#that is so not going to work in area where their is low empathy towards certain groups

[thedo0zyslider]

Thunderstorms and Thieves - 6k Words

One stormy night, a Bandit wakes a Sheriff with a knock at his front door, and they don’t talk about what happens after.

A03 Link

"It's two in the morning, Martyn. Why are you at my house?" Jimmy says, giving his least favorite bandit an exasperated look. A loud knocking on his door had woken the Sheriff up early in the morning. Safe to say, he was not pleased to find the knocker to be Martyn, instead of someone else he actually liked. 

"I just stole like, ten pounds of gold from Stratos," The Bandit says, two very heavy looking sacks being held in both his hands. They seemed to be weighing him down quite a fair bit, his shoulder hunched downwards with their weight. The Sheriff has to wonder how he carried that down a floating island and all the way to the mesa. "Mind if I hide out here?”

The rain is also pouring, Jimmy might add. So it makes him look even more pathetic and soaked, like some kinda soppy stray cat left out to die. Almost like Martyn had made it rain himself, because he knew it would tug on the Sheriff's heart strings a little. Maybe that's why he stole from Stratos, to make a thunderstorm happen.

"Stealing from Joel is really funny," Jimmy begins, eyeing Martyn up and down. He's going to make the conversation as long as possible, just so the other blonde can get more cold and miserable. As cruel as that may seem, and how wrong it may feel. "But you're also a wanted criminal in my town. I should arrest you right here and now.”

"The jail is open at two am, innit it?" Martyn mumbled with a sigh, clutching his bag of gold tighter. His hair was plastered to his skull by now, and Jimmy was starting to feel slightly bad. Which meant the criminals' dastardly plan was working, dammit.

"Yes. But I don't want to walk in the pouring rain." Jimmy says, moving out of the doorway where he had been standing. "So I guess you can stay 'till mornin’ time.”

"Oohhh~ getting to sleep with the Sheriff. How lucky am I?" Martyn smirked, leaning forward a bit more. And subsequently had the front door slammed on his face. It was far too early, or perhaps late, for all of that.

Though a minute later, he opened the door again, the Sheriff's empathy having overridden his common sense once more. And seeing Martyn still standing there, even more soaked than before, well that wasn’t helping. Damn the rain and his sense of right and wrong, damn them both.

Jimmy moved out of the doorway again with a heavy sigh, knowing he'd probably regret this come morning time. “C'mon.” He mumbled, and led the bandit into his house. The blonde also mentally prepared himself to have all his valuables stolen when he woke up again, thrown right in the bags with all of Joel’s taken gold. 

Martyn follows behind him after a bewildered second, his movements a little cautious. And as soon as he steps in, there is water drenching Jimmy’s nice wooden floor. He should have been anticipating that really, with how hard it was raining, but he still internally groaned and grumbled over the wet wood and the possible water damage. 

“Let's get you a few towels, yeah?” Jimmy says over his shoulder, already walking into the living area. He hears the click of a door behind him, and a few slow footsteps after it. Like Martyn can't believe he'd got what he asked for. Like the Sheriff would actually leave him out there to get rained on and get sick and whatnot. He wasn't that heartless, now was he. 

“Yeah…” Martyn mumbles out a response, setting his two bags of treasure down with a low thunk . Jimmy ignores the sound, and whatever other noise his guest makes, and heads towards the bathroom. He figures he'll need at least four towels, with how drenched Martyn and with how heavy the rain was falling. So he grabs as many as he can, and heads back out to the living room. 

When he returns, Martyn is standing right by his stolen goods. He hadn't moved an inch, likely not wanting to ruin any of the Sheriff’s furniture. Or the rest of his floor. Jimmy walks over, silently relieved that his couch has stayed dry, and wonders just what he's going to do with this criminal come morning.

“Here.” He says, handing Martyn one of the towels. Before the other can even respond, he's already placing two more on the floor around his feet, hoping it does something for the now soaked wood. It probably won't, and he'll probably have to inspect his floor later, but a man can hope. 

