzy chuckled weakly, his gaze never faltering. “Got a wooden leg, darling,” he said softly. “Don’t think I’d be the best partner.”

Mo grinned cheekily, squeezing his hand softly. “You already are,” they said, chuckling as he scoffed softly. “It doesn’t matter if you’re any good at it,” they continued, more sincerely. “I’m no dancer, believe me. I’m pretty awful, to be honest.” They smiled, laughing as Izzy grinned, looking at them expectantly as he braced himself for another joke he could tell was coming. “You might appreciate only having the one leg. Only gives me one set of toes to step on.”

Izzy gave a breathless laugh, his warm breath fanning their face. “Finally,” he drawled sarcastically, “something that makes it all worth it.” His dark eyes were soft, an open book as he looked at them. They had a familiar warmth to them, the kind that warmed Mo’s heart, spreading through them in a comfortable wave.

They smiled softly. “What do you think?” they asked hesitantly, their thumb rubbing a small circle into his hip as they looked up at him. “Want to go on a date with me?”

Izzy grinned, chuckling softly as he nodded. He tucked a lock of hair behind their ear. “Yes,” he said, his voice shaking as he stifled a laugh, looking deep into their eyes. “Yes, love, I’ll go on a date with you.”

Mo smirked. “That’s good.” They gave him a quick peck on his lips. “It would be pretty awkward if you said no,” they joked. He laughed, shaking his head incredulously. They raised their hand, cupping his cheek and smiling at the soft scratch of his sideburns against the sensitive pad of their thumb. “What about you?” they asked quietly. “Have any date night ideas?”

Izzy breathed out a short laugh, his eyes twinkling. “Anything with you is good,” he said softly. Slowly, a small smirk crept its way across his face. “Something away from the others would be better,” he confessed after a moment. “The more private, the better. Unless we dock back at the Republic,” he added with a coy smirk. He seemed almost hesitant to continue, opening and closing his mouth before he got the words out. “I’d like to show you off,” he admitted quietly, giving them a timid glance, his lips still pulled up in a lopsided grin. “I’d like to see the look on Jackie’s face, seeing us together. Seeing you with me.” Mo grinned. “Think the look might be rage, love, maybe even bloodlust,” they warned. “I did basically tell her to kick rocks when we left. Not to mention turning her down over and over.” Izzy chuckled, pressing his forehead against theirs. “Fuckin’ told you she’d make a move,” he gloated, grinning smugly down at them. All they could do was smile softly. “Can’t blame me for wanting to show off,” he continued. “Not when it’s you.” He smirked again, giving them a pleading look, his dark eyes wide. “C’mon, darling, let this old man have that at least.”

Mo sighed, rolling their eyes halfheartedly. “You’re not old, Israel,” they said warily. And if it’s safe for us to be that close to Jackie, if we know she won’t go after me or you, then of course.” They smiled. “You’re not the only one who’d like to brag a bit,” they said, their thumb running over the tattoo under his eye. “Who else can say they have such an accomplished partner? Let alone one so handsome and refined. I really did win the jackpot with you, my love.”

They grinned as Izzy blushed, ducking his head as he hid his face in their neck.

“Piss off,” he said weakly, his voice muffled by their collar as they pulled him closer.

Mo chuckled. “Love you too, Iz.” They pressed a kiss to his temple, cradling the back of his head gently, careful not to muss his hair too much. He kissed the exposed skin of their neck as he began to pull away, his facial hair tickling them and making them squirm, their grip on his shoulders tightening.

 He held their face as he stood up to his full height. A soft smile graced his lips, his beautiful eyes sparkling. “I’ll dance with you,” he said quietly, his voice coming out low and rough. Mo smiled, and he chuckled, the soft pink of his tongue showing as he grinned widely. “Won’t be any good,” he cautioned, a humorous lilt to his voice, “but I’ll do it. For you.” He kissed their forehead, exhaling contently when they wrapped their arms around him, tucking their head under his chin as they pressed against him.

“We’re going to have the best fuckin’ date.”

Izzy laughed, resting his nose against their head, his warm breath tickling their scalp. “’Course we will, darling. You’ll be there.”

By the end of the next day, Izzy was sweaty and sore, his muscles aching as he made his way back to his cabin. Mo caught up to him on the way, leaving Frenchie and Lucius behind as they chased after their partner, taking his hand as they approached him and giving him a small smile when he glanced over at them, a soft smile gracing his lips.

“How are you doing?” they asked, examining him closely. They wouldn’t put it past him to lie, doing his best to downplay his pain out of perceived duty. They could see the slow way he walked, the small grimaces when he shifted his weight onto his bad leg and the pained groans he did his best to stifle.

It had been a long day, and it didn’t help that Stede was finally beginning to get the hang of hand-to-hand combat. He’d finally been able to land a blow on the first mate, taking him by surprise when Black Pete had called out a question from across the deck and Izzy had turned, not expecting Stede to be willing to throw a punch when his opponent wasn’t looking. The captain had apologized profusely, but Izzy had only laughed, clutching his abdomen as he waved him away, saying he did well.

Izzy shrugged, sighing wearily. “Been better,” he admitted, meeting their scrutinizing gaze. “Been worse, too.” He gave them a soft smile, squeezing their hand gently, his gruff voice growing softer. “I’ll feel better after some sleep.”

Mo frowned. “I have an idea for something that might make you feel better,” they said slowly. Izzy smirked, glancing at them coyly from the corner of his eye as he walked. “Not that,” they said exasperatedly, unable to hide their grin when he laughed. He had such a wonderful laugh, so full bodied and hoarse on occasion, his eyes sparkling as he grinned.

He shrugged, still grinning lazily. “Can’t blame me for thinking about it,” he said, his low voice lilted with humor.

They nudged him gently with their elbow. “I could,” they said, “but it’d be hypocritical.” They chuckled, their heart fluttering as he laughed again. They hoped the rest of their life would be filled with the lovely sound.

“So?” he asked, flashing them a questioning look. “If not that, what is this grand idea?”

Mo took a deep breath, gently swinging their intertwined hands between them as they walked. “Well,” they said, “if you’re sore, which you probably are judging from they way you look, and you’re dirty, which you definitely are from the way you smell, a nice bath could help.”

Izzy gaped in faux offense, turning to his partner with a look of exaggerated indignation, still making his way slowly through the ship. Mo giggled, holding onto his arm.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he grumbled, shaking his head at them disapprovingly. “You telling me that I stink?”

Mo laughed. “I didn’t say that,” they pointed out, unable to hide their small smile when he looked at them, “but I also wouldn’t disagree with it.”

Izzy huffed, his eyes fixed down the hall as he processed. They might have believed he was actually upset if not for the way he ran his thumb over their hand, or the slight uptick of his lips.

“Relax, Iz,” they laughed. “I’m just saying, why go to bed dirty when you could go to bed clean? And the hot water could help ease all those aching muscles.” He met their eyes, giving him a sympathetic smile. “You look dead on your feet, my love. And Stede has that big bathtub, which I’m sure he’d be more than willing to share, especially after you spent all day coaching him on how to, well, not get killed.”

Izzy groaned, grimacing as he looked at them. “Who knows what’s happened in that tub,” he said lowly, his lip curling at the thought.

Mo grinned. “That’s what’s stopping you?” they asked, unable to stop their short laugh as he shrugged, clearly not enjoying thinking about it. “Izzy,” they said gently, “this could help you. And besides, this is Stede we’re talking about. I could imagine Edward doing something, but Stede? In a bathtub?” They chuckled, shaking their head. “Not a chance in hell.”

He barked out a short laugh, reluctantly nodding. “Fair point.”

They held onto his arm, holding him still with them as they stopped walking. They couldn’t help but smile when he stopped, already turning towards them without a thought, his free hand coming up to rest against their neck as he looked down at them.

“For real,” Mo said, meeting his gaze comfortably, “I think it could help you. I can ask Stede if you want, so you don’t even have to see him anymore today. What do you think?”

Izzy sighed, his thumb slowly running over their sensitive skin. “Is this one of your ‘telling, not asking moments?” he asked quietly, searching their eyes for an answer.

They grinned, shaking their head. “No, love,” they promised. “I’m asking. Whatever you want to do.”

He frowned, thinking it over as he looked down at them. After a few moments, he cleared his throat.

“Fine.” Mo smiled. “On one condition,” he continued, giving them a pointed look.

Mo looked at him, squinting suspiciously. It was unlike Izzy to ask for something. He usually tiptoed around things when it came to his own needs, relying whether he knew it or not on his partner to know him well enough to anticipate his wants and needs. As assertive as the man was as first mate, he struggled to take up space in his personal relationships, never wanting to ask too much. They nodded for him to continue. If he was willing to ask for something, they didn’t want to discourage him.

A smile flickered across his face as he looked down at them, moving to curl his fingers in their overgrown hair. “You let me fix this mess,” he said simply.

Mo let out a short laugh, grinning as they looked up at him. “Oh, so you don’t like me with long hair then?” they asked playfully, toying with his collar. “You even have to call it a mess, to really drive the point home. And after I so thoughtfully suggested a relaxing bath.”

Izzy grinned, cupping their cheek gently. “Don’t give a rat’s ass what length your hair is,” he said honestly. “You’ll always be gorgeous.” Mo could feel a blush rising to their cheeks, only widening his grin as he chuckled fondly. “But this isn’t you. I know you well enough to know that.” He pushed their hair back out of their face. “Know you hate when your hair touches your ears. That’s why I trimmed it so close last time, though I overdid it a bit. You don’t like it tickling the back of your neck either, makes you think there are bugs on you.” He smiled softly, looking at them steadily. “Don’t act like it isn’t bothering you that it’s grown this long.”

Mo smiled. “Okay,” they said quietly, meeting his gaze comfortably. “You drive a hard bargain, but you’ve got yourself a deal, Israel. You can cut my hair. Even after last time,” they added cheekily, grinning up at him.

Izzy shook his head, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Wasn’t finished,” he chastised teasingly, unable to help his small smile as he cupped their jaw. “You let me cut your hair, and then you help me with mine.”

They raised their free hand, gently carding their fingers through his soft hair, so carefully slicked back. Izzy’s hair was something he took much pride in, a way for him to maintain his composure even in the midst of battle, even with his life on the line. His thick, beautiful hair was one of the last remnants of his youth that stuck with him, even as it slowly turned more grey than black. They’d always considered themselves lucky to even be able to help him slick it back on the few occasions he had allowed it, laughing and pretending to scold them when they got it wrong, not to his precise specifications. Even when his life was in shambled, led around by an underappreciative boss, working a thankless job, his appearance was always something Izzy could control, and something he left little margin of error with.

They couldn’t help but frown as they looked at him. “Are you sure?” they asked quietly, their gaze fixed on him, looking for any sign of hesitation. They didn’t want to rob their lover of something he was so proud of.

Izzy’s eyes didn’t waver, smiling down at them with ease. “’Course I am,” he said quietly. His smile widened, his thumb trailing along their jaw. “It’s the perfect show of trust, right?”

Mo grinned, stepping closer to kiss him.

“Let’s start with a bath,” they suggested when they parted. “I’ll give you a nice trim tomorrow, if you don’t regret that offer in daylight. For now, you just need relaxation and sleep.”

Izzy hummed softly, his dark eyes soft as he gazed down at them. He smiled slowly. “I’ll never regret trusting you,” he whispered, drawing them closer to press a kiss to their forehead.

Stede was surprised to open his chamber door to find Mo standing outside of it.

“Oh, um, hi,” he greeted awkwardly, clearly caught off guard. “Can I help you?”

Mo shifted on their feet, spinning their ring on their finger. “Hey, Captain,” they said, cursing themselves for suddenly feeling nervous. “Sorry to bother you. I was wondering if you could do me a favor.” Stede frowned, opening the door more. He stepped aside, gesturing for them to enter. “Please, make yourself comfortable,” he said, motioning towards his reconstructed sitting area as he closed the door behind them. He had further fixed up his quarters, slowly starting to decorate the space once destroyed by his scorned partner. He crossed the room, sitting down on his small settee and patting the seat next to him, giving his friend an encouraging smile.

Mo couldn’t help but glance around as they moved to join him. They expected to find Edward somewhere, lurking in the shadows the flickering candlelight couldn’t reach, or lazily sprawled across an armchair like a cat.

“Edward is in the kitchen fetching us some tea,” Stede said gently, seeming to know exactly what they were thinking. He gave them a small smile, one they hesitantly returned. He sighed when Mo sank down into their familiar spot next to him, turning slightly to face them. “What can I do for you? Is everything alright?” His tone was worried, examining them cautiously. “You look a tad anxious.”

Mo breathed out a laugh, smiling as they nodded. “I’m alright, Stede. Nothing’s wrong,” they reassured him, giving their friend a warm look. “This isn’t me needing you to fix a problem for me or anything. It’s just a simple favor.” They cleared their throat, giving him another small smile as they fought down their nerves. “More a favor from my friend than from my captain, even.”

He nodded encouragingly, giving them a warm smile as he gestured for them to continue.

They cleared their throat, smoothing their hands over their thighs. There was no reason to be so anxious. They weren’t asking the man for his liver, for fuck’s sake, just his bathroom.

“Would it be alright if Izzy used your bathtub?” Stede looked confused, frowning as his gaze flicked away from them, clearly taken aback by the odd request. “He’s still in a lot of pain from his amputation,” they explained, spinning their ring on their finger, “and what with all the training, it’s been a bit rough on him. He’ll be alright,” they were quick to add. “Trust me, I’m monitoring him closely to make sure he doesn’t overdo anything or push himself too far.”

Stede hummed, nodding gently. “That’s good of you,” he said softly, giving his friend a sympathetic smile. “Poor man would run himself into the ground before voluntarily taking a break.”

Mo nodded, crossing their arm across their lap and absentmindedly toying with the chain of their necklace as they listened. “Exactly. I was thinking that a nice soak could help him, both to wash off some of the grime and to help him relax. Gods knows he needs it.”

Stede exhaled slowly, adjusting himself to sit up more as he processed. “I can only imagine what he’s going through,” he said, making a face down at the floor, his eyebrows knitting together as he tried to grasp the kind of pain that the relentless first mate was forced to live with. He turned towards Mo. “I have to say I agree,” he said. “A nice bath might be just the thing he needs to wash away some of that stress. I can’t speak to how much it’ll help with an amputation wound, but I can say that a nice soothing soak has worked wonders for me in the past.” He sighed, his face worried. “Lord knows Izzy’s tense enough on a good day. I suppose he deserves a bit of pampering every now and again, even if he doesn’t seem the type to indulge.”

Mo cleared their throat after a moment. “So, is that a yes then?” they asked carefully, cautiously trying to catch his eye.

Stede nodded, looking back at his companion. His face shifted, his soft expression of concern replaced by a firm expression, exuding the confidence and pride of a captain. “It most certainly is,” he declared, clapping his hands on his thighs emphatically. He frowned, giving them a sympathetic look. “Are you sure you’ll be able to convince him? He’s rather hard to sway, I’m afraid.” His voice was thick with doubt, and Mo had to bite back their grin.

They nodded slowly. “I already have,” they admitted. They could hear the pride in their voice, feel the warmth spread throughout their chest. How lucky they were, to have the trust of Izzy Hands.

“Oh!” Stede exclaimed, sitting back and giving them an incredulous look. “How’d you manage that?” He sounded amazed, as if they had completed a gargantuan task, something more akin to taming a deep sea monster. “I can’t imagine Izzy being an easy man to persuade.” He frowned. “He certainly hasn’t been in my experience,” he noted, his voice tinged with an air of indignation, “though I suppose he might be more likely to listen to you over me.”

Mo grinned, laughing as they nodded. “Think there’s some truth to that,” they admitted, still chuckling softly. They shrugged, meeting their captain’s gaze. “I know him,” they said simply, a faint smile still tugging at their lips. “Know how to get him to listen, and he trusts me. Knows I won’t do anything, or suggest anything, that’s not in his best interest.” Stede hummed, frowning in thought. “Must be nice,” he commented, gazing down at his coffee table with its patched legs and decorative cloth covering the deep gouges in the tabletop. “Not many can claim to know Izzy Hands, and even fewer could without being facetious.” He sighed quietly, meeting their eye and giving them a small smile. “Yours is a private man. From what Ed has said of their time after…everything that happened, it’s a marvel he got by without you.” Mo frowned. “What do you mean?” they asked quietly.

Stede sighed, reluctantly meeting their worried gaze. “Well,” he said carefully, wringing his hands and playing with his own rings as anxiety seized him, “I’m told that he withdrew even further, at least from Edward. He still kept up with his first mate duties, of course.” He said it as though it was obvious, waving a hand dismissively. “I’d be shocked to learn that that man has ever taken a day of rest in his life, even when ill. But from what I’ve been told, after that first night when I left, Izzy sort of…shut down, I suppose.” He frowned, his eyes lowered. “He didn’t let anyone near him, didn’t want to talk to anyone. He even hid away from the others when the situation allowed.” He chuckled weakly, his eyes growing distant as he spoke, his eyebrows knit with worry. “Edward said he looked like a ghost, standing out by the stern on his own, even at night.”

He shifted, glancing towards Mo hesitantly. “He was a tad off after you left, as well,” he said gently, his expression soft, clearly not wanting to risk upsetting them. “Thankfully, he didn’t remove himself from the crew then, but he did seem different.” He frowned as he thought. “I believe he was grieving,” he said carefully, glancing at them almost nervously. “He did his best to act normal, I’d say, but there were signs.” His frown deepened, remembering the way the uptight man changed. “Aways peeved, stomping around and snapping at people about this, that, or the other. The crew tried to help, of course, in their own ways.”

Mo breathed out a laugh. “Guessing that went well,” they joked weakly. They couldn’t help but appreciate their friends. “Iz probably wasn’t ready to be supported that way, but they’re good people for trying.”

Stede smiled softly. “The best,” he agreed. “They did their best to check in on him, more so when he seemed particularly agitated. I know Oluwande offered company when he seemed lonely, standing off to the side, away from everyone. I’m afraid he shrugged off all their efforts.” He sighed softly, his lips downturned and his brows knit. “He seemed aimless, to be quite frank. Bit like Edward was when we first met, when he was sick of his life, all the repetition.” He glanced over at them, smiling softly. “He missed you,” he said softly, gently nudging their knee with his hand. “That’s what it was. I don’t know if he’s told you as much, and I don’t presume to understand the intricacies of your relationship, but it’s worth saying.”

Mo nodded. “He’s told me a bit,” they said. They took a deep breath, smoothing their hands over their thighs. “He’s said enough,” they clarified. “I don’t think either of us want to get dragged back into the past too much, but he makes sure I know he missed me.” They smiled. “He still tells me,” they admitted, unable to hide the love they felt for him. “I had assumed, when I was away, that I’d miss him more. It was silly of me, I guess, but that’s what I thought the whole time. That I’d come back, and he’d have missed me, but not that much, not nearly as much as I’d missed him.” They grinned, looking down at their boots. “But I was wrong,” they said, chuckling softly. “Very rarely have I been so happy to be so wrong.”

“It is a nice feeling,” Stede said, smiling warmly as he watched them. “Knowing that those we love love us back. I’m glad you have that, the both of you.”

Mo smiled, turning to meet his gaze. “Me too. And I’m glad you do too.” They bumped their captain’s knee with their own, grinning as he chuckled.

“I thought you didn’t approve of Edward?” he asked, looking at them with a curious expression on his face.

They shrugged, frowning slightly. “I think he messed up, in a big way. I don’t think he’s past redemption, or unworthy of support. Just so long as he never hurts Izzy again, or threatens Frenchie, or anyone else on this ship, I’m alright with him.” They chuckled. “Besides, he makes you happy. It’s not my place to judge, as long as you’re safe and happy.”

Stede smiled. “I am happy,” he said, his tone hushed, as though conveying a secret confession. “Maybe more than I’ve ever been.” He glanced towards them. “I hope this is how you feel with Izzy.” Mo gave him a small nod. “I think it is,” they said. “I’ve definitely never been this in love, I can say that for sure. Don’t know if Izzy knows it yet, but he’s never getting rid of me.”

He smiled. “Love suits you,” he commented, his eyes glowing with warmth. “And I’m glad that someone is showing Izzy some love. Heavens knows he needs it, after all this time.” He sighed softly. “Not to say that the crew hasn’t been trying for quite a while.”

Mo nodded. “He is getting better about it,” they reassured their friend. They smiled fondly. “He’s accepting help more, and even asking me for it when he needs it. He’s been trying really hard, but it’s hard to trust after so long without having anyone to depend on.”

Stede smiled brightly. “Good thing he found you, then,” he said sincerely, clasping a hand on their shoulder.

Mo laughed. “I don’t know if I’d say he found me,” they pointed out cheekily. “We only ever met because Edward wanted to meet you, after all. If you hadn’t been stabbed by that Spaniard, they might not have stuck around long enough for you to really talk to Ed, or for me and Iz to fall in love.”

Stede grinned. “Suppose that makes me the ultimate matchmaker then,” he said proudly. “If you two ever have children, one should be named after me!” He laughed heartily, a contagious laugh that quickly spread to his friend.

“Don’t know about that,” Mo said, smirking. “Don’t think Izzy would fancy having a son named Stede. Besides, that’s not in the cards for me anyway.”

His smile faded, his head tipping to the side as he looked at them. “How so?” he asked, his voice cautious.

They shrugged. “Just not to be. It’s not a big deal, don’t think either of us would have wanted that anyway. Might pick up a few strays from the streets someday, but who knows.”

Stede rested his hand on their shoulder, gently rubbing his thumb across their sore muscles. “If this is something you two want,” he said quietly, “you’ll figure it out. You make a good team. I will admit, I was hesitant when he first told me of your hidden love affair,” he began, not acknowledging Mo’s small smirk if he noticed it, “but I must say, he does seem to treat you well.”

Mo nodded, an uncontrollable smile spreading across their face. “He does,” they said softly, their heart warming at the thought of their partner. “He treats me better than anyone has. Not to say I’ve been mistreated as of late or anything,” they were quick to add, laying their hand calmingly on top of their friend’s. “Only that Izzy is…well, he’s in a class of his own.” Stede nodded. “And you’re happy?” he asked quietly, his soft eyes calm as he regarded them.

They nodded again, grinning. “More than ever,” they promised.

He hummed. “Sounds like love, alright,” he said simply. He gave them a soft smile when they nodded.

Stede clapped his hand onto their knee. “We best take care of him then,” he said with all the authority he could muster as he rose from his seat. “I’ll have the crew draw him some bathwater, and have Roach heat it for him. I’ll set some things in the ensuite for Izzy to use, and you’ll have access to what remains of my bath collection.” He frowned softly, looking apologetic as his friend pushed themselves up to stand. “I’m afraid all that remains are the lavender scented items. The rest were disposed of under Ed’s captaincy, but he always did have a soft spot for lavender.” He sighed, clasping his hands as his eyebrows knit together. “Don’t know if our first mate can be persuaded into partaking in such simple luxuries, but I will leave that up to you and your powers of persuasion.”

Mo grinned. “Thank you,” they said earnestly. “Really, you don’t have to do all of that, just the bathtub and some water would be enough.”

Stede shook his head, waving his hand to dismiss their silly protest. “Nonsense,” he insisted. “Even the most grizzled of men deserve a bit of pampering here and again. Especially when they’ve spent so much of their time away from their loved ones, helping someone less skilled than them.” He gave them a smile, his hand resting on their shoulder as he gently guided them towards the door.

“Now,” he said, effectively shooing them out of his quarters, “off with you. I’ll send someone for you when the bath is ready, and make sure no one is here to disturb him. Go on,” he insisted, nudging them lightly as they stalled by the door.

Mo bit back their smile, giving him a respectful nod. “Yes, Captain.” They opened the door, stepping through it and pausing only long enough to say “And thank you again,” before shutting it behind them.

Izzy was going to have a nice, relaxing bath, and all they had to do was convince him to accept it. Even if he did refuse the offerings from Stede, all the fancy soaps and oils, and whatever else the odd captain might have, he’d still get cleaned up and not have to worry about hurting himself more in the process. Mo couldn’t help but grin as they made their way back to their cabin. Convincing Izzy wasn’t something they’d ever had much trouble with.

[stainlesssteellocust]

Hot Takes on LF Viewpoint Characters

‘Bob Howard’: When Bob is being funny it is entertaining to see him go snarking around and also kind of fun to watch him suffer. When he gets all bitter and starts acting like a douchebag...it’s still kind of fun to watch him suffer.

Mo: Mo...has done some things wrong but I get this weird feeling like I can’t really comment for some reason. Peace.

Alex: I like Alex but at the same time I totally understand why it took two groups of wizards, a conspiracy by guys who could literally see the future, an honest-to-god army and more than ten thousand brutal murders to get this kid a girlfriend

Mhari: I want to like you Mhari, I really do, but I can only muster so much respect for someone who married a cop

CassieFirst (totally counts b/c she was a major viewpoint figure and had just as much agency as Alex did in their novel, which is a point in her favour): Magical princess from another world who tries to be a Manic Pixie Dream Girl but mostly just leaves terror and strife and social misunderstandings and actual honest-to-god mass death in her wake (but still finds love and acceptance with the vampire boyfriend she’s been drooling over in the end don’t worry) is A+ character design you got me this time Charlie Strosss 

[evehere]

2ha QWS-AU

I decided to try my hand at this AU! Hope you'll like it!

You can find the masterpost here. There's no need to have read QWS (Wife is First) or watched Minglan before, though I really recommend them (ﾉ´ヮ`)ﾉ*: ･ﾟ

Spoilers of 2ha, but not of QWS or Minglan.

Warnings: character death, knife, blood.

Mo Ran 1.0

Mo Ran’s execution

Mo Ran made no move to dodge the stones thrown at him. One hit his eyebrow, and blood dripped down his face.

There was a flare of pain. But it didn’t hurt.

Nothing hurt since Chu Wanning had breathed his last.

Stones and rotten vegetables continued to rain over him, as people shouted around the cart Mo Ran was being carried in. The cart was a cage with wheels, letting everyone see the proud Taxian general reduced to this sorry, pathetic state, with his head and hands bound in a cangue and kneeling in repentance.

The fearsome, all-powerful general, Hero of the North, Marquis of Nanping.

A tiger without claws and teeth.

“Wasn’t he the one who drove the northern barbarians out of our lands?” A woman said in the crowd, asking his husband with a hand on his arm. “That didn’t count for something?”

“Not anymore,” he answered, spitting on the floor, “not since he tried to overthrow the emperor.”

I didn’t, Mo Ran wanted to say. I didn’t do it, someone framed me.

Yet what would he get saying it? Would Chu Wanning come back from the dead?

If there was a way to bring him back, Mo Ran would do anything. He would let them parade him like this fifty times if it was necessary. Chu Wanning had been the most innocent party of all this plot someone had staged to bring Mo Ran down. To this day, Mo Ran still didn’t know who to blame. Who to hate.

Who was he trying to trick? The fault for this whole situation and Chu Wanning’s death, ultimately, lay in him.

But hate was more easy to manage. Sometimes, regret and shame threatened to gobble him whole when he remembered the last eight years. He had spoiled his concubines and neglected his lawful husband, letting him have the worst kind of life for a proud and soft-hearted man. The worst sort of man for the schemes and plots that lurked in a household like Mo Ran’s.

Chu Wanning should have left him behind, like his concubines and servants had done. Mo Ran wouldn’t have blamed him.

“Have you seen him?” A scholar admonished his child, a big eyed boy no older than five. “Be an upright man, never act like this beast.”

The child merely nodded his head, struggling to understand what Mo Ran had done to deserve such treatment from the public. They were throwing dirty things at him! That was a rotten egg splashed on the man’s back!

“Traitor! Bastard!”

“Worse than pigs and dogs!”

“I hope you die a horrible death!”

The last one almost sparked a bit of amusement in Mo Ran. After all, he was on his way to a horrible death, paraded through the city, all the way from the imperial prison to the execution ground. This parade should serve as a reminder and a warning to all citizens, the soldiers had said.

Though it was more likely just a good way to dispose of their spoiled food.

Something hit him on his temple. Mo Ran looked down. It was a carrot, wrinkled and soft. What a waste, Mo Ran thought. It was overripe, but mostly good. He would have given everything to have something like this to bring to Chu Wanning in his last days, when they either got a broth that was merely muddy water or a mouldy bao for the two of them every couple of days.

It was funny, Mo Ran concluded, with no trace of hilarity. When he was the influential and wealthy Taxian general, with the world at his feet and whatever riches he desired at the grasp of his hand, he had given nothing to Chu Wanning. Well, nothing if you didn’t count eight years of suffering and grievances. It was much later, when he had lost everything, that he wished he had given Chu Wanning more.

Even if just to improve his health.

Perhaps, if Chu Wanning had been more selfish, he wouldn’t have died, Mo Ran ruminated. Maybe he’d have demanded Mo Ran to give him what he was allotted to as the husband of a Marquis, and his health would have been better when Mo Ran’s household collapsed. Maybe he’d have never entered the prison to be with his husband, for a crime he had nothing to do with. Maybe he wouldn’t deceive Mo Ran and let him have all the food when it got scarce.

Baobei, it was my fault, Mo Ran thought often. He hoped Chu Wanning could get a swift passing in the underworld and get a good reincarnation. Was the underworld a cold place? He wondered. Chu Wanning hated the cold.

No matter. He’d find it out soon.

When one was lost in their own thoughts, time flied. In no time, they were already at the execution grounds, a tall and thick post in the middle of a dusty arena. People surrounded the place, eager to observe how they carried out the execution of the infamous Taxian general.

Lingchi. The death by a thousand cuts.

Mo Ran let the executioners tie him to the post, offering no resistance. Briefly, he asked himself if it would be long. When the sentence arrived at his cell, he had already lost all his money and power, so he couldn’t pay the executioners to make a first cut in his neck, letting him bleed out quickly. Besides, he hadn’t really cared at the time, too busy letting his grief swallow him whole.

Chu Wanning had died the day before.

As he was tied, the executioner brought out an imposing knife, as long as his forearm, and dipped the blade in salt water.

“It will be quick,” the man said gruffly. “General Xue paid for a swift death.”

Xue-bofu, Mo Ran realised with a startle.

After his imprisonment, Xue-bofu and Xue Meng had really exerted all efforts to get them out, but to no avail. Mo Ran had felt an intense guilt for his estrangement and disrespect towards them in the last years. When he had fallen to his darkest, only Nangong Si, his wife Ye Wangxi and the Xue family had stayed with him.

A quick execution must have cost his uncle dearly as well, he sighed. He was thankful it was the last time he’d imposed on them like this.

Mo Ran’s numbed senses took a while to feel the first cut.

It was a lick of fire, heated and intense on the front of his thigh. His nerves caught on the fire seconds later, every inch of skin burning and in pain. His leg trembled, and he knew he’d have fallen if they hadn’t tied him to the post. He didn’t scream, he still had that pride.

Distantly, he felt the blood trickling down his leg.

The next one was on his chest, and another one on his shoulder. A sliver of his old impatience and ire flickered up, and he threw a dark look to the executioners. Wasn’t it supposed to be quick?

One of them shivered under the weight of his gaze, but the other, the one holding the knife, merely shrugged with an impish smile.

“Lord Mo must understand this humble one…” he whispered, holding in a snicker. “It’d look suspicious if we made it too quick and this humble one would get into trouble.”

Bah. Mo Ran merely closed his eyes and turned his head the other way. It wasn’t as if he could actually do anything about it. Let Xue-bofu ask him for a refund once Mo Ran was dead.

Though it didn’t ease his disappointment at the loss. He had allowed himself a bit of hope that he’d die before they degraded his body to the utmost. Maybe then he’d reach the underworld mostly intact, and he wouldn’t scare Chu Wanning too much when he saw him.

Given the circumstances, it’d be best if the deities sent him directly to hell, instead of letting his husband see his wretched state.

Finally, when Mo Ran had lost count and his forehead was covered in sweat, the executioner reached his knife to Mo Ran’s neck. Probably he found disappointing that he didn’t scream and decided to end things before lord Xue could complain to him.

As the blood covered him, Mo Ran was freezing. He was cold before, but now the chill bit into his flesh and seeped into his bones. He could feel his heart beating frantically in his chest, and his breathing catching up, trying to get more blood flow to his body. At least he was no longer in pain.

His eyelids weighted a lot. Soon, he had trouble opening his eyes, and the blood loss made him dizzy and sleepy.

Well. It wasn’t as if he wanted to open them again.

Wanning… it was my fault… will you forgive me?

You were a man of unmeasurable genius and grand ambitions… yet you had to spend your days locked up in the manor, like a forgotten toy in a corner.

I’m sorry…

If there’s a next life…

I will make it up to you.

***

Cangue: it was a device designed for public humilliation and punishment in Ancient China (and not so ancient times too). It's a must in c-dramas.

Bofu (伯父): uncle, especifically, father's elder brother. Remember Lan Zhan's shufu? That's your father's younger brother. Chinese genealogy 😂

Lingchi (凌迟): it's literally "death by a thousand cuts". People did pay executioners to make a cut on the prisoner's neck, asking for a quick death.

***

If you liked it, please support me by reblogging! Thanks!

[omgreally]

The Apprentice Read on AO3

Pairing: Din Djarin/F!Reader Rating: E for Explicit, Of Course Wordcount: 5k+ Summary: Peli Motto took you off the streets of Tatooine to become one of the best apprentices she's ever had - but honestly, the DUM droids are setting the bar pretty low. Still, you work out well for the first few months until an armored Mandalorian stranger lands with a busted-up ship and a strange magic baby and, well, you're intrigued. Even though you know you shouldn't be. Peli's always teling you to keep away from anything hot but sometimes, to fix something, you have to stick your hand straight into the fire.

Chapter One  - The Arrival

“Hey, Peli! We got some hunk o’ junk requesting to land. Want me to tell him where to shove his rusty old comm signal?”

The older woman cranes over your shoulder as you swivel in the rickety chair in front of the array of control and communication panels. You’ve been working at Hangar Three-Five for a few months now, and you know it takes all sorts of ‘customers’ to keep a place like this running - but honestly. You’re surprised the wreck requesting the bay can even fly.

You’re even more surprised when Peli takes one look at the screen and shoves you out of the chair, hastily pressing the transmit button.

“Clearin’ you to land, Razor Crest,” she says hurriedly. “Sorry for the delay.” She takes her hand off the button and straightens to glare at you. “Never assume like that again, Girl,” she says,  using your least favourite nickname for you. “That hunk o’ junk just might be my favorite customer.”

You gape at her as you brush off your coveralls. “You serious, Peli? I mean - are you sure, ma’am? I couldn’t even see a transponder code from that...vessel.” You choose your words a bit more carefully now, reminded that while Peli has a heart of gold, she has the temper of a Tusken.

“I’ve been workin’ in this hangar since you were a babe sucklin’ at your momma, Girl,” Peli says, pointing a wrench at you. “You’d do well to listen to me more’n you do.”

“Sorry, ma’am,” you sigh, looking down at the ground.

“Now, go on to the market, why don’tcha, and pick us up somethin’ for dinner. You may have a head thick as bantha hide, Girl, but at least you’re better at negotiating than the Dums.” You wince. You know you’re just an apprentice, but damn if it doesn’t sting whenever Peli compares you to the droids.

It’s not that you don’t like them. They just...creep you out a little. Soulless little machines, scuttling around as if they’re alive when they’re just - not. Whoever invented droids was one sick carosi pup.

Peli hands you a pouch of credits - the amount of which is dwindling daily. You wonder if the engineer’s eagerness to house this beaten-up old scupper doesn’t have something to do with their lack of funds. You consider offering to forego your wages until things are better - Peli has shown you incredible kindness, taking you in off the street when your next best bet was working as a dancing girl in one of Mos Eisley’s less reputable cantinas. Who knew where you woul’dve ended up after that. You prefer this, even though it’s hard, physical work, and you’re often up to your elbows in engine grease and covered head to toe in grime and oil.