“Thanks.” The Bandit replies, clutching the towel in his hands for a second. He seems awkward, standing in Jimmy’s house late at night. The Sheriff can't blame him, he knows he would be off put if the roles were reversed and he was in Martyn’s house. They are kinda enemies, after all. Kinda being the keyword there. They don't act like a Sheriff and a pesky criminal are supposed to, and both men are very painfully self aware of that fact. 

Neither of them say anything, as the thief starts to dry himself off. They just let the awkward silence and the sounds of rain fill the space as Martyn begins to move. The first thing he does is remove his boots, a gross squelching sound accompanying the motion. Jimmy cringes at it, and hopes there isn't too much water in there. The blonde seems to reserve a towel for just that, soaking up any water in his shoes, before moving onto his wet face coverings. The masks that usually covered his face were just as drenched as the rest of him, and had to be uncomfortably sticking to his face. Distantly, the Sheriff wondered if the other was even comfortable showing his whole face around him, and finds that question will be answered as soon as he asks it. 

Martyn slips his mask off, well, er, his masks . There's one covering his eyes, which is the first to be removed. It's the one he only wears on occasion, when he's not thieving locally. The authorities in the mesa know to look for him, regardless of what he wears on his face. The other mask, the one hiding the bottom half of his face, is the mask that never comes off when he's on the job. And Jimmy can't help but stare when he slips it off, and throws it on one of the wet towels below. 

He's never…..he's never seen Martyn’s full face before. It's quite a pretty face, even when only slivers of it are showing. And the full thing is absolutely gorgeous. His face looked soft and plump to the touch kike the rest of him, his rounded yet sharp features seemingly perfectly molded to fit him. Like the blonde had been sculptured by a God themselves, one that wasn't stuck on floating islands. Jimmy would be lying if he said the wet hair, falling right onto Martyn’s face, wasn't adding to the effect. 

Lord this man was pretty. He was so, so fucking pretty. The Sheriff couldn't stop himself from staring just a bit. 

Martyn noticed him staring after a minute, drying his wet hair best he could with the towel he'd been lended. “What?” He asked quietly, glancing up. They made eye contact, and the Sheriff felt his breath hitch just a little bit. His eyes were very blue, and very nice to get lost in. 

“N-nothing, let’s just…” He mumbled, face burning, forcing his eyes away from the criminals and back to the floor. “Let’s just get you dry, okay?”

Martyn raised an eyebrow, but didn't comment on how red the Sheriff’s face must be. “Okay.” He mumbled, running the towel he was holding through his hair once again. 

Jimmy cleared his throat rather awkwardly, then backed away a bit. “I'll…go get you a change of clothes.” He explained, heading back towards the bathroom. His bedroom was right next to it, and he made a mental note to snag an extra towel on his way back. Just in case.

“Okay, thanks again.” Martyn says, muffled as he finally starts to dry his face. Properly this time, more than just slipping the wet and gross fabric off his face.

“Don't mention it.” He calls over his shoulder, and disappears into his room for a few minutes. He digs through his dresser for a lot longer than intended, all his old and now unused clothes a little buried in the drawers. But he does find them. And eventually Jimmy walks back out, another towel in his hands as well as some gray sweatpants that are far too big for him and a faded t-shirt. He thinks it was a cream color at one point, but now it's turned into some weird off white color after years of use. He hadn't worn it since he became Sheriff, now always wearing his work uniform, and was sure Martyn wouldn't mind the band clothes. His other option was soaking wet, after all. 

“You can get changed in the bathroom.” He says, handing the clothes for the bandit; once their face to face again that is. Martyn has left the drenched towels on the floor in the neatest pile he can, while being dried off the best he can. His shirt has been unbuttoned somewhere in the process, and is showing some of his chest. Jimmy tries not to stare, and keeps his gaze pointedly fixed on the other’s face. 