Who knew starships were so dirty.They make sense, though, and you quickly proved that you had an aptitude for it. For pulling things apart and putting them back together again, but working. You’ve fixed busted motivators and blown capacitors that even left Peli scratching her head. You suppose that, rather than sentimentality, is why she keeps you around.

Either way, your life is pretty comfortable, now. Boring, but comfortable.   You hope the credits situation isn’t going to change that.

How little you know.

---

You wander through the market, credits pouch too light in your pocket as you peruse the food stalls. You really don’t feel like dried krayt jerky a hundredth night in a row, so you’re glad Peli sent you out, but you are struggling to find something that is a) appealing and perhaps more importantly, b) affordable.

You end up in a heated argument - no, discussion - with a Toydarian over some deep-fried gorg before you give up, your temper and your impatience too piqued to settle on a decent price. You calm yourself with a trip past a stall selling all manner of imported cloth and fabrics: beautiful, delicate things, things you are not. A scarf made of deep blue silk that shimmers iridescent in the harsh sunlight catches your eye. You pause, running your fingers over it, your dirty, chipped nails a contrast to the smooth, satiny surface. 

“It would suit you, pretty girl,” says a deep, male voice. You look up into the eyes of the stallholder. He’s a surprisingly handsome man, tall, with dark skin and hair and muscles bulging from a vest that seems tactically selected to show off as much of his bare chest as possible. For someone selling fabric, he’s certainly not wearing a lot of it.

“Sorry,” you say, taking your hand back. “I haven’t got enough credits for something like that.” The ‘pretty girl’ rankled you. You’re aware, tangentially, that underneath the layers of grease and oil you have features that some might consider comely, even attractive, and your body was good enough to catch the attention of some of the seedier businessmen when you were on the street. But it is the assumption itself that you are nothing more than your face and your body that bothers you. 

“Suit yourself, gorgeous,” he calls after you as you walk away, back towards the smell of roasting meat. “I’ll be here if you change your mind!”

You grab a few deep-fried gorg from the Toydarian after all, a bottle of blue milk, and head back to the hangar in a thoughtful mood.

---

The ship has already landed by the time you get back.

It looks like it’s falling apart at the seams. In fact, you can spot several missing panels from the ground. Up close, you’re even more astonished that it managed to fly.

The ramp is stuck half-down, and you stand on your tiptoes to peer inside. It doesn’t look much better in there than on the outside. Dingy durasteel, crates all over the place, pathetic excuse for a hold, really. How can this be Peli’s ‘favourite customer’? It looks like it needs a complete teardown. Not even a rebuild, just...tear it down. It’s not even worthy to be a garbage hauler, it’s only suitable to be the garbage getting hauled. It-

“Like what you see?” 

You almost drop the bags of food and produce and manage to avoid most of it flying everywhere, save for a single pale blue pika fruit that escapes and rolls across the ground to land against the stranger’s boot. You scuttle forward to grab it, and your hand is intercepted by a gloved one, yellow fingers closing around the fruit and lifting it from your view.

You straighten and look up, up, up into the Beskar helm of a Mandalorian.

“Oh,” you say in a very small voice. Now you understand.

You’ve heard and seen tales of Mandalorians - quite a legendary one lived here for a time, not that long ago - and some of those tales were from Peli herself. She’d never mentioned that she knew one, though. 

This one is about the same as you imagine a Mandalorian to be. Armored from head to toe, no part of him visible, his eyes shielded by the inscrutable blackness of the T-shaped visor in his helm. 

He can probably see everything, though, from your heartbeat down to the anxious flush in your skin as he steps toward you and says “Here.” He slips the pika fruit back into your bag and you nod, swallowing the sudden lump in your throat.

“Thanks.”

You stand there awkwardly for a moment while he just stares at you, as if he’s a droid himself, scanning you up and down through that damn visor. You clear your throat and cock your hip, placing your hand on it and raising your eyebrows.

“Is this your ship”?” You tap your knuckles against the hull behind you, miraculously not making another panel or part fall off. “What did you do to it?

“What?” His stance changes a little; he stands up a little straighter, his shoulders set, his hands hanging down by his sides with a little more purpose than before. Posturing, you think, that’s all it is, although you’re now a little nervous as you answer.

Because he is broad. Broad and well-built, if the fit of the armor is anything to go by. He could crush your head like a pika fruit without even trying.

Still, it has to be said, for a ship like that...“It looks like it’s about to fall apart,” you say, trying for diplomatic, but by tempering your vehemence it just sounds like you’re complaining. 

The Mandalorian shrugs. “That’s why I brought it here.”

“Well, Peli is the best mechanic on Mos Eisley,” you capitulate, and you relax a little, enough to walk past him towards the control room. “I’m just surprised she’s not so picky with her clientele.”

“From what I hear, she can’t afford to be.” That stops you in your tracks. The Mandalorian has followed you, of course, and he’s right behind you as you enter the building and head to the kitchenette to put away dinner. 

“You shouldn’t listen to everything you hear, Mandalorian,” you say as you unpack the bag of measly meat, fruit and vegetables you managed to get. It goes all in the cooler for a later barbeque. That is one of the things you enjoy most about being here - sitting with Peli in front of a makeshift campfire, cooking and talking. Not about anything in particular, just...talking.

“Well, if I’m wrong, I can just take my ships and my credits elsewhere,” the Mandalorian says with a shrug. It’s then you notice that he has a pouch he’s holding up, and it hangs heavy and clinks promisingly when it moves. You lick your lips nervously, hoping you’re not about to fuck up some big deal Peli has struck with this bounty hunter warrior.

Hoping you’re not about to be shot by this bounty hunter warrior.

“For example, I know the upkeep costs around here have risen recently,” he says, letting the pouch sway back and forth, and your eyes follow it like hypnosis. “Thanks to Peli taking on an apprentice…”

You sigh. “How much?”

“Five thousand.”

You do some quick maths in your head. “Might not cover any major components that need replacing, but it’s a start. You’ll have a vacuum seal again at least.”

“Good.” The Mandalorian tosses you the pouch and you catch it with both hands. It feels heavier than five thousand, but you’ll give it to Peli first. Speaking of - where the hell is Peli?

“There, how does that feel? Look at you, who’s a handsome li’l womp rat? You are!” 

You have never heard Peli talk to anyone like that. You and the Mandalorian follow the sound of her voice out into the control room, and you find her cradling what looks like a small, wrinkled green baby, a creature with the face of a frog and ears of a bat, slightly damp and wrapped in what looks like-

“Is that - my shirt?” you ask, horrified. The creature blinks and coos at you.

“Had to give Grogu here a bath and I didn’t have any clean towels. So I borrowed your shirt. Look how cute he looks in it!” Peli tries to hand you the creature but you step out of the way. This is not how you saw your day going.

“Look, the Mandalorian here wants us to fix his ship,” you say. “He’s giving us five thousand.” You set the pouch down on the control panel. “I’m pretty sure it can be done, but if there are any busted capacitors or modulators that need fixing, that bill’s gonna go way up.”

“It’ll do,” Peli nods. “Meantime, I’ll look after this little guy. You even give him a bath last time I saw you? Don’t answer that, Mando.” Mando. So that’s what they call him. He doesn’t even have a name, just a shortening of  his title.

“Guess I’ll get to work on the ship,” you grumble, rolling your eyes as you head back out into the hot Tattooine suns.  Boring but comfortable. Yeah, right.

---

If this generates some interest I may continue to post chapters here! Otherwise, go ahead and read on AO3.

[monsterlovinghours]

Concept: the dons dealing with an s/o that’s really insecure with them? Like, they all love you so much but you still just kinda isolate from them sometimes cause you think they don’t wanna be around you and they have to kinda smack some sense into you?

a smidge angsty and boy is this a fat mood

Bee cocked an ear, brow furrowed curiously as he heard the sound of distinctly human footsteps ascending the stairs to the third floor. It was rarely used, just spare bedrooms and galleries of Gio’s less precious collections. The staff turned the sheets once a week, and once a month it received a thorough cleaning, but no one really spent much time up there. No one, except you. Lately, you’d been all but shutting yourself up in one of the spare rooms, locking the doors behind you and making as little noise as possible. As if you were trying to hide from them. Scarabee sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, wondering if this was normal human behavior or if he had cause to worry. Muttering in his accented Creole French, he sent his shadows throughout the estate to search out his colleagues, to gather them in the smoking room. He would rest easier once they had reassured him that you were behaving normally.

Yet, as they gathered and he called to their attention the change in your habits, and the same ague expression of worry crossed each of their faces, he knew he would remain uneasy for a while longer.

“Has anyone spoken to them recently?”

Bajo lifted his hand, waggling it side to side in midair. “Sort of? They come down sometimes to grab food and drinks, and I tried to start a conversation.” His expression fell, the tips of his pointed ears drooping ever so slightly as his hair took on a faint bluish hue. “They hardly said a word to me, they barely even looked up at me. I tried to pull them close, but they ran off before I could get a grip on them.”

Zhuk muttered something unintelligible in Russian. “That is unlike them. What could have happened?”

“We’re not gonna find out what’s wrong with ‘em sitting down here frettin’ like hens,” Cia said impatiently, already getting to his feet. “Let’s go talk to ‘em.”

His lips pressed into a thin line, Gio stood as well, his expression stormy, though for once, his ire wasn’t directed as his associates. He was angry with himself for not noticing the changes in their human treasure’s behavior before now; or, if he had noticed, had done nothing to improve their mood. Following his lead, the five of them walked up to the third floor, up to your new hideout. 

There was no doubt you were inside, they could hear your heartbeat from the ground floor. It was slow, steady. Nothing out of the ordinary there. There was also the tinny sound of something played through speakers, something slow and modern. The door was locked, but a wisp of Bee’s shadows popped the tumblers, and the door swung open. You were curled up on a large four-poster bed, your laptop playing music, your eyes glued to the window. It didn’t escape any demon’s notice that they were slightly red, puffy, and hazy. 

“Darlin’?” Cia approached you first, sitting down on the foot of the bed. “Hey, love. Whatcha all hid away up here for?”

You looked over at them, as if just noticing they had entered the room, before dropping your gaze to your lap, pulling a blanket around your shoulders as you hugged a pillow to your chest. “Just felt like being alone,” you said softly, flatly. Slowly, they each took a seat on the bed, the mattress large enough to keep them a respectable distance from you; nevertheless, they watched you shrink back against the headboard, as if you were afraid of them reaching for you, and oh how that tore at their hearts. 

“Sweetheart,” Gio began softly, his gaze uncharacteristically gentle, “why do you keep coming up here? Surely the den or the smoking room would be more comfortable?”

You shrug, your gaze still not lifting. “I guess...I just figured I’d be more out of the way up here. You guys are always working downstairs and I didn’t want to....y’know, I didn’t want to distract you or anything.”

Five brows creased in unison. “Tsvetok, what gave you the impression that you were ever a distraction to us?”

“And if you were,” Bajo piped up, “you were a welcome distraction.” Gio’s head whipped around, eyes narrowed in a venomous glare. 

“Not helping, idiota.”

Bee shook his head, rolling mismatched eyes as he inched a fraction closer to you, nearly close enough to reach for you, though he didn’t. “Tell us the truth now, cher,” he coaxed in a tender voice, low and nonthreatening. “You’ve been distant for days now. Is it something we did?”

Slowly, you shook your head, and they all felt an unspoken relief that they had not inadvertently pushed you away. “No, it’s not like that.”

“Then what, darling?”

You sighed heavily, chewing absently at your lip. “It’s...I don’t know. I just feel like...y’know, you all have so much on your plates. You each run multiple businesses, and you’re always talking about paperwork and meetings and business deals, and I just…” Somehow, you seemed to shrink even further into yourself. “I just feel so...small compared to all that. Like it doesn’t matter how much I miss you when any of you leave for work, because you’re moving such big pieces around. And,” you gave an incredulous laugh, more of a scoff, to punctuate the word, “you’re all fucking demons. You have power and knowledge I’ll never have. You’ll live forever, or at least close to it. I probably won’t even make it a century. Why the hell would you ever want to waste time with someone as...as insignificant as me?”

For perhaps the first time, they were all stunned into simultaneous silence, their already pale faces even more ashen. “Oh...Oh, cara mia,” Gio breathed finally, and space be damned, he crawled up the bed to pull you into his arms, cradling you close. “Is that why you’ve been hiding yourself away up here?”

Willing yourself not to cry against the undoubtedly expensive material of his suit, you sniffled and shrugged again. “I guess. I don’t really have anywhere else to go. I should have just left, but I don’t have much money of my own, and I just couldn’t bring myself to run off with your money…”

Bajo was next to curl up around you, Cia hot on his heels. “Mi sol, will you forgive us?”

“For what,” came your confused answer.

“For ever allowing you to feel that we were too busy for you, or that you didn’t matter to us.” Gentle, ringed fingers stroked through your hair, though you couldn’t quite tell who they belonged to.

“You’re everything, mo chroi.” Cia’s voice wavered slightly, as if he were balancing on the brink of tears. More hands were on you, cradling your hands, stroking your cheek or your arm, each touching you in some gentle way. “Everything.”

“He’s right, roza.” Zhuk’s voice rumbled close to your ear, and something about the carefully measured pitch of it nearly caused your eyes to well up. “We were not beings meant to love another, or be loved in return. Before you, our entire empire was built out of hatred, spite, and bloodlust. We were shrewd, cruel, and vicious men. But you...you changed our hearts, gave them life and blood and a purpose for beating. We do what we do for you, little one. We love and live for you.”

“That ain’t an easy thing to do,” came Bee’s soft drawl, “not just any breather could pull that off. You’re somethin’ special, cherie. You mean the world and more to us.”

As if he could sense you holding back your tears, perhaps in the way you trembled in his arms, Gio gingerly brushed a kiss to your hairline before whispering, “It’s okay, amata mia. Cry if you wish, this isn’t one of my better suits.”

You laughed despite the flood of tears, clinging so tightly to them as they surrounded you, murmuring their love, their encouragement, their adoration of you in a mix of languages. Your tears dried up quickly, and you took Bee’s offered handkerchief with a soft smile of thanks, dabbing at your eyes and wiping the wet tracks from your cheeks.

“Sorry,” you muttered. “I...I know you guys love me. I just...I don’t always understand why. Sometimes it doesn’t feel like I’m contributing much, and I start wondering how much you actually need me or want me around...and my first impulse is to isolate.” You stretched up to kiss the first cheek you encountered, which happened to be Bajo’s. “Thanks for coming to snap me out of it.”

Your face was promptly peppered in gentle kisses, like the falling of spring rain.

“Of course, love. Will you come downstairs?”

You nodded, and as gracefully as you could manage, you slid off the bed and got to your feet. There wasn’t a moment that passed for the rest of the night that didn’t see you wrapped up in someone’s arms.

[rochibolettieri]

Let’s talk about writers and fanfiction

Over the past weeks I saw a lot of writers in my dash receiving tons of nasty anons criticizing their style of writing, writers I really  appreciate even if they don’t know me. Then came the plagiarism thing, so i decided to write a few things about the matter (forget my English, is not my first language 🙃)

I have to be honest, a year and a half ago, I thought of fanfiction as a silly thing until I decided to give it a try and read and definitely changed my mind. I have no idea how to write fiction is, the only approach I have about the subject is the journalistic writing I have to do for school and even if it’s different, I get that the feeling of posting something you’ve done can be scary, nerve-racking, gives you a lot of anxiety. Will people like it? Is it a silly thing to post? What if I said something wrong, if I’m misunderstood?

What I intend to say with this, is that it takes a lot of courage to publish something so intimate, something to which you dedicated a lot of time, effort and what you did with love, and also, for free. And I say intimate because I firmly believe that when writing fiction, a part of each writer appears there, a piece of how they are, what they think, their believes. As for example in the last chapter of BTY. I don’t know @balfeheughlywed , we never talked but I read a post recently about how that chapter meant for her to be a love letter to motherhood and it perfectly reflects her intention while mixing it with the story (beautiful chapter btw, I end up crying when Jamie started to talk to their bairn)

When it comes to feelings, many times the way to channel them is through writing. Other times it is through music, painting, dancing, etc. there are a lot of ways to express them, but since we are talking about written stories, let's keep it that way. I think what Lauren did was something beautiful, I’m not a mother but I thought of my mom and what she has been through, and it must have been a terrible yet beautiful experience. Other author I can think of right now is @whiskynottea with Death dreams. Her writing there is so beautiful yet so painful because she talks about things that happens in the real life. I sort of know how it is to live with someone suffering depression and let me tell you, it breaks your heart. Her portrayal of Claire as the partner of the one suffering, and Jamie as the depressed one seems so real, like you can feel what they feel in every chapter, and is a clever decision to add topics maybe not everyone is brave enough to talk about, be it depression, abortion, PTSD, miscarriages, some terminal disease…

Also, I want to comment on the subject of plagiarism. Since the beginning of last year I read OL fanfiction, and I can *shamefully* say that I read a lot, much more than all the books I have on my shelf that I didn’t read yet. And in many cases things are repeated, such as the meeting of the main characters, how they fall in love, the use of quotes from the original books, even the personalities of the characters involved. That doesn’t mean to plagiarize anyone’s work, in my opinion, it’s because within this community, many people think about the characters in a way (i.e. Frank being an abusive sexist who cheats on his partner and doesn’t care), many topics are repeated (Jamie being librarian, Claire being a doctor), what really changes is how each one writes a story based on it, and among everything I read, it's always different, because as everyone is different, so is their writing.

But also, we are in 2019 guys, I doubt there’s something that hasn’t been invented yet, everything gets recycled, so what’s the point in blaming people for writing similar things? Also, what a waste of time to be searching some specific quote of a fic and compare it with another one, i’m tired with only think about it.

For me, writing it’s a very difficult thing to achieve since I suck at words and have no idea how to express my feelings/what I want to say properly (you are seeing that now, haha). But these people out there who week after week transmit magic with each chapter, who write them in such a poetic way, research enough to give a quality content, deserve nothing but praise. If you don’t like what they write, there is only one thing to do, don’t read it. And if you have nothing good to say, it is better to say nothing. There is no reason to be filling their inbox with horrible comments, insults, pointing their mistakes if there’s no a constructive reason behind. Im always saying this but we don´t know what’s in each other lives, so maybe by leaving those things, you’re ruining their day.

There is a huge variety of styles to choose from, so it's a matter of looking for what you like and keep going. There are stories that are simpler to read, others more complicated, with metaphors, more description, maybe more elaborated (I don’t say that the simple ones are bad, but they are easier to read, at least for me, and I like it), some have shorter chapters, others longer. There are about J/C, about secondary characters, one shoots, multichapters, fluffy, angsty, canon divergence, AU... And luckily, the number of people who dare to write their own stories grows day by day, and the ones we already know improves every week, with every new story so, why don’t we go for kindness, good comments, and constructive criticism instead of sending hateful inboxes?

For writers: I can’t express how much happiness you give me every day, how I improved my English since I started reading. Reading every story makes me understand how you write the characters we love (and hate), how you understand them, how can you put them in different scenarios, different eras, in which they are presidents, florists, doctors, professors, businessmen, swimmers, make them go through difficult times, beautiful ones, and that so and all you make them shine. The possibilities you have are immense and I can’t wait to read everything they have to offer, because I’m sure is going to be a masterpiece. I know is easier said than done but it’s better to focus in the ones who really cares for the time you put into this, who waits impatiently for a sneak peak, an entire chapter, background information about your story, pics, whatever. Haters gonna hate and I personally believe it had nothing to do with you, they are just mean people, maybe bored ones who thinks is funny to send those kind of messages and don’t really care if they are hurting you in the process. Keep doing your thing, you are free to do it and there are a lot of people willing to read whatever you do.

Thank you for being brave enough to share a piece of you, of your creativity and sorry for being lazy and sometimes forget to leave a comment, or read the chapters 657946 years later, believe me when I say I do love everything you write and I end up laughing, crying, jumping in my bed when some characters kiss for the first time after a long slow burn, and sometimes completely shooked at the end of every chapter and wanting for more ❤️❤️❤️

@imagineclaireandjamie @missclairebelle @notevenjokingfic @abbydebeaupreposts @kalendraashtar  @jmoonrise  @sassenachwaffles @lenny9987 @curlsgetdemgurls @bonniebird17 @wunderlichkind @julesbeauchamp @sassenachwriter @ladyviolethummingbird @jack-andthestalk @balfeheughlywed @claryclark @thatsoccercoach @kkruml @whiskynottea @laythornmuse @magnoliasinbloom @written-rebellion @phaedrecameron @takemeawaytocamelot @thefraserwitch @gotham-ruaidh @mybeautifuldecay @mo-nighean-rouge @monigheandonn1743 @suhailauniverse @anoutlandishfanfic @owlish-peacock36 @devaigh @holdhertightandsayhername @dancinginadaydream @crossinginstyle (i’m sorry if i forgot someone 🙏🏼) 

I hope this makes sense since I’m writing this with the help of google translator bc I’m tired, sleepy and my English sucks lately 😊

[imagineclaireandjamie]

I loved it, MBD! Thank you! I'm always happy to extend my birthday :) and safe Claire is my favorite Claire.

Mute:

As the forest opened out into a clearing, the big house at Lallybroch came into view. Clinging to Jamie, Claire peeked around him to watch as they rode steadily closer. Though she yearned for a nice warm fire and a clean bed, she was actively disappointed that her alone time with him was coming to an end. 

Holding her hand tight against his chest, he kept her close to him, her legs tightening around his as the gait of their horse widened - his steps elongating as he strode down the hill and into the valley. Sensing her hesitance, Jamie halted Donas, the large black stallion, beside a small stream, pulled them both from his back and tied him to the nearest post.

“Yer worrit?” Jamie asked, giving her chance to read his lips before leaning in to place a delicate kiss on her forehead.

‘Everything’s changing.’ She signed, sighing as she licked her dry lips and buried her hands in his coat - warming them in an instant.

“Aye,” he whispered in her ear, the wind rising for just a moment as their hair fanned out around their heads. The chill made her shiver and Jamie clutched her closer for another minute, revelling in the silence that surrounded them. He had no idea how Jenny would take the news of their handfast. She was feisty at the best of times, but when news was sprung on her - she was liable to take it either way and it made him a little nervous.

On the horizon he spotted movement - possibly Jenny, or one of the bairns. He knew from Murtagh’s stories of his ancestral home that Jenny had married his best friend, Ian Murray. Dougal had spread some fairly atrocious rumours through Leoch that his sister had taken up residence with the redcoat captain who’d ousted him from his home and Murtagh had been kind enough to ride out here and see whether it bore any truth. It had settled his mind to be told it was all nonsense but he wished he’d been able to come himself.

Sensing a change in the air, the atmosphere tightening around them somehow, Claire took hold of Jamie’s hand and kissed each of his fingers individually. They were rough and large - bigger than Frank’s hands, but with it they were gentle. He was always soft, his ministrations soothing her rather than causing her any pain. She marvelled for a moment at how he could treat her with such reverence when he could clearly crush empires in his grip.

Soft droplets of rain brought her out of her reverie as she slipped a quick kiss at the base of his neck.

“We should go,” Jamie sighed, “before the heavens open and soak us both.”

Nodding, Claire allowed him to help her back onto Donas before untying the braying stallion and mounting him in front of her.

Her belly clenched the closer they got the main house, feeling sicker as the large brick arch towered above them. Part of it was the morning sickness showing itself, but she didn’t doubt that it was being exacerbated by the thought of meeting Jamie’s family. Painfully aware of the reception she’d received at Leoch, she wondered how Jenny and Ian would react to a deaf mute who’d arrived attached -quite literally- to their brother. At best she expected cool indifference but Murtagh had warned her before they’d parted ways about Jenny Murray’s sharp and sometimes cruel tongue.

Closing her eyes, she gripped Jamie’s jacket as hard as she could trying to dispel the nausea that was currently ravaging her. Breathing in through her nose and out through her mouth, she settled her cheek against his back and concentrated on the soothing motions of the horse beneath her, swaying to and fro as they rode up and under the arch and into the courtyard of Lallybroch itself.

In moments the place was buzzing with life. Jamie barely had time to hoist Claire from Donas before Jenny descended, Ian in tow. He wanted to tell her that it would be alright, but he didn’t get the chance as Jenny launched herself at him, wrapping her arms around his waist before pushing him backwards to take him in.

“Damn ye, brother!” She castigated, slapping him lightly on the chest as she cocked her head to the left. “I kent ye were alive when uncle Murtagh came by, but ye didna half scare me to death.”

“It’s good to see ye too, lass.” He jested, stepping to the side to allow Claire to shimmy forwards and take his hand. “And there’s someone I’d like ye to meet.”

Solely focused on Jenny’s face, she didn’t read what Jamie was saying but she felt the vibrations of his voice from where they were joined and she took solace in the close contact. She could tell in an instant that Jenny wasn’t pleased. Not being able to hear, Claire had attuned herself to the facial reactions of others - talking was one thing, but body language had its own distinct variations and she could usually read them well.

With her shoulders suddenly tightened, the muscles in her fingers pulsing with a sort of wary interest, Jenny Murray turned and quirked a brow in Claire’s direction. The hostility was clear, a flash of something akin to distrust flared behind her eyes as she took one deliberate step forwards.  

“Ye canna talk?” She asked, her arms crossing over her chest as she tapped her foot impatiently against the floor.

It was only three words but to Claire it felt like the start of an interrogation. Jenny did not mean to accept her into the fold easily. She shook her head. She did think about signing, but she had no idea whether Jenny would understand her so she refrained from doing so.

“Or hear? None of these things yet ye ken what I’m saying to ye?”

Though the intonation wasn’t clear but the meaning was.

“Janet!” Jamie snapped, feeling Claire flinch beside him. “She is my wife, ye will hold yer tongue.”

“This is my home.” She hissed. “I will no’ be silenced whilst I still breath under its roof, aye, brother? I’ve been here, looking after what mam and da built for us whilst ye’ve been unable to come home and here ye are, wi’ a wife nonetheless, telling me to haud my tongue - well, I willna! How do ye ken who she is if she canna talk to ye?”

Jenny’s finger was hovering perilously close to Claire’s chest, her face clear enough that she could understand every word.

“And how can she even understand me when she canna hear? Yer being had, lad.” She continued, not waiting for Jamie to answer any of her questions.

“She can read yer lips!” Jamie spat back, his posture rigid as he pulled Claire closer to his side. “And Murtagh can sign, if ye hadna recalled. He’s been teaching me and acting as interpreter when it was needed. I didna come home to be berated by ye, Janet Fraser Murray, nor did Claire.”

Wrapping his arms around Jenny, Ian gave an apologetic glance to Claire before pulling his wife back a little. “I think we should all take a deep breath and come in for a wee dram, aye? Yer tired, Jenny. Wee Jamie has been keeping her up at night recently,” he added as if to explain her dire mood, “and I’m sure yer no’ well rested if ye’ve been sleeping rough in the woods the last few nights. Let’s get some food and drink in us all and we can talk - in a more civilized way.” He whispered in Jenny’s ear as he steered her inside.

Jamie followed with Claire in tow. Again he thought about keeping her back - to apologise for his sisters rude appraisal more than anything else - but Jenny turned her head to look at him before he had chance causing him to abandon the thought immediately. Clearly they weren’t going to get any free time whilst she had anything to do with it.

Tea was a quiet affair. Ian and Jamie kept quiet counsel over the table as Jenny poured a slug of good whisky for each of them and Claire watched from the sidelines. Her assertive nature still bubbling beneath the surface, she felt as though this moment wasn’t the right time to pick a fight with Jenny and the feeling of helplessness began to spread through her like a wild fever.

It was fight or flight and she wanted to run away.

She had no ammunition here. Jenny could scream and shout, make crude and cruel remarks should she wish and Claire would be able to nothing in return. Sure, she could sign out her anger - but none of them were likely to understand her. The dull thud of her heart echoed in her ruined ears, the sound of it emanating through every inch of her body as she tried to calm her fragile nerves.

With the tension running high in the small kitchen, Jamie lost sight of Claire’s frantic internal panic, his attention focused on his sister and brother-in-law and they cast subtle glances at her where she sat by his side. It felt like the evening had lasted a lifetime and, sensing her discomfort, Ian rose, coughed and held out a hand for Claire.

“Weel, I think yer lass looks fairly weary, Jamie,” he said, a small smile covering his face, “maybe I should show her where yer rooms are on my way to bed, aye, Jenny?” He let his hand hover over the back of Jenny’s chair as if to suggest that she needed to walk away and calm down but she didn’t seem to heed her husband’s prompting.

Instead, Claire nodded, placing her unused napkin on the table and pushing her full -untouched- plate of food away.

Jamie turned in his chair, but didn’t get up either.

“I’ll be up shortly, mo nighean, aye?” He mouthed quietly up at her.

Claire nodded before turning her back on the table and following Ian out into the hall. Neither made any attempt at further conversation as he lead her through the silent Lallybroch halls and up onto the next floor of the property. Opening the door to a large suite, Ian ushered her inside before cocking his head to the left and taking a small step backwards.

“It was nice to meet ye, Claire.” He said louder than he meant to. A strong blush coated his cheeks as he remembered that she couldn’t hear him no matter how much he raised his voice. “I’m sure tomorrow will be a better day, sleep well.”

After the door had been shut firmly behind him, she took one large breath and headed towards the large bed. The sheets had been freshly washed, that she could tell and the fire had been lit but they’d sat downstairs for such a long time that the flames had long since extinguished themselves. Still, a warmth hovered in the air which made her grateful. Stripping down to her shift, she let the moisture gather in her eyes - the thought of Jenny’s anger causing her heart to pound heavily in her chest.

Having encountered distain from some of the inhabitants at Leoch, she was used to ignoring some of the ruder behaviours exhibited by the few. But Jenny was a different matter entirely. Jamie had accepted her from the very first moment they’d met, and to her, he was the only thing that mattered. Some cursory inhospitality from strangers was one thing, but she didn’t expect to experience that from his family.

A throb rolled through her at the memory of their arrival.

She desperately wanted to feel at home here. Jamie had spoken at length about his longing to remain here once they’d settled and she wanted that too. For too long she’d roamed this earth looking for somewhere to belong. Now she’d finally found the other half of herself, the part that she’d been missing in the future and she felt hollow at the thought of his family casting her out.

Sneaking under the sheets, she turned her head and buried her face in the pillows - allowing the firm material to soak up the water from her tears as she sobbed openly, her shoulders shaking mercilessly as her shuddery gasps for breath echoed around the silent room.  

[therecklessseeking-blog]

June 25, 2018  Funnel Chasing in Iowa

I woke up super early one Monday morning. By super early I mean 8 am, because I’m normally sleeping until noon or later easily. For some reason, the night before I was able to pass out in time for me to be well-rested.

The trip that day was a split-moment decision. I remember lying in bed cycling through the morning ritualized web pages- weather.org, the SPC, weather.us and then over to my favorite radar app to see what was currently underway.

What I saw was that nice yellow bubble at the top of Missouri into Iowa with a 5% chance of tornadoes, but for some reason I wasn’t actually in the mood to drive out that far. I have a desperation to teleport sometimes. I like road trips. I like being far away. I like the freedom that comes with tourism, and the lack of true obligation. God, are the usual routes boring though. You can only travel on 70 so many times before you’re numbed to the usual array of fields and impatient drivers.

I knew that I was leaving for somewhere though, and I get out of the house by 845 am. It wasn’t a bad turn around to get up, dressed and packed within 45 minutes. My hallmark is indecision, and that can waste a lot of my time.

What was eating at me though was exactly where to go. Sure, there was that nice spot to the north, but the soaring index on weather.us also hinted at the vast amount of severe storms that would move northeast across the Ozarks straight to my county. And the timing suggested that I could explore cave-ridden and creek-laden areas for a few hours before they really started to develop.

As I traveled further and further west down 70, I knew that I would have to make a decision- and to be honest, for some reason I was really fixated on what all the data was saying about the southern routes I had in mind. Places like Sedalia and back roads to the southwest. Plus, since the storms would develop within Kansas and move east, it would be a longer chase. A chase that followed me.

There was a lot of anxiety surrounding that decision though. At the last minute, I kept asking the universe to synchronize some sign into my life. And oddly enough, it appeared in the clouds itself. They hung low, and moved north. I saw the curls I like to see, and one cloud curled itself right into an arrow. North it is.

But f*** driving all that way into Kansas City. I hate city driving, and Kansas City is one of the worst I’ve ever been to yet. I feared more wasted time just based off the inevitable urban traffic.

I’d been looking at the radar every 20 to 30 minutes and I noticed that the low pressure system sitting over Nebraska had already spawned some storms moving up interstates 29 and 35 around St. Joseph, which was another hour and a half away from me. I’ll admit I wasted quite a bit of time getting food, getting lost on the way to food, and then-having a bit of that anxiety earlier -taking a bit too long staring at the radar at one or two exits to decide what I was doing. Oh well.

I figured that I’d make it to MO-13 and go north from there. It’s an older highway, and it goes through some towns you can tell have been raised and broken down in history. This included Lexington, stage of a huge battle during the civil war. The long, rolling fields were stunning. And time consuming. I still had the paranoia that I was driving farther and farther from home on a weak whim. At least everyone was speeding.

I knew that taking MO-13 far enough would lead me to Interstate 35, but apparently that road has been closed for a while just beyond Hamilton, so I decided to sit behind a Dollar General for a second and check out a map. US-36 west would solve that issue immediately, and save me a lot of time. Meanwhile, I get a notification on my phone that the storm chaser/patreon I follow, Pecos Hank, was also aiming for that slight risk zone. Based on the clouds I’d seen coming up 13 off to my west, and the winds in my favorite app, I felt an increasing confidence in my decision of North vs South, and I race on. I reach Interstate 35 by 1:20 pm.

Now, I don’t normally recommend speeding at all. I’m a 5-over-the-limit type of person any other time. But as I’m looking at both the radar and the sky more and more on the approach, I realize that the show is setting up. There’s a bit of convection to the east and west of me. They all just looked like heavy rain so far, but my anxiety was increasing. There was an active range of over 70-90 miles easily, with some storms steadily popping up and moving quickly in the east right over Princeton Mo, and then of course the storms that had already been active near the Kansas/Nebraska border much closer to the low pressure system.

Just before 3 pm, I’ve reached Eagleville MO and jump off the highway to look at the radar. There's a new wave of convection to the south of me, filling in the rainless middle ground and heading north towards me. What I also notice is an organized line of storms approaching the Missouri river heading northeast. I’m near the convergence zone of these storms, and that’s exactly what I’m looking for.

Quickly, I choose a few roads to work their magic. North on US-69, west on MO-46, and not a car in sight I ride the hills to view the horizons bringing me the results. On a bend of 46, I manage to find a nice little hill to take a picture or two and check out any sheer in the clouds.

I still had just under an hour left though. The line to the west was moving much faster than the individual cells to the south and I could just barely make them out on the horizon, so my goal is to move more slowly to the converging point and stake out various places to watch the clouds set themselves up.

Hatfield showed some promise. Just a few houses, some of them abandoned:

There’s a natural area an eighth of a mile south of Hatfield called Pawnee Prairie that did the trick. The parking area was a nice clear overlook on top of a treeless hill, with a few farmers fields surrounding the area. Google says I sat there for close to 30 minutes as I watched the cells approach me. My camera failed to record like I asked it to, but what I noticed was the signs of low pressure. Low hanging clouds rush in west ahead of the storms, as if they gravitated to something else. With all precipitation on the radar heading either north or northeast, there was definitely something hidden happening in the sky. I abandon Pawnee Prairie and continue west down 46, stopping to find a field or two to take more pictures

15 miles away, my actual target was around Grant City MO. The line I’d spotted earlier was only growing stronger and closing in, and it was a race to find a suitable space for viewing. Suitable here means “tall, clear hill with a drive-able road and space to pull off to the side.” None of which is ever guaranteed nor marked with a sign, and as I close in on Grant City, I realize just how close that storm in getting and just how massive that storm became.