 “Yeah, okay.” Martyn hums out a response, reaching down to pick up the drenched fabric from the floor. He doesn't quite know what to say, and the Sheriff doesn't either. So he lets the other man scurry off in silence, dry clothes and wet towels alike clutched in his arms as he goes ro get changed. Jimmy watches him go for a few moments, before turning back to the rest of the room. There's still some stuff to handle in here as well, even with the perpetrator gone for the next few minutes. 

There's still wet floorboards and bags of gold to take care of, but Jimmy can really only do something about the latter at the moment. So that's what he does, temporarily alone in his living room and the rain still falling outside. He crouches down, and opens the bag of gold. It needed to get sorted sooner or later, and now is a pretty good time to do so. The blonde might even be able to return some of the riches to Joel and curb his anger a bit, if he's lucky.

He tips the bags on their sides gently, ears flicking as the treasures inside them clink with every movement. Martyn might’ve been right with his estimate of ten pounds, both bags required a good bit of effort to push over. Nothing too strenuous, but enough to make him wonder exactly what was in there. And there was only one way to answer that question as well. 

He retrieves a few pieces of treasure from the first bag, inspecting them before setting them to the side. If he's going to sort through this much stolen gold, he's gonna need an organization system. Especially since of the few things he pulled out, half of them are far more valuable than their counterparts. He wonders how the bandit got all this, and where he even went to get it. Stratos wasn't a small empire by any means, and hard riches scattered across all its upper islands. Either the elf knew where the vault was, or he was really good at stealing from multiple buildings in one night. Both of those options seemed very likely, knowing the man's track record and his rather impressive lock picking skills. (Which I'd why Jimmy wouldn't have taken him to the jail anyways, because he'd have to sit in there all night to make sure the prisoner actually stayed in his cell. ) 

“What're you doin'?” Martyn asked, now standing in the doorway once more. He had managed to walk out of the bathroom unnoticed, probably because of all the sneaking around one of his jobs required. Jimmy looked up in surprise at the sound, and nearly dropped the gold he was currently holding. 

Martyn stood there, somehow snug in clothes that shouldn't fit him. He looked…. nice in the Sheriff's stray t-shirt and sleep pants. He looked really nice actually. Enough that Jimmy had to stop himself from staring. Not to say he didn't look good in his normal outfit, no, Martyn looked good in practically anything . Jimmy felt his cheeks starting to turn red again, and had to look back to all the gold scattered across the floor and towels. He could think about why the Bandit looked so good in his clothes later, when he didn't have pounds and pounds upon stolen goods still sitting in his house. 

“I thought I would sort through the gold.” Jimmy explained, separating another small pile of it with his hands. “Try and return some of it, to get Joel off your back a bit.”

“Thanks.” Martyn blinked, sounding surprised at the last bit. Like the Sheriff would never help him with his crimes. And yeah, he was a criminal, but he was one of the few people that hated the Sky God with a passion. And those people gotta look out for each other, in Jimmy’s mind,  to keep each other from getting struck by lightning. Or maybe that was his poor defense for actually liking the bandit. Just a little bit. 

“Lemme help you.” Martyn says after a moment, crouching next to the Sheriff. Close enough that they could touch, if they really wanted too. Jimmy feels their tails brush for a minute, and hesitantly flicks his own away. The bandit says nothing, just opens the second bag of gold and gets to work. He seems to have already understood the Sheriff’s organization method, quickly tossing the items into their correct piles. Jimmy blinks, a little impressed, and decides to get back to work. They can't get this over with quickly if he just stares all day, like some kind of idiot. And the staring would probably make Martyn uncomfortable, which he doesn't want, if he wants the other to stay in his house. Not that he wants Martyn to stay over, no, never that. He would just…..feel bad if he kicked him back out into the worsening storm. Yeah, yeah, that's all. 

The two of them sorted through the stolen goods in near silence for several minutes, the sound of the storm outside becoming a nice ambience. The rain beat down in the windows, seeming to pick up in its intensity. Jimmy has to wonder if Joel has already discovered the crime, or if he's still asleep. If he has, then the storm is truly getting worse. If he hasn't, then it will worsen before dawn and maybe continue its anger into the next day.