I still had no real intention on running into Iowa just yet though. The storms were only yet to arrive and something screamed “STAY!” Turning north onto US-169 I spotted the one road that would be suitable for my needs. North Lyon St (CR 286) is a dirt road springing off the top of Grant City, and right on top of the very hill that originally blocked the westward view from 169. It overlooked a large amount of the western fields, and although quite a bit of the southern sky was blocked by trees, I managed to get nearly 20 minutes of video of the wall cloud and heavily developing rain on the front end of the storm.

The thing was, while I spent so much time looking off to the west, I never moved myself to see what was to the south edge of the system. I had my prize view and signs of very minor rotation, and when I get that much, moving is paranoia. As the rain began falling over me my video quality was dropping, with auto-focus fixated on the droplets on my window. That’s when I checked radar.

Oddly enough, just south of me, a little hook echo had been forming, and I’m off speeding again. Trying to avoid the holes of this little dirt road in the rain was a challenge enough, but keeping my head clear as I race back south down 169 into Grant City was another challenge. I backed into someone’s driveway across from the second Dollar General of the day and began recording what eventually would form into the funnel I had been waiting for.

Now this video is a compilation of the whole event- from suitable hill to the chase it lead me on straight into Iowa up US-169. If you want the most interesting parts only, I guess my advice is to skip ahead 5 minutes

I’ll admit that parts of the audio are cut out to make it family friendly. When the funnel was forming straight ahead of me, there was still this vague aura of control over the situation. I had a southern escape route right across the street, and for a while, I felt not fear but exhilaration and joy. To think I could have missed the opportunity by going to Sedalia, right?

Any way, what I figured out was I’m completely silent until I repetitively cuss myself out for about 5 minutes in totality. No offense to myself, but what I realized after it passed over me and headed towards the hill was that it might really drop- in which case, I know better. That thing could have thrown any part of those trees at me. I had the legitimate warning of every storm chaser and meteorologist spinning around me faster than the funnel. While it’s great to have video of a tornado, it’s just stupid to film yourself getting hit by one.

I stalk it up 169, cross the Iowa border, and she’s still rotating nicely. I’m trying to find some sort of country road that would let me see over all the bad hill-and-tree combos. I started to understand why chasing in Iowa was such a tease. It’s beautiful, and the twisters are willing to twist but they play “The Floor is Lava” better. It was probably all the hills causing that.

While there are definitely less trees than my part of Missouri and the Ozarks south, man are all the views sporadic. I found myself leaving 169 for a few minutes when I’d found a hill, realizing that the storm was progressing too far ahead of me, and then racing back to catch the ground I lost.

It was also these hills that let me realize this rotation was dying.

Everything’s just started though, and I’m getting a bit scrambled trying to trace where the rotation is trying to head off to while not getting caught in some downpour. There’s just something about the middle of nowhere that makes phones slower and vague and while I’d bought a road map book of everywhere I could possibly end up that day, unless I had some sort of radar on the top of my car strictly to run my own data, I’m running the majority of this chase on finding hills for views and then routes to get over there.

That’s pretty much were I detoured the wrong way- watching the sky too much and missing a turn that would have landed me in the dense rain that popped up to my east. Instead, my stubborn self caught the most vivid rainbow I’ve ever witnessed- on a route that led me on a scenic view of a town that had no good road to the main roads I was aiming for. I’m left with a phone camera that couldn’t necessary capture how grand it was, but I’ll always remember it.

Looking back, it was sort of a mixed blessing to view the storms at such a distance. I was never really caught in any rain, but the hesitancy I had to really approach from the main paved roads caused me to lose track of it. The problem was that the main highways ran straight into any cells path moving north, and these elongated monsters moved fast and heavy. Any parallel path I found though was slippery (dirt and water don’t let you move any faster than 40 miles per hour either) and always carried the greater risk of concealing the horizon behind trees.

I did manage to find a few hills that made me realize just how much rotation a slight risk area can involve. Looking across the valleys around me, I spotted at least three wall clouds either rotating or forming around me. Two belonged to the same elongated cell maybe a good 5 miles to the east that had dumped so much rain in front of me earlier on.

There it was again- that overwhelming need to teleport. The anxiety only increased with an overwhelming need to be everywhere at once too. Complete storm omniscience is all I was really asking for. It's so toxic that it's hard to make decisions, and made me increasingly impatient with myself to get going. I appreciate the view, but I always realize that I fall behind. Soon I'll lose the storms to the same hills and back roads I vouch for.

It's easier to just post a map outlining the route rather than explaining it, because I elected a ton of back roads filled with charming old buildings that only served to keep me out of the action, but still in view of something happening.

As I got closer to Des Moines, I realized two things:

A) Nighttime was approaching within the hour, and I didn't have the best camera for all the amazing lightning happening, nor would I be able to see any rain or tornadoes approaching me on my drive home B) My cell phone only has so much memory, AND I've literally filled it all with clouds and cat pictures. Not to mention several 10-13 minute long videos of rotation from this and previous chases. This phone brand doesn't even contain bloatware either, so I've definitely outdone myself.

Yet I still record

I find an exit off of interstate 35 just a few miles south of Des Moines to sit and stare over the clearest horizon I've found yet. I'm refusing to give up the fight. I start to delete selfies, apps, games- anything for just a bit of memory. I start spamming my snapchat story with videos knowing that I'd have 24 hours to download anything I uploaded. All for one of the greatest sunsets I've seen yet, and a lot of SLCs (too bad my snapchat segregated the videos into fragments).

What I was most upset about was the phone thing. Nighttime storms are my favorite, and because night is the exact time that most severe storms roll through my area I was accustomed to chasing them more. This time I'd be left with nothing to show, nothing to save. The clouds glowed with rapid fire. I could tell with the intensity of each strike, these storms still had quite a while before they decided to retire, and I begrudgingly begin to drag myself down the highway home. It'll take me 5 hours- if I don't stop.

For a while I have to. Just a few miles out of Des Moines, I thought these tornadoes were coming for me anyway. There were still warnings active of course. There had been for a few hours. But I realized with the downpour, the radar, the split second views of scud to the north, and the fierce power of the wind under my car that I might very well have been in the draft suctioning into the storm. The rain fell sideways. In fact, it wasn't even falling. I stopped at a Casey's and even being under the shelter at the furthest point the rain could enter from, I was still absolutely soaked getting a literal seven dollars worth of gas. I gave up.

As I carry on, maybe an hour out, the sky is clearing, and I see the cloud tops of numbed cumulonimbus under a full moon and the active ones still firing off to the north. Dreamy, I think. Absolutely dreamy. I'd pull off to gawk, but something tells me the highway patrol won't like it too much with a “DO NOT PICK UP HITCHHIKERS” sign posted nearby.

Thanks for reading.

[nookishposts]

Old Noises

 Reality smacks me upside the head sometimes. Usually when I have deliberately avoided  paying attention. Walking our ageing lab along our quiet country road yesterday, I discovered a new twinge. It’s been a very long Winter and there are always a few creaks and groans of bodily re-invigoration to work out as Spring arrives; I keep active in my way, but  admittedly this past few months I have given in to the luxury of laziness. I gained some pandemic pounds (that’s my excuse) expanding both my waistline and my Netflix repetoire, marvelled at gorgeous wedding-cake snowfalls and grumbled about shovelling through them, cooked up and subsequently ate my way through all kinds of fun bread recipes, and was pretty content to be mostly employed from home. However, yesterday the twang of an unhappy piriformis shot down my right leg as I was climbing the stairs. In other words, I got zapped with a giant pain in the ass. My own. Ugh.... Some stretching will sort it out; my chiropractor said the hip joint is fine, just highly irritated. Well, that makes two of us!

I will turn 60 later this year. I wasn’t the slightest bit ruffled by turning 30, 40, or 50, but this one...something is different. I no longer bounce the way I used to, physically or any other way. I make old noises when I get out of bed in the morning to the point where I sound like a bowl of Rice Krispies with a few Pop Rocks thrown in. 60 isn’t old, but a few of my joints may beg to differ after many years of physical demands from an overly-bountiful voluptuous body. Impatience has meant that sometimes, I don’t work smart, just hard. And I have no illusions about being a life-long klutz, various trips and scrapes have left me with some scars that have stories I can dine out on till I’m 90 if I make it that far. So, I could star in my own scratch-n-dent sale, complete with padded landing gear. I digress.

Along with a little physical caution and extra maintenance, the other phenomenon I notice is an emotional one. My stiff upper lip sags as much as my backside these days. My eyes leak over the silliest most sentimental things. The bold fortitude of a woman who worked some pretty stressful social service situations is long gone, as is her energy for answering emergency calls at 3am. Was that brash kid really ever me? I recall watching my grandmother becoming more vulnerable as she aged, and am watching the same thing happen to my 82 year old Mum. Some stuff they became content to let themselves just enjoy, but other things niggled at them and they didn’t like too many surprises. I find that I think about things I never used to; like, what if my truck dies on a country road somewhere and I can’t get a cell signal? I can’t turn that into a cross-country Huckleberry adventure as I once would have. The truck is just fine, I’m projecting. Staying overnight now requires I pack meds and a CPAP. No more the spontaneous crash on any old couch.  Did I remember my reading glasses? Where are the Tums? The Sensodyne? The non-slip soles? Beer has just become bloat.  Certain food groups are to be avoided before public gatherings now, lest a surprise trumpet  sounds at an inopportune lull in the conversation. Or when I’m tying my shoe. Or lifting a 40 lb bag of dog food. Or laughing too hard. Sheesh.

I think about friends I saw for the last time, not knowing it would be the last time. I think about Stuff I wish I’d said when I had the opportunity. I think about the fact  that 12 years ago we were talking about building straw bale sustainably off grid (took all the courses and helped others to build)  but 18 mos ago settling for a very plain 12 year old bungalow we could retro-fit was a smarter choice, especially landing among like-minded neighbours our age who are happy to share their labour-saving toys with the distressed (not really) damsels from the city. I think about what an amazing 60 years of adventure and travel and  experience it has been...and how incredibly lucky I am to aim for another 25 if I take better care of my chassis. When I can’t climb 4 steps without a pain in the ass, shit is getting real. When a trip to town has me packing extra gloves and a shovel , and thinking about which grove of trees I could stop to pee in if I absolutely have to...well..I understand my Grandma and my Mum a little better now. Diddly-squats just aren’t simple any more, y’know? 

I think 60 has me finally figuring out that anything could happen at any time, and we can’t always be ready for it or count on recovering like we were once so damned sure we could. The truth is, things have always sprung from nowhere and knocked us sideways, but we seem to see the potential for tripping over our own feet in way we never noticed before. Life is all about love and loss and learning, including learning from our mistakes and becoming more cautious about making the same ones again.  We do our best until we learn to do better. And until we fully realise just how much there is to lose. Including ourselves and one another. Perhaps we also learn to forgive..ourselves most of all.

I can walk and work off some of that Winter weight gain, but I’ll wear the non-slip soles and make sure somebody knows where I went in case I’m late for supper. I can drink wine or whisky instead of beer, and less of either. I can have the farty foods when I know I will be working at home, preferably outdoors. I can tell my friends and family what they mean to me, in an email  letter if not face to face. I can make all the Rice Krispy noises in the world every morning because it means I can still get out of bed and I still want to. I can be grateful, because 60 isn’t very old but it’s helping me figure stuff out. I still wanna be that old coot in overalls with a roadside stand of fresh eggs and veggies and pickles and jam, so I’d better make sure I know enough to impart unsolicited advice along with the  produce or I will blow the stereotype all to bits. We can’t have that. Best I get started then, cause having a pain in the ass doesn’t mean I need to be one.

[ladylillianrose]

Extraordinarily Star-Crossed a Max Richman/Zoey Clarke Fanfiction

A/N: OMG you guys there are only 3 chapters left of this whole fic! Thank you to all of you for your comments and appreciation! 

San Francisco, CA 2020 Chapter 3

San Francisco, CA 2020 Chapter 2

San Francisco, CA 2020 Chapter 1

The Atlantic Ocean, April 1912 Chapter 6

The Atlantic Ocean, April 1912 Chapter 5

The Atlantic Ocean, April 1912 Chapter 4

The Atlantic Ocean, April 1912 Chapter 3

The Atlantic Ocean, April 1912 Chapter 2

The Atlantic Ocean, April 1912 Chapter 1

Paris, France 1792 Chapter 6

Paris, France 1792 Chapter 5

Paris, France 1792 Chapter 4

Paris, France 1792 Chapter 3

Paris, France 1792 Chapter 2

Paris, France 1792 Chapter 1

Florence, Italy 1485 Chapter 6

Florence, Italy 1485 Chapter 5

Florence, Italy 1485 Chapter 4

Florence, Italy 1485 Chapter 3

Florence, Italy 1485 Chapter 2

Florence, Italy 1485 Chapter 1

Greece 382 B.C.E. Chapter 6

Greece 382 B.C.E. Chapter 5

Greece 382 B.C.E. Chapter 4

Greece 382 B.C.E. Chapter 3

Greece 382 B.C.E. Chapter 2

Greece 382 B.C.E. Chapter 1

“So, what happened exactly?” Mo asked, following Zoey into The Golden Gate Grind.

"Well, I was trying to tell Max how crazy things had been, with the singing and the dreams…"

"Dreams? What dreams?" Mo frowned. "Zoldilocks, you didn't mention any dreams to me!"

"They only just started recently, and they are unusual," Zoey explained.

Mo raised his eyebrow, "Unusual how?"

"They almost seem familiar somehow, like I know things in them almost by instinct. And then there's you, Max, and weirdly enough Leif and Tobin making appearances in them," Zoey frowned.

"Interesting, so you've been having dreams about Max then?"

She blushed, "Not like that….well, except there was the one where…Hold it we're getting off track here. We can discuss my dreams later. Anyway, I was telling Max about the dreams and was going to tell him about the whole musical powers thing, but then  he started singing to me!"

Mo grinned, "Ooo, what did he sing? Was it something good?"

"He sang, 'I Think I Love You,'" Zoey mumbled.

"Little on the nose there for my taste, but nothing wrong with that. So why all the panic?"

"My best friend is super into me Mo!"*

"Your incredibly attractive best friend is in love with you. So why not go for it?" 

"Because he's my best friend!"

"Pshhh, that's an even better reason to go for him! Who else knows you better than Max?" Mo stated, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Zoey shook her head, "But what if…"

Mo interrupted, "Look, you like Max right? Get along with him, know things about him that no one else does? And you of course find him attractive."

Zoey sputtered, blushing, "Max, attractive? Who said I found Max attractive? I certainly didn't say Max was attractive, nope not me."

"Uh-huh," Mo looked at her skeptically. "You just used the words attractive and Max three times, and I'm supposed to believe you don't find him attractive? That Zoepatra is more than just a river in Egypt."

"Whether I find Max attractive or not," Mo interrupted with a cough that sounded suspiciously like, "Denial!"  Zoey ignored him and continued, "Is beside the point. I don't want to jeopardize our friendship, it's too risky."

Mo rolled his eyes and sighed, "Hera grant me strength. That's part of love, ZoZo, you take risks. Sometimes it doesn't work out, and sometimes two people are so right for one another that even time itself can't keep them apart."

Zoey scoffed, "I think someone's been watching too many Hallmark movies."

"Mock my taste all you like, but there is no denying the power of true love."

Zoey didn't know how to respond, luckily they were next in line to order.

“Hey, Autumn,” Zoey smiled at the familiar barista.

“Hey, Zoey,” Autumn flashed her a smile. “The usual?”

Zoey blinked as things started to become blurry, Autumn's clothing began shifting from her barista apron to some sort of toga. She shook her head, trying to make sense of what she was seeing.

"Zoey?"

________________________________________________________________

Zoie? Zoie?

Zoie glanced at her companion, "I'm sorry, I was miles away thinking."

Kalli nodded in understanding, "A future bride's mind is always a busy place. Good thoughts I hope?"

Zoie smiled, "They were. I was just thinking how pleased Maximos will be once the wedding planning is complete. He'd marry me tomorrow if he could," she giggled.

Kalli chuckled, "Well, we can't have that now can we?"

Zoie looked at her in confusion.

"You couldn't possibly let that lovely fabric we picked for your veil go to waste!" Kalli explained.

Zoie grinned, "Oh no of course not! I wouldn't want to miss out on the wedding festivities anyway. After all, a girl only marries her true love once!"

Kalli's eyes blazed with fury, but she smiled and nodded at Zoie. She fingered the bag of tea leaves in her pocket, Soon she would rid herself of this thorn in her side. Then Maximos would be free, and hers….

________________________________________________________________

Maximos tilted her chin up, looking her in the eyes. “She tried, sweetheart, but I refused. There is only one woman for me.”

________________________________________________________________

Aphrodite chuckled darkly. “Not my fault she can’t handle her Hemlock.”

________________________________________________________________

“Max... I... I lo…”**

Zoey’s eyes narrowed at the creature in front of her, her hands shaking with rage. It was her, the woman who had “helped” in the marketplace that day, and then poisoned her in a fit of jealousy…  APHRODITE!

“YOU BITCH!!!” Zoey attempted to launch herself across the counter but was quickly pulled back by Mo.

“LET ME GO! THIS IS ALL HER FAULT!” Zoey flailed in Mo’s arms as he held her tightly, backing out of the cafe as quickly as possible.

Autumn grinned wickedly, waving her fingers at them. "Have a Golden Day!" she called out, as the door shut behind them.

“PUT ME DOWN!! ” Zoey screeched, once they were outside. “ I’M GOING TO MAKE HER PAY FOR WHAT SHE DID TO US!!!”

“You really want to go up against a full-fledged goddess in a coffee shop of all places?” Mo set her down firmly.

“I DON’T CARE THAT SHE’S A….wait a minute, how do you know who she is?” Zoey stopped mid-rant to look at Mo curiously.

“Your mother came to us after you first died, and asked for our help dealing with Aphrodite’s curse,” Mo explained.

“She put a curse on me?! And just who exactly is us?”

“Aphrodite cursed you and your true love to meet but never be together, one of you will always die while the other looks on helplessly. I’m one of The Fates, my siblings and I have been at your side in some form or another, trying to subtly find ways to break the curse. "

“Well, obviously subtle isn't helping!" Zoey ground out. "So why now? What makes this time so special?"

Mo sighed, “Because the council of goddesses decided that this would be your last chance to break the curse."

"Council of Goddesses? Why should they care about the lives of two cursed mortals? Shouldn’t they be on Aphrodite’s side?" 

"The only person on Aphrodite’s side is Aphrodite herself. We should go talk to the expert, they’re better suited to answer your questions," explained Mo, quickly shooting off a text telling Leif and Tobin where to meet them.

"And just who would this ‘expert’ be?" Zoey asked, impatiently.

"Your mother."

A/N: *Episode 1x02

**Chapter 5

[lubdubsworld]

losing to You (taekook mpreg)

Chapter 4

"Is it Jimin?" Jung Kook said flatly, staring at his father as he poured him a glass of scotch. His father made a noise of impatience.

"Does it matter?" He said with a raised eyebrow and Jung Kook felt his heckles rise.

"Of course it fucking matters... Jimin is my brother, I can't just-"

"Can't just what? Taehyung is not in love with Jimin. Jimin is engaged to marry someone else. You're marrying a beautiful , young man who will no doubt be good for you. What the hell is the problem here?" He growled.

"The problem is that it's ..." Jung Kook stopped, unable to put into words how disturbing it was to think of Taehyung and jimin together  like  that.

" He's not the father."  The older man said suddenly and gave him a look.

"What?"

"You heard me. He's not the father.  I said that in front of Eunha because i wanted her out of your life. And I'm glad it fucking worked."

Jung Kook couldn't breathe.

"You're so fucking unbelievable!" He whispered, betrayal coursing through him in waves.

"You're just like your brother! i warned Namjoon about that boy and he wouldn't listen to sense. Now look at you... I've told you about Eunha, time and again. She's a damned good actress and she's playing you like a fucking fiddle. Her father is my business rival and there's no way she has good intentions for you!"

"You are such an egoist! Why the fuck do you think that  everything  revolves around you and your fucking company!"

"Stop swearing so much you little brat or I'm going to lock the Bugatti up in my garage."

"What the hell?" Jungkook felt himself swell in disbelief. What did his car have to do with anything??!

"That's right! i'll lock it up and you can take the fucking subway to work! Maybe that will bring down your sense of entitlement a notch! Jesus fucking Christ, why can't you just listen to me for one fucking second??"

"Just so you know... I'm going to marry Eunha. Someday! Even Taehyung knows it and I know he'll be a reasonable human being unlike you and your paranoia!" Jung Kook shouted.

His father smiled.

"You're welcome to try. Taehyung isn't an idiot either. He doesn't give a rat's ass about you or your love life. If i tell him he has to lie about the baby's parentage to Eunha, he's going to do it. And I will. I'll tell him that if he tells her the truth, I'll kick him out of the house. That he'll have no way to support his kid brothers or the baby. What do you think he'll do then? " He smirked.

Jung Kook stared at him in disbelief.

"Why do you hate me this much?" He whispered.

"You mean, why do i  care  about you this much? Because you're my son! My flesh and blood and I love you more than anything else in the world. I'm not going to let you make the worst mistake of your life. The only reason I picked you to marry Taehyung is because i know he's good for you. He'll give you the happiness you need and I'm going to trust you to take that chance and actually love him . "

Jung kook swallowed.

"I won't love him. Never. I will never fall in love with him.  " He said viciously.

His father laughed.

"You talk like you have a choice in the matter. But here's the thing... Whether Jimin is the father or not, the child is going to be Taehyung's. And Taehyung is going to be yours. "

And that was exactly what scared Jung Kook the most.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Do you know who's the father of your baby?" Jung Kook said softly, watching Taehyung as he slowly pulled on the satin ribbon that held together the beautiful velvet box. Taehyung hesitated, just for a second before slowly raising his head. He looked breathtaking and once again, Jung kook felt his breath catch. Taehyung was beautiful at first glance but the more time you spent with him, the more his beauty sunk into you.

And the way he looked at Jung Kook sometimes.

Holy hell.

It made him feel like every nerve in his body had been scrapped raw, that glance. The warmth, the vulnerability. The way his eyes just begged for understanding and compassion. The way they just called out to every good thing in Jung kook. The way it made him want to gather the other into his arms and protect him with his life. And that right there was a red flag. Jung kook wasn't the sort to protect men like Taehyung. He was more likely to destroy him with his careless words and actions.

"I... I know him by sight. But I don't know who he is." Taehyung said eventually, still staring at Jung Kook  with a very soft look in his face. Jung Kook hesitated, the words hovering on the tip of his tongue.

Is it my brother? Did you really sleep with Jimin...

But in the end he decided against it, his gaze shifting to the sloping curve of Taehyung's belly , the soft white hand resting on the fabric of his sweater. He didn't want to hurt Taehyung. Not for Eunha. not for anyone else.

"I understand. I won't ask you about it again..." Jung Kook said, honestly and the relief in Taehyung's face made him feel a little nervous. But he tamped down on the feeling of unease. Instead, he grabbed the small velvet box out of Taehyung's hand.

"I bought this for you. Try it on and if it doesn't fit we can get it alterred." He said with a smile, holding it out. Taehyung flushed a little ,  carefully holding the base with gentle fingers before  popping the lid open. Jung kook watched him closely, warmth flooding his chest when he saw the way his eyes went wide with surprise, lips parting in pleasure as he stared down at the custom made ring.

It was made of ornate white gold, the entire ring embossed to perfection and inscribed with beautiful , flowing cursive.

"mo shíorghrá ...  What does that mean ? " Taehyung said softly.

Jung Kook hesitated.

"It means ... my eternal love. It's nothing personal.."he said hastily, " my parents have the same saying in their ring and I just... I've always wanted that on my wedding ring as well." He said softly.

Taehyung smiled softly and slowly shut the box, grabbing the satin ribbon from the bed and tying it back on. Jung Kook stared, confused as he knotted the bow to perfection before handing it back to him.

"This isn't mine. It belongs to Eunha. " He said gently.

And Jung kook felt such a sense of guilt that he nearly choked.

"Taehyung, that's not..."

"Besides, there's something i want to show you.." Taehyung said briskly , gripping the edge of the chair as he tried to rise up. Jung kook reached out instinctively, lightly holding him and helping him up . Taehyung flushed again and Jung Kook caught the scent of wild strawberries and camellias , the sweet scent cloying his senses pleasantly.

Jung kook watched as Taehyung moved to the closet and slowly opened it. He looked around for a second before spotting whatever it was on the top shelf. Jung Kook watched as he went on tip toes, both arms extended up as he tried to reach for the bag on the top of the shelf. The gesture made his sweater ride up, revealing the curve of his stomach and Jung Kook stared helplessly at the expanse of tanned skin, smooth even to just look at and he felt his mouth go dry.

"Can I help... you shouldn't be straining-"

"Got it. " Taehyung grunted a little, lightly pulling the bag down and then moving to the bed. He slowly opened the bag and pulled out a small knapsack, tied together with string. Jung Kook watched as he tugged on the string and let the bag fall open, before slipping a hand in and pulling out a worn out  jewel case. He pulled on the zipper, and then frowned when the metal got stuck a bit . Jung kook watched, a smile tugging on his lips as the tip of his tongue poked out in a pout as he struggled with the zip.

"Here, let me..." He said gently. reaching out and taking the box away. He gave it a little strong tug and the box fell open. Jung Kook stared at the contents. A pair of chipped pearl earrings and then a pair of rings that looked a little worn out but beautiful. Simple gold bands with a single white diamond in the center.

"My parents' wedding rings. I would like to use these." Taehyung said softly and Jung Kook felt his heart began to pound.

"Taehyung , I don't think..."

"I won't be getting married again.." Taehyung's voice shook as he stared at Jung kook. "I mean... after you. After we divorce. I won't be meeting anyone else and-"

"why would you even say that? You're fucking beautiful for heaven's sake." Jung Kook said impatiently.

A rather helpless smile made it's way into Taehyung's face, bitter and ironic.

"I know. I know , i am. And trust me, sometimes I deeply wish I wasn't. " He took a deep breath and then smiled again. " But i want to wear these rings for my wedding. "

Jung Kook sighed and slowly pulled them out of the box before slipping them into his pocket. " Okay. I'll put them in the ring box then."

"Thank you, Jung Kook." Taehyung smiled, softly and Jung Kook swallowed.

~~~~~~~~~~

"You look beautiful, Mrs. Jeon." Taehyung said with a  smile, watching  as she carefully arranged the string of pearls around her neck. Mrs. Jeon smiled before carefully opening another jewel box and showing him the pretty white-gold bracelet . It had two little charms, a sun and a moon . The sun had TH inscribed on it and the moon had JK inscribed on it. Taehyung felt his throat go dry. It was so very beautiful.

"i bought this for Jung kook. Do you like it?" She smiled wide. Taehyung hesitated, lightly scratching the back of his neck .

"I'm ot sure if he's the sort to wear bracelets around the place. " He said, feeling a little apologetic. Mrs. Jeon laughed.

"Oh, I'm sure he won't. If I were to give it to him. But I want you to give it to him." She smiled.

"Me?" Taehyung stared wide-eyed at the older woman.

"Jung kook really is the moon, Taehyung. He's helpless on his own. All his life, he's been very lonely and that's the reason his light doesn't shine out the way it's supposed to. But you... You're the sun that he needs. With you in his life, he can be as happy as he's meant to be. All these years, I've watched him drink and dance and waste away his youth in meaningless pursuits but... I want that to change. i want him to find something substantial and steady. Something worth dying for. Something worth  living  for. I think.. I believe , that you and your baby could be that salvation that he needs. Will you promise me that you won't leave my son?" She whispered.

Taehyung felt like an iron fist had closed over his heart. He thought of jung kook with his handsome smile and the way his words and actions made him want to melt into a puddle of goo. The way his scent still clung to him, like his own personal brand of drug, intoxicating him and making him feel helplessly drawn to the other.

"If one of us leaves, it won't be me..." He whispered and he knew it was true.

~~~~~~~~~~

Three days later, Jung kook was in a foul mood. The venue for the wedding had been confirmed but the wedding planners had ordered the wrong measurement for the drapes. He spent the entire morning having words with the company , furious. They had their dress fittings in the afternoon and to make matters worse, Taehyung went crazy during the morning buffet, repeatedly ignoring Jung Kook's pleas to not eat too many blue berry muffins. Byt the time it was two and the limousine was waiting to pick them up, he had spent two whole hours just puking his guts out while Jung Kook rubbed his back in soothing circles.

"I fucking told you to lay off on the sugar... Why do you not listen to a word , I say?" He growled out, while tears slipped out of Taehyung's eyes as he washed his face and wiped it with a towel.

"I'm sorry... " He sobbed and Jung kook merely sighed in defeat.

"Why are you even crying now? And who are you apologizing to anyway? You should be apologizing to your poor body. The kind of crap you put it through! Do you even know you're fucking pregnant... Why would you eat seven blueberry muffins in one sittings?!  Seven!"

Taehyung bit his lips, eyes swollen from the tears and face washed out pale . His fingers trembled because Jung Kook looked very scary when he was angry. And he was supposed to ask him to let him visit Yoongi and Hoseok and the twins today. How could he now, with Jung Kook in such a foul mood?

"There's a reason, pregnant people are asked to watch their diet... Too much sugar is obviously going to make you dizzy and..."

Jung Kook showed no signs of stopping his angry rant in the near future and Taehyung sank deeper into the limousine, wanting to just disappear into the leather seats. They had barely driven to the gates when he suddenly remembered his water bottle. His cravings made him partial to mint flavored vitamin water and anything else made him nauseous.

"I forgot my water bottle..." He whispered nervously and Jung Kook stopped mid-rant, turning around to glare at him.

"Your what?"

"My water bottle." Taehyung swallowed at the annoyance in Jung Kook's glance , fingers knotting together below his belly as he tried not to burst into tears again.

Jung Kook sighed.

"Are you three years old, Taehyung? Do i have to be your husband as well as your babysitter?" He groaned. " Driver, stop the damn car."

It was another ten minutes before Jung Kook returned, the pale blue water bottle in his hand , sweating profusely from running up and down the driveway. He climbed into the seat and Taehyung felt guilt cloud his senses as he took the bottle from him. Jung Kook was panting lightly, his white shirt almost see-thorugh from sweat , some of it clinging to his forehead and soaking strands of his ebony hair. Taehyung reached out without thinking, hands slipping into the sleeve of his own sweater , using the fabric to wipe at Jung kook's brow gently.

Jung Kook went completely still, while Taehyung leaned closer, palm resting right on Jung kook's thighs as he wiped away the sweat. Jung Kook turned slowly and Taehyung went cross eyed , suddenly nose to nose with the other man.

"Are you trying to prove that you're not a child?" Jung Kook whispered and Taehyung flushed scrambling back in panic. Jung Kook chuckled and shook his head.

But the laughter was shortlived.

At the dressing room of the wedding boutique, Taehyung realized that all the binge eating had another more horrifying side effect.

"Wait, you can't fit into your suit?"

The designer looked affronted, before grabbing the measuring tape and tossing his arms around Taehyung while Jung Kook frowned fircely .

He measured Taejhyung's belly and clucked his fingers. Taehyung felt his mouth close up in humiliation and hurt. He could feel the sobs choking his lungs, begging to just burst out along with his tears. He wished he was anywhere but there.

But Jung Kook had seen his distress and Taehyung watched as the taller male slowly stood up, flexing his shoulders, eyes fixed in a death stare as he slowly walked over to the oblivious designer.

"You've grown two inches since the last month! Are you serious? is that even normal!! Are you not aware, Taehyung ssi that this dress is-" The man squawked as Jung Kook grabbed him by the collar, shoving him so hard he went and hit the opposite wall.

"Did you just call my baby, fat?" Jung Kook whispered and the man squeaked. Taehyung stared, wide-eyed and stunned at the drama.

"Ani... No... i mean.. Jung Kook ssi... the suit..."

"I don't fucking care about the fucking suit... That's my husband you just called fat. You do realize, i can fucking burn this entire store and your sorry existence to the ground with just one phonecall, right?"

"Jung Kook.. stop.." Taehyung begged, grabbing his arm urgently and Jung Kook slowly let go of the man.

"Also... What kind of a fucking idiotic designer are you? You want my pregnant husband in a fucking suit?? What if he fucking suffocates in this shit?" He kicked out the Gucci box and Taehyung flinched.

"Jung Kook..."

"Tae, come here..." Jung Kook grabbed his wrist, lightly pulling him to the inner aisle. He found the manager and said very swiftly.

"I need to find comfortable , stretchable pants for my husband. "

"Uh.. Sure... Color and make, sir?"

An hour later, Taehyung stood in front of the mirror, stunned speechless.

His outfit was absolutely gorgeous.

It was full white, the pants a mix of slacks and jeans, snow while and creamy with a glinting platinum chain around his waist, that hung low across his thighs on one side. The little accesory looked super cute. He wore a super soft white shirt , silky and heavenly on his skin, topped by a creamy off white sweater in the fluffiest Cashmere fabric. The sweater had stonework detailing around his neckline and Taehyung thought that along with his blonde hair, he looked very, very angelic.

"You're so beautiful, it's unreal." Jung Kook said suddenly, appearing out of the dressing room.

Taehyung was glad he was standing close to the mirror. He grabbe dthe frame in shock because,

Holy cow.

Jung Kook looked like every one of Taehyung's wet dreams combined, hair slicked back, body fitted into a perfectly tailored black tuc, with a light grey satin shirt and a black tie. He was still a little sweaty and Taehyung stared at the slight sheen to his ivory neck, stretched out and looking way too inviting. He fixed his sleeves and lightly adjusted the waist band of his slacks and Taehyung couldn't help stare at his crotch, the tight fitting fabric leaving nothing to the imagination and Taehyung had the unholy urge to just drop to his knees right there and-

"You're drooling." Jung Kook frowned.

"I... whu.. uhuw.. What?" Taehyung shook his head and swiped at his mouth. Sure enough a bit of saliva had leaked out.

"Are you okay?" Jung Kook frowned.

"Uh.. yeah. Sure.. I'm fine." Taehyung muttered.

Oh, God, he was screwed.

AUTHOR’S NOTE : BITCH HAVE YOU SEEN JUNGKOOK IN A SUIT...TAE I RELATE TO YOU 100%.... COMMENTS ARE LOVE... WHY ISN’T ANYONE COMMENTING THOUGH? DO YOU NOT LIKE THIS STORY? *SAD FACE*

[prettieparker86]

Degrees of Freedom

Pairing: Mohamed “Mo” Lundy x Reader

Part 2

Gif Credit: @maurawrites​, she makes amazing gifs! Thank you for letting me use these gifs.

A/N: I could never find any stories for this character and honestly, it’s one of my favorites. And you know me, if I can’t find what I’m looking for, I try to create it. So here it is. It follows a similar concept as the movie. I really liked the movie concept, but it doesn’t follow the movie exactly. Also I like to add kids with Boyd apparently. I always imagine he’s great with them. I don’t know... You’ll have to take that one up with my ovaries lol.

Any questions, just ask. And hey, if you like it, let a girl know :) Gracias!

You follow the paved road, gravel lining the sides, grass growing wild just beyond that. Your eyes flick to the GPS on your phone as it guides you before your gaze returns to the road.

“Are we there yet?” Your daughter calls from the backseat, swinging her doll around by the hair as she searches for your gaze in the rearview mirror. 

At four, a two-hour drive can feel like forever, but she’s been really good about it. Kind and gentle at heart, your baby girl has never been one to give you much trouble. She’s the light in your otherwise often dark life.

 “Almost there, baby,” You answer back as you spot your destination just up the road.

 An unobtrusive looking building, surrounded by a chain-link fence, tucked back along the trees and overgrowth. A sign by the road reading, Second Hope Animal Shelter. 

Slowing down the car, you pull onto the dirt road, passing the open gate, you move into the lot. You drive until you see an opening and other vehicles before pulling yours to a stop.

“We’re here, baby.” You tell your little girl, spotting the big smile that covers her face through the rearview mirror.

 “I want a doggie, mommy.” She tells you for the twentieth time since you told her where you guys were going today.

“Now remember, we’re only here to look at them, ok?” You remind her, trying to avoid a situation where your daughter insistently asks you for a dog for the rest of the day. 

While also trying to keep the details as why you took this two hour long drive scarce. 

Ella’s smart, too smart for her own good sometimes and the last thing either of you need is her accidentally slipping word to her daddy where you all were this afternoon.

You knew it was risky coming out here, if Billy found out there would be a hell to pay, but after catching Martin’s story on the local news, you knew you couldn’t stay away.

Climbing out of your car, you go around to get your daughter. She has her buckle off her booster seat and is ready to go before you even open the door. 

Flashing you a quick smile of excitement, she hops out of the car, her curly locks jumping as she goes.

 Taking her hand, you walk up to the wide opening. A woman seated at a desk spots you coming and rises to greet you, leaving behind the pen and paperwork she was working on. 

You notice she has gentle eyes that set you ease instantly as she approaches. 

“Can I help you?” She asks.

Finally there, your heart starts to beat a little faster and you become accurately aware of the humidity thick in the air.

“Yeah… I was hoping Martin might be here… Martin Lundy.” You ease out, keeping your breath as even as you can despite the continued thumping of your heart.

Her softness changes, not disappearing, but shifts ever so slightly with your answer. Her eyes scan over you and your little girl before she meets your gaze again.

“Whatcha want with, Mo?” She inquires, her tone even, but cautious. You can tell she wants to make sure you’re not here to cause trouble.

“I’m an old friend,” You answer, forcing a smile, hoping she can’t see how nervous you really are.

 Giving you and your little girl one more quick once over, she turns toward the swinging doors.

“Mo, you got visitors!” She calls, her voice carrying. She gives a polite smile and a quick nod before moving back to her desk, but her eyes never leave you all.

Giving your little girl’s hand a quick squeeze, you send a reassuring smile down at her as she gazes up at you. 

The sight of your baby girl easing your nerves a bit as your gaze lifts back up to the swinging doors in anticipation. 

It’s been five long years since you last saw him. You don’t have to wait long before he comes through those doors.

 The sight of him makes your heart starts to hammer hard in your chest, your palms growing sweaty. 

He’s in work boots and dirty tan coveralls, rolled up at the sleeves, unbuttoned at the top. 

Your eyes find his face, he looks older, but you can still find traces of the boy you grew up with. A short beard lines his jaw, mustache over his lip. His brown hair is short and choppy, but his eyes… 

His eyes you’d know anywhere. Same gentle, beautiful blue eyes you had loved since you were just a kid. Eyes you thought he lost behind bars, and seeing their beauty again nearly takes your breath.

The look in his eyes tells you he’s surprised to see you. You’re probably the last person he thought would come. He seems a little nervous maybe as he takes the sight of you in.

“Hey stranger,” You breath out with a welcoming grin.

“Hey” He answers back, his voice deep and gritty like listening to the blues on the radio.

A shuttered breath slips past your lips and you can’t hold back the feelings bursting in your chest any longer as you let go of your baby girl’s hand and step to him. 

Wrapping your arms around his neck, clutching him tight. Your arms trembling as you bury your face against his neck, breathing him in, hardly able to believe he’s really there.

You feel him stiffen beneath you and you worry you’ve over stepped your bounds and made him uncomfortable until you feel his arms slowly, cautiously wrap around you. His hold feels light as if he’s unsure this is ok. As if he’s unsure how to touch you now.

Tears fill your eyes as a ragged breath escapes your throat, vibrating against his skin before you feel his arms grip you tighter. Fifteen fucking years they stole from him. Fifteen years he spent rotting away.

You still remember the first time you went to see him after turning eighteen. His mama and sister had already cut off contact, moved away. Your mama told you not to go. Everyone had given up on him, but not you. 

You knew in your heart what kind of person he was. You never believed what they said he did. All those years you had written to him when you could. Waitin till the day you were old enough to visit. 

He’d never been one for trouble before. Always keeping to himself, he had been close to you through his sister, and you couldn’t bare to give up on him like everyone else.

 Seated across from Martin at a cold metal table. Covered in prison blues, you had seen death in his eyes, but not the ones they put him away for. No this was the death of him, of his innocence. 

He looked harder than you could have ever imagined seeing him. Something lethal in his stare. 

You had been a little afraid when he first came out and sat with you. He was big and strong, and ominous as all hell. 

The visit had been tense at first. You almost regretted coming, but as he leaned over to you, staring deep into your eyes, you knew Martin was still somewhere in there. 

That boy who use to spend the night at your house with his sister so he didn’t have to go home and you’d talk all night till the sun came up.

 “I didn’t do it.” You remember him saying. His eyes imploring you, begging you to believe him. “I didn’t kill those little girls. I didn’t even know-“

“I know,” You cut him off, reassuring him quick. Not an ounce of doubt on your breath as you snatched up his hand from where it rested on the table. “I know.”

Squeezing his hand, you remember thinking how rough his palm had become as your thumb dragged across it.

 You remember seeing a guard staring at you both, his gaze hard, stepping off the wall toward you as if he saw something he didn’t like before Martin swiftly pulled his hand back and the guard relaxed. 

You couldn’t help but feel as Martin pulled away… This place was soul crushing.

You visited him when you could, which wasn’t as often as you’d have liked, but once you met Ella’s dad, he demanded you stop seeing another man, and your hands were tied, but you never forgot about him.

 You let yourself get lost in Martin’s arms for a second longer before you release him and pull back. 

Wiping the tears that had stubbornly fallen, you smile up at him and take your daughter’s hand once again.

“God it’s good to see you. You look good, Martin.” You say almost breathless, hardly able to believe he’s standing before you, a fee man.

 “It’s Mohamed now… or Mo.” He explained, a nervousness still lingering on him. You can feel it. You figure it’s to be expected after all the time he spent away.

You nod with understanding. 

“Well how are you doing, Mo? When I saw you on the news I knew I had to come see you.” You explain, your eyes glued on him as a smile stretches wide on your face. 

God it was good to see him again. Just having him close filled your heart with an easy sort of joy.

 Mo nodded slowly. “I’m alright,” He answered, his gaze diverting from you. 

You can feel he’s holding back, you can feel he’s unsure, but you get the sense it’s not about you, but more all of this and everything that comes with it. He’s been away for a long time.

“Mommy, I want to see the doggies,” Ella speaks up impatiently, tugging on your hand.

You watch Mo’s eyes glance down at your little girl as if really noticing her for the first time before returning to meet your gaze. Something you can’t quite read hangs in his eyes, but you think he’s surprised to see you’re a mom.

 “Ella this is Mo. Mo this my daughter Ella.” You explain, finally giving a proper introduction as you smile down at your baby girl. Letting her know you heard her. 

“Hi Mo,” Her high little voice calls.

You glance over at Mo as he squats down low to the ground in front of your little girl.

“Hi Miss Ella, you like dogs?” He asks, speaking right to her, meeting her on her level.

You watch your little girl’s face light up. “I love doggies and kitties and horsies, and dolphins and-“

She continues as Mo lets out a deep chuckle, the sound of it reaching deep inside you.

 “You wanna go see some dogs?” He asks her, giving her the first real smile you’ve gotten out of him. A smile Ella doesn’t know makes her mom weak in the knees.

“I want to take one home.” She nods eagerly.

“Ella Mae we talked about this. Daddy would not be happy if we brought a dog home.” You remind her.

You spot Mo’s eyes glancing up at you briefly with the mention of her dad, before his gaze returns to Ella.

“How about we just go say hi?” He suggests.

 “Ok,” She nods, moving toward the swinging doors before Mo can even rise to his feet, trying to drag you with her.

“I guess she’s gonna lead,” You laugh, flashing him a smile as he extends his arm out to hold the swinging door as you slip past him.

Mo shows you and your little girl a few cages where Ella happily introduces herself to the dogs inside. 

Your baby girl has always loved animals and they seem to share in the love affair. You’ve always felt they sense her gentle spirit.

Next Mo takes you both to a cage with an especially sweet looking dog. Mostly all black with patches of all different colors on its coat and the sweetest eyes that instantly make you feel safe with it around Ella.

 Calling the dog over, Mo leans down to pet it through the fence as Ella follows his lead. Little bursts of laughter rip from her lips and echo through the kennel as the dog licks at her hand. 

Your eyes catch Mo’s as his smiling face flashes up to you with the sound of your little girl’s giggles. There’s still so much light in his eyes, it makes your heart beat a little faster.

 And god, if he isn’t handsome.  Still built solid and strong like you remember from visiting him in prison, unlike the skinny teenager who went inside, but he’s got none of the bite that use to emanate off him when you’d visit. No more anger. 

As the older brother of your childhood best friend, he was the first boy you ever had a crush on and looking at him now, you’re afraid to admit, much hasn’t changed for you. 

His looks have grown into something rough but sexy without trying while still holding such depth in his eyes.

 “I’m so glad they got you out.” You tell him before his eyes drop from yours.

Standing to his full height, Mo doesn’t meet your gaze, you noticed he seems to struggle with that, as he slowly nods. 

“Yeah, me too… I guess.” He admits honestly on a rich gritty breath, his gaze back on the sweet dog making your baby girl laugh.

You catch a look in his eye and you think that maybe you understand. You get use to a place after so long, get use to living a certain way, you miss it, even if it was poison.

You reach for his hand at his side, lacing yours together. Drawing his eyes back to you. “Just takes time.”

 Letting out a long breath, Mo nods, giving your hand a quick squeeze before letting go. The air between you grows quiet.  

You want to tell him you still have all the letters he wrote you hidden somewhere only you know. That you still read them during your darkest hours. 

Holding onto the connection he gave you. Holding onto the way he could make you feel. 

Somewhere deep inside of you, you had known you didn’t just come here to see if he was alright. You needed to see him. 

From the moment you caught that news report that he had been exonerated and released a few towns over, you knew you had to go. 

You had moved on years ago, your life kept going after he was sent away, but standing beside him now, you realized some things never change.

 “I’m so sorry I stopped coming to visit. Stopped writing. After I got with Billy and got pregnant, He just- he wasn’t having it. But I never stopped thinking of you, I never stopped caring.” You confess on a heavy burdened breath as tears you can’t hold back well up into your eyes. A few slipping down before you can stop them. 

You’d always felt so guilty about him. Everyone had given up on him and the thought that he would think you had done the same broke your heart.

 Glancing back at you, a deep softness fills Mo’s eyes with the sight of your tears. 

You watch as he reaches out toward your face, but stops before he ever touches you. You can see in his eyes, his heart’s conflicted.

“It’s ok to touch me.” You tell him, giving him a reassuring smile as you wipe away your tears.

Mo holds your gaze as you speak before quickly dropping his eyes and hand.

“I don’t know if your husband would think so.” He explains.

There’s that side of him again, a side you don’t recognize. A side you wonder has something to do with why he changed his name. A different man with a different set of values.

 Your smile cracks wider as a small laugh escapes you. 

“That’ll be the day… I’m not married, Mo. Billy’s not exactly what you call the marrying type, kid or not.”

Billy made it clear to you when you got pregnant he’d stand by you, but he wasn’t going to be tied down. He also wasn’t exactly who you planned to get saddled with either, but then again, you weren’t planning to get pregnant. 

Everyone pressured you to make it work for the baby. So you did. Your relationship was complicated, messy to say the least, but Ella meant everything to you, so you tried to make it work.

 Mo’s eyes glance up at you briefly and you swear you see surprise before his eyes drift over to the kennel.

“Then he’s a fool.” You hear him say low on his breath, more to himself than even you.

Your heart starts to beat faster with Mo’s admission. Wondering what he means by that. Wondering how he feels about you after all these years. 

But then a buzzing in your back pocket catches your attention and steals the moment. You fish your phone out and see you’ve got a message. Speak of the devil, It’s Billy. Quickly swiping the screen, the text appears.

-WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU

Your heart instantly starts to pound, you throat tightens as you glance up quick to make sure Mo didn’t see it. 

Seeing his attention is back on Ella and the dog, you close the message and shove the phone back in your pocket.

An urgency sweeps through your veins. 

“We gotta go baby,” You tell Ella, reaching for her hand.

“No, not yet mommy.” Ella begs, but as you shoot her a glance she knows means business the little girl quiets down with a pout on her lips.

 Your mind scrambles, you gotta go, you gotta get back. Trying to figure out what excuse you can give Billy. 

He’d be furious if he knew you came out here, especially with Ella. And the last place you want to be is on Billy’s bad side, but he wasn’t supposed to be home yet and you’re still two hours away.

Sucking in a deep breath to compose yourself, you pick up your little girl as Mo leads you back out to the front.

Moving through the swinging doors, Mo stops and turns to you. 

His eyes searching yours in a way you worry means he senses your anxiety. You pray he doesn’t, but he always was good at picking up on things.

 “Can we come see you again some time?” You ask, before he can ask you something you can’t answer. 

Forcing a smile, you hope he can’t see the fear building inside you. 

He isn’t the only one who’s had to live under lock and key. You’ve had to learn the hard way prisons come in many shapes and sizes.

“Yeah,” Mo nods easy. 

Reaching over to the desk where the lady you assume is his boss is still seated at, he scribbles something down before handing it to you.

“Here’s my address and phone number. Your welcome anytime.” He tells you, gazing at you in a way that makes you wonder if even after all this time he can still read you like a book.

 Leaning over, you wrap him in a brief side hug. Placing a quick kiss on his cheek, the hairs tickling your lips. 

As you pull away, your eyes meet and lock. His piercing blue eyes sucking you in and for a brief moment you wish you could just stay. 

You feel his gaze reaching into you, somewhere deep within you, the way he could even when you were just kids. 

But you’ve both made your bed in this life, ain’t nothing to do but lie down in it.

Mo flashes Ella a quick smile and a goodbye as you go, your heart racing. 

Climbing into your car, you move quick. Mind scrambling as you reach for your phone.

Nona called- needed me to run a few errands for her. Didn’t want to disturb you at work. I’ll be home as soon as I can.

You send back to Billy, blowing out a shaky breath, you pray there won’t be hell to pay when you get home.

[redstarfiction-blog]

Hogmanay pt.3 - Sian.

Part 3 sees Jamie and Bree collecting water for the Sian - a blessing that is carried out in the morning of Hogmanay with water, traditionally from the river. The story Jamie tells Bree is of my own creating so any inaccuracies about folklore are my own fault, but the premise of the tale is rooted in Celtic faerie stories. This chapter was a bit rushed as I really wanted to get it up before I go on holiday - maybe it could use a little polishing but I hope you will like it for what it is. Thank you for reading as ever, let me know what you think or any questions you have :) Han xx

Brianna was always eager for any chance to ride one of the Lallybroch horses so when her father had requested her company fetching some sort of special water, she had been only too pleased to go with him. Especially as she had heard him laughing with Mama in their room and knew that if he was in a particularly good mood he would almost certainly let her urge Aoileann to a gallop across the meadow which led to the river.

However as the horses made their way into the woods Bree felt a calm descend over her and no longer wanted to gallop furiously toward their destination. She was happy listening to her father point out which birds made which call and asking him questions about the woods. The air was cold and crisp and everything seems to be tinged with a faint blue light as the afternoon bowed gracefully toward evening and their shadows began to lengthen across the frosty ground.

“What makes the water we’re fetching so special, Da?”

“It is the source we are collecting it from. Your Aunty will have told ye of the ‘saining’ or Sian, aye?”

Jamie gave her a sidelong smile and Bree could tell that there was more to come. She hoped it would be one of his stories, about the Auld Ones or mythical creatures or ghosts that roamed the Celtic isles. Sometimes his stories would absorb her so much that when they were over it would take Bree a while to remember where she was and the best ones made Da’s eyes light up with the telling and his voice would get that deep far away quality as if he was travelling the tale with her for the first time.

“Yes, the blessing of the house and the animals and people to ward off spirits and bring good luck.”

“Aye, and the place we gather the water for the blessing is an ancient river crossing. It is what ye call a living and a dead ford. Have ye heard of such a thing mo chridhe?”

Bree shook her head and grinned at the flash of excitement on her father’s face.

“Ach weel let me tell ye of it.”

Jamie shifted himself in the saddle as if settling in for a long journey and Bree copied his movements faithfully, making sure that she held her head as high as he did.

“Ye’ll maybe no ken this but rivers are the dwelling places of the goddesses of the Auld ones. The waters are their kingdoms and any human that enters their depths must accept the rule of the Auld ones. That is why ye must no’ fight the current should ye ever get too deep, ye must show respect to the goddess by swimming wi’ the pull of the water, allowing her to court ye and release ye at her will.”

Jamie’s voice was softer than usual, his accent broadening as he spoke and his eyes rested on the path ahead of them as Bree watched him intently.

“The old folk of believed the goddess is the one who decides what the river will do, where it will bend and where it will flood and where the creatures of the land may cross safely to the other side. Before men built bridges to satisfy their own impatience they relied upon the kindness of the river goddess’s to provide them safe passage for whilst the deer was given strong legs to spring across and squirrels given agility that they might leap from branches, man needed to ken humility and so he waited on the river’s pleasure.”

Jamie paused to take a drink from his water pouch and watched out of the corner of his eye as Bree squirmed impatiently. Fighting back a smile, Jamie offered the flask to her but she shook her head

“No thank you, carry on Da … please.”

Jamie nodded and thought for a moment before reigning in and swinging down from his saddle.

“The path ahead is too narrow for both horses. We’ll tether Aoileann here and ride together.”

Bree would normally have pestered to be allowed to ride on but she was far too invested in the story to waste time bartering with her Da. Aoileann was tethered to a nearby oak and Bree settled in the saddle between Jamie’s legs within a couple of minutes and they set off again.

“Where was I?”

“Man had to learn humility…”

Bree prompted and he nodded slowly as if to himself.

“Och, that’s right. Weel, twas not only the living who needed a place to cross. Spirits needed to cross from this world into the next and though they could have chosen a passage between the trees or cliffs or over the sea had they wished it, they chose the rivers for they are the most beautiful of crossings in the Highlands and so the goddess of each river made a special ford, a ford where both living and dead might cross in harmony and go on their way in peace.”

“Wouldn’t the spirits mind sharing their crossing?”

Bree asked curiously and Jamie grinned

“No, their journey in this world is at an end and as they cross into the next, it pleases them to walk alongside a living soul one last time. The spirits who cross at such fords are not the same as the likes of the Wild Hunt.”

Bree shivered at the mention of that particular ghost story. The tale of the Wild Hunt had given her the creeps and made her reluctant to blow out the candle at bedtime for several days after the telling of it. She huddled closer into her Da’s chest now, surreptitiously putting her hand on his sleeve, feeling better for having a grip on him, certain that if anyone could protect her from the less friendly spirits of the woods, it was her Da.

“So where we’re going now, to the living and dead ford, it is a spirit crossing?”

“Aye.”

“How will we know if … well if someone is trying to cross it while we’re there?”

Bree bit her lip; the last thing she wanted was to get in the way of a spirit crossing.

“I doubt ye would feel a thing unless they wanted ye to, but we willna be there long. We will fill up our flasks and be on our way.”

Jamie reassured her as the ford came into view between the sparse trees.

*

Jamie lifted Bree down and handed her a flask, she edged toward the water but kept a tight grip on his hand, blue eyes wide with trepidation. Jamie had seen her look so when she was about to try a food that was new to her or confess to some wee foolishness to her Mam that she wasn’t sure would earn her a scolding or not.

Jamie watched her with a curious mix of pride and awe that he so often felt when his daughter was alone with him and his attention could be devoted solely to her. He had spent many hours; countless hours really, imagining the child he and Claire had created. He had usually, to his shame, imagined a boy sometimes with Claire’s dark curls and other times with his flaming hair. He had imagined the detail of his son’s face, small dimples when he smiled and the high arch of his feet. He had brought to life in his mind the crease of skin at the laddie’s elbows and the high giddy sound of his laugh and yet for all his imagining and dreaming nothing had prepared him for the reality of Brianna.

Jamie found himself enthralled by everything she did, her wee quirks and the thoughts she cared to share with him were treasures that he hoarded greedily and stored against the burden of the years he had lost with her.

In the stories he told her he wove the culture of their people and tried to impart the wisdom that he had received from his own father’s tales. Jamie wanted Brianna to have the world laid at her feet and he would do all he could to place it there, but he also wanted her to understand the soil on which she stood. To know the history of her country, to feel that Scotland was in her bones not just in her heritage and so he told her tall tales of kelpies, faeries and maidens in lochs and he brought her to the places that she might feel the connection most strongly, hiking in the hills and riding through the forests of their home so that whatever the future held, she would always ken that she had a place here at Lallybroch, a door that would never close and a welcome that would never expire.

“Should I just … you know … take it or do I have to say something?”

Bree whispered. Jamie considered her for a moment and then dropped to a crouch, the shallow water lapping over the toes of his boots. He closed his eyes and turned his face up to the sun

“Ar n-Athair a tha air nèamh, Gu naomhaichear d'ainm. Thigeadh do rìoghachd. Dèanar do thoil air an talamh mar a nìthear air nèamh.”

He wasn’t sure why the Lord ’s Prayer came to his head but he saw no reason why it was any less valid than another offering of respect and the Gaelic seemed to please Brianna, who with a sigh of relief that he seemed to know the right words to appease the river goddess and spirits alike, let go of his hand and dipped her flask into the babbling water, murmuring a shorter verse of prayer that Ian had taught her, eyes tightly closed, claiming what she needed before carefully tightening the lid and handing it over to him.

“Was that alright, Da?”

“Perfect Bree, utterly perfect.”

[fanfic-shiz]

Weak- Cassian Andor

Pairing: Cassian Andor/OC

Prompt: #47: “How am I supposed to do anything when you’re looking at me like that”

Warnings: None, just kissing and angst. My usual MO. 

A/N: Okay so I know this has primarily been a Percivan Graves content blog for a while now, but I couldn’t resist. And I had a lot of encouragement so thank you xD I hope this turned out alright...he’s a difficult character to capture but I really, really loved writing this! Let me know what you think!

I heard footsteps coming up the ramp and turned to look over my shoulder. I smiled as Cassian poked his head around the corner. I should’ve expected him to turn up at some point. He seemed to know me better than I knew myself. I’d gone to the ship in an attempt to be alone, to gather my thoughts before tomorrow. Sleep was evading me, the way it always did before a big battle. Only this time it was different. I had a feeling about this particular battle, though it was a feeling I didn’t want to dwell on for too long. Cassian was about the only person I wanted to see right now anyways.

“Shouldn’t you be resting, Captain?” I asked, going back to cleaning my gun.

“What are you doing?” he asked, ignoring my question and leaning one shoulder against the wall. His tone made me pause. Glancing up at him from where I sat, I could tell he was trying so hard to look casual. I knew him too well, though. Both the sound of his voice and the look on his face gave away his wariness. My hands stilled in my lap, after tossing aside the rag I’d been using to clean my blaster.

“I’m making sure I’m ready.” I said calmly. “For Scarif.”

“It’s the middle of the night,” he said cautiously, raising an eyebrow.

I shrugged, looking down at the pieces of my gun in my lap. “Couldn’t sleep. I take it you couldn’t either?”

I glanced back toward Cassian to see him looking beyond me now, in the direction of the cockpit. I could tell mind was even further away than that, though, thinking of something beyond the flight controls and tinted windows. He looked coiled, his muscles tense and his mouth set into a thin hard line. His dark hair was tousled, as if he had been running his fingers through it over and over again. How many times had I watched him do that? Push his fingers through his hair, wearing a carefully arranged expression to conceal what he was feeling.

He was always so cautious around me, trying to protect me from everything, no matter how many times I told him I didn’t need him to. It had been that way since we were young. Besides, there were things I didn’t want to be protected from. I could see the way he looked at me. His feelings were clear in the way he touched me, the way his eyes lingered, and the way his jaw clenched whenever I insisted on doing something we both knew would put me in danger. He never said the words, though. Never.

I ached for him to say it, just once. To tell me how he felt.

“No,” he finally murmured. “My mind won’t let me.”

Our eyes met again and I offered him a small smile. “With all the worrying you do, I’m surprised it ever lets you have peace.”

He returned my smile, but it vanished just as quickly as it appeared and never quite reached his eyes. He walked further into the stolen ship and dropped down on the bench opposite me, leaning forward and resting his forearms on his knees. He hesitated a moment, eyes on his hands. I knew what he was going to say before the words even left his mouth.

“You’re not coming to Scarif,” he said in a voice just barely above a whisper. “I won’t allow it.”

A frustrated sigh escaped me. I had known this conversation was coming. I just hadn’t expected it right now, in the middle of the night while others slept. There was no one to back him up, not even K2.

“Cassian,” I warned. “How many times must we do this? You never win…I’m coming. You’re not my keeper.”

I watched as his hands clenched into tight fists. “No, this time it’s different. Don’t you understand? There’s a chance we may not come back from this. I won’t let you come to what might be the end.”

He finally raised his eyes to mine, dark brown and full of conviction. Countless times, I had gotten lost in those eyes. More often than not, I could find the truth there when he stubbornly refused to say what he felt. They were often full of turmoil and sadness, clinging to the regret over the things he’d done for the rebellion. Then there were other times,  when there was such warmth there that a simple look could’ve reduced me to a puddle.

“Even more reason why I’ll not be left behind,” I shot back, feeling a surge of irritation. “How long have we been fighting together, Cass? You need me in this.”

“It’s not a question of need…I don’t want you there. Please, stay behind,” he argued, his voice low and urgent. “Stay behind so I can do what needs to be done, knowing you’re safe.”

I let out a dry, humorless laugh. “So what about me then? You go without me and I’m stuck here, twiddling my thumbs? I’m useless here. You know that,” I said sharply. My fingers twitched and I tried to distract them by looking back down at my blaster and attempting to put it back together. “You’re selfish sometimes, you know that? I don’t want to wait here, holding my breath for good or bad news. I want to be there, fighting with you and the others. How is that not the better option?”

The pieces of the gun did not want to go back together, though it might’ve had something to do with my trembling hands. He was the only person in the galaxy who could make me feel so much…who I could love so unconditionally, but feel so much anger toward in the blink of an eye. He held all of me in the palm of his hands.

“Let me be selfish this once then. Let me keep you safe, damn it!” Cassian attempted again to persuade me, his normally calm, mellow voice rising an octave.

“No,” I said stubbornly, eyes flickering toward him for a split second. “I’m coming. End of discussion.”

I waited tensely for him to respond, to bite back with his own reasoning, but he was silent. I knew better than to believe I’d won the argument so quickly. His eyes bored into me from where he sat, making me want to squirm. I could feel the frustration rolling off him in waves, filling the small space of the ship and making the air around us tense…the same way the air hummed with electricity before a storm. I refused to look back at him, still trying and failing to put my gun back together. It was a mindless task I’d done dozens of times. Something I could do in my sleep. But he made it so hard to concentrate.

“You’re doing that wrong,” he finally said.

I threw down the pieces onto the seat next to me. “Well, how am I supposed to do anything when you’re looking at me like that? Damn it, Cassian!”

“Looking at you like what?”

My resolve slipped away and I looked up at him. He looked back at me, dark eyes a volatile cocktail of emotions…anger, frustration, impatience…and deeper still was the one I’d seen him look at me with countless times. I’d seen it in his eyes when he stared at me from across a crowded room, when he smiled at me after a victory, or even just when we were alone, talking about old times. Yet it was the one he refused to act on. Even now.

He looked at me in a way no one else ever had before. Like I was something he wanted, but could never have.

My heart pulsed inside my chest. “Tell me why you don’t want me there, and maybe I’ll consider it. And don’t give me that ‘it’s too dangerous’ crap. Everything is dangerous. Tell me why, Cassian,” I insisted, though truthfully there was nothing he could say to convince me to stay behind. If what he said was true, and this was a mission that could end our lives, just once I wanted to know how he felt. I wanted to hear it despite the fact that we both knew it was there. He knew how I felt. I wasn’t as skilled at masking my emotions.

He let out a sigh and stood abruptly, walked toward the opposite end of the ship and facing the rear window. He kept his back to me, one hand braced against the wall and the other on his hip. My eyes traveled over him, taking in the tightness of the muscles beneath his tan shirt, down to his tapered waist and boot clad feet. I still felt the same way about him as I had when we were teenagers. How was that possible? So many years had gone by. A part of me couldn’t help but feel as if they were wasted, both of us harboring feelings the other refused to act on. Though that was more Cassian than me. He’d always been afraid of his emotions. Ever since his parents had died.

I was tired of hiding, though.

I kept my eyes trained on his back as I stood up from my seat and crossed the short distance toward him. My footsteps only made the slightest of sounds as I walked across the ship. He stiffened when he felt my presence behind him. I heard him whisper my name in warning, but before he could say anything else, I wrapped my arms around his waist and leaned into him. He stiffened for a moment as I pressed my face against the space between his shoulder blades and inhaled his scent. Like dust and smoke. The smell I always associated with him. I let his warmth seep into me, and eventually he relaxed, one of his calloused hands covering mine.

“You know why. I don’t need to say it,” he said softly after a moment.

I sighed against the fabric of his shirt, a sound of mild defeat, though I refused to give up just yet. “Please, Cass. Just this once.” I loosened my hold on his middle and rose slowly up on tippy toes, heartbeat picking up speed. Feeling suddenly very brave, I pressed my lips against his shoulder. Innocent enough, it was the first kiss of any sort I’d given him during all our years of friendship. I felt him suppress a shiver and it gave me another surge of courage. I moved closer to the collar of his shirt, and placed a kiss on the bare skin at the nape of his neck.

A sound like a low growl escaped him and with a quickness I hadn’t anticipated, he whirled around and pressed me against the nearest wall. His fingers encircled both my wrists, keeping my arms pinned at my sides. The blatant want in his eyes left me breathless, the look no longer shrouded beneath dozes of other emotions.

“We can’t,” he said softly, eyes searching my face. His words were weak, though, the way he felt overriding their conviction. “You know we can’t do this.”

I struggled against his hold on me, but he kept my hands firmly pinned. There was barely any space between us, maybe an inch or so. I was close enough to feel the warmth of his breath against my face, close enough to see the barely there scar that marred the corner of his eyebrow. It felt like there was suddenly a magnet between us, drawing us closer and closer together. And the look on his face, I couldn't tell if he wanted to turn around and leave or pull me closer. Maybe both.

“Why?” I asked, shaking my head. “Our feelings…they aren’t as secret as we think they are. Cassian, I want to be with you.” The words slipped out without my permission, causing a small, barely audible groan to leave his lips.

“You shouldn’t say things like that to me,” he murmured, pressing himself closer until the space between us had vanished. “Resisting how I feel about you is impossible enough as it is.”

It felt like the oxygen in the room had vanished, my pulse soaring. It was the most he had ever said regarding his feelings, but it was enough to make my heart both swell and break at the same time, knowing I would never have him. He would never allow it. Yet still, he leaned in closer and I felt his breath against the curve of my neck, close enough to kiss me but holding teasingly back. Though I didn’t know if that was for his sake or for mine. His nose skimmed across my jaw and over my cheek, his mouth pausing to hover mere centimeters from mine. The anticipation was unbearable, wanting nothing more than to feel his mouth on mine.

“Cassian, please,” I begged in a shaky whisper. “Kiss me.”

“I’ve wanted to do that for years,” he admitted shakily. “If I do, I don’t know if I have the strength to stop,” My eyes fluttered close as his lips feathered across my jaw and up to my ear. “You make me a weak man.”

It was something to be said for the hold he had on me, for the depth of my feelings for him, that just those words made me whimper. Though it seemed that one, soft sound was enough to break his resolve as I suddenly felt his lips brush against mine. It started off soft and sweet, as if he were using his mouth to confess to me all the things he wanted to say but couldn’t. My hands were still pinned at my sides and I struggled until he got the point and let go, his own hands instantly moving to cup my face. His fingers slid into my hair until he was gently cradling the back of my head, his mouth moving against mine with an aching purposefulness that made my knees feel weak.

I grabbed his waist, pulling him closer to me, wanting to feel every inch of him again me. He broke the kiss and pulled away, and I thought maybe that would be the end. I wondered if he could see the disappointment on my face as he looked at me. His thumb brushed my cheek, and I saw his eyes grow noticeable darker. It made my stomach flutter, knowing he was feeling everything I was feeling. For a moment, we were vulnerable, all pretenses aside.

“I’m in love with you,” he murmured. “Have been for years.”

My breath hitched in my throat and if he hadn’t been pressed against me, holding me up, my knees might have buckled. He didn’t give me a chance to answer, to tell him I loved him back. He was already leaning in. He covered my mouth with his a second time, but this kiss was vastly different. It was needy and desperate, his tongue sliding into my mouth without hesitation. I threw my arms around his neck, pulling him to me as he pressed me back against the ship’s wall. My heart was beating a frantic rhythm inside my chest, and I was shocked he couldn’t feel it with as close as he was. I snuck my hands up the back of his shirt, feeling the hard muscles beneath his skin.

Everything we’d felt over the entire course of our friendship was thrown into the kiss, grabbing and pulling on clothing, desperate to touch one another’s skin. I gasped against his mouth as his hand slid beneath my own shirt. His palm glided up my side, the heat of his touch burning my skin. Never before had a kiss felt like this. Never before had someone so easily reduced me to putty in their arms. I never wanted him to stop. I wanted him to keep touching me and kissing me because I was afraid of what would happen when it ended.

Eventually, though, it did. Eventually, he pulled away. He rested his forehead against mine, both his rough, calloused hands till beneath my shirt. His fingers were trailing fire up and down my sides, as if he wasn’t ready to stop touching me just yet. My own fingers were tangled in his hair as we breathed each other in.

“I love you, too. So why can’t we—“ I began, forcing my eyes open.

Eyes still closed, he nodded slightly. “I know…but…” he paused and opened his eyes, pulling away enough to look down at me. “For every person I care about, it makes everything else all the more dangerous. We’re in a war…someone could use you against me…they could hurt you to get to me. Do you understand? You could be my weakness…You are my weakness…and more than that— if something were to happen to me, I couldn’t stand the idea of leaving you to deal with that alone. Please, understand this. No matter what I feel. I keep my distance to keep you safe. Not being with you kills me, but it keeps you alive.”

I felt tears pricking behind my eyes and reached up a hand, pressing my palm to his cheek. He leaned into my touch. “Cassian, it doesn’t need to be that way. This is a war, like you said. Any day could be our last, even despite your attempts to keep me safe. Why waste the time we have together? I want to be with you,” I insisted again. “And I know you want that too.”

He sighed, his fingers encircling my wrist. He pulled my hand away from his face and kissed my palm before lowering it back to my side. “Don’t make this any harder for me.”

“I don’t accept this,” I said defiantly, looking up at him.

A weak, amused smile crossed his handsome face. “I know that. Your stubbornness makes me love you more.”

His words made me smile, but the depth of the sadness I felt building inside me was so much. Too much. I could feel the pressure building, but I didn’t want to cry in front of him. “Then you accept I’m coming to Scarif. No matter what.”

He didn’t respond right away, hesitating. Before he could start another argument, I cradled his face in my hands and looked up at him. “You can’t control everything, Cass. You’ll go crazy if you keep trying…if you ever change your mind…about us, come find me.” I stood on my tippy toes then and placed one last kiss on his lips, savoring the softness of his mouth, heat of his body so close to mine. I tried to ignore the pained expression on his face when he pulled away, trying and failing to understand his reasoning behind why he wouldn’t let this happen between us.

“Goodnight.” I whispered. I swallowed hard over the lump in my throat and headed toward the ship doors. When I looked back, he had both hands on the wall, bracing himself with his head hung. He looked like a man fighting his very own war, which I knew he was.

A small, selfish part of me, the one that loved him undeniably, hoped it would be one he would lose.