The God of the Sky wasn't very pleasant when crossed, and the Sheriff had plenty of first hand experience and needless damage to his town to back that up. 

The gold was sorted into three piles. The first was for plain ole golden coins, ones used for paying people with. The second was for actual treasures, the things embedded with diamonds and other gemstones. There was a fair amount of jewelry in here, jewelry the Sheriff is sure Joel never wore, so he wondered just what exactly the God was doing with all of this, other than just letting it sit around and collect dust probably. 

The third pile was a miscellaneous pile. Anything that didn't quite fit into the previous piles went there. Any damaged coins or trinkets, ones that weren't worth much anymore, were the main contents of the pile. Plus any item they were unsure about. This pile was definitely going back to Joel, and he didn't even need to ask Martyn to know that. It would probably be the only pile left unstolen from as well, unless the thief sees something shiny or cool looking in the scarps that he wants. 

There's quite a few things in here Jimmy himself will be keeping, at least until Joel comes storming by. Items Martyn probably didn’t mean to steal, based on their appearance. And he finds one in the first bag, buried under more coins than the Sheriff’s ever seen in his life. For a brief second before he finds the item, he truly considers pocketing some gold all for himself. He thinks about taking a couple hundred and then blaming it on Martyn, because he knows the God would probably believe him, his hatred for theft stronger than his distaste for the Sheriff. But the thought causes guilt to shoot through him, even if he is stealing from Joel , one of the richest men in the world, and he has to put all the treasure back in its correct pile. Before he does something he truly regrets, since letting a known criminal into his home apparently isn't one of those things anymore. 

“This isn't Joel’s” Jimmy says into the silence, after picking up a small pedant; the item that's buried under all those coins he kinda wanted to steal. It was made of gold, like the rest of the treasures were, but in the middle was a small H. And there was only one person on those islands to whom this thing could belong too. 

“Oh,” Martyn says, catching sight of the small necklace in Jimmy’s hand. Guilt flashes across the bandit’s face when he sees the small H in the pendent, and he frowns. Martyn won't steal from children, a fact the Sheriff mentally notes down for no particular reason at all. “I didn't mean to steal from Hermes.”

“Figured.” Jimmy says, separating the pendant from the other three piles. That's the fourth pile now, in case something else of Hermes’ had ended up in those two bags. Which is a real possibility, because he knows half of this stuff is from at least three different floating islands. “I'll keep it, and give it back to Joel when he comes by.” 

Martyn goes back sorting with a question, his tail now comfortably resting closer to his side. “How do you know he'll come by?”

“Because he knows you live here, and will accuse me of stealing. Or sending you to steal it.” Jimmy says, already imagining the things he'll be called come morning, right as the stolen goods pass through his fingers. Heh, if Joel knew about this, they'd both get stuck to hell and back by lightning. Probably. Especially if he found out about Hermes’ pendant. 

“Fair point.” Martyn huffs, having sorted about one third of his bag by now. Jimmy is momentarily surprised at his speed, and then remembered the life he lives and how many bags of treasures he's probably had to sort through while on the run. “I thought you didn't like his kid, though.”

“I'm not gonna steal from a little kid.” The Sheriff flicks his ear, annoyed for a very brief second. He thinks Hermes is an annoying little brat, but he won't steal from her. He's like, not even ten. And if Sausage gave him that pendant, then that's another emperor he would have pissed off in taking it. And both Joel and Sausage are already scary enough on their own, nevermind combined. “I'm not that mean.” 

He changes the conversation topic with a huff, giving Martyn an inquiring look. “Why'd you steal from Joel anyways?” He wants to know why the puny, bandit mortal is picking fights with the local God, other than shits and giggles. 

“Because he's an asshole. No one deserves that much gold, especially not assholes.” Martyn mutters grimly, sounding like he has personal experience with some rich assholes. Jimmy makes a mental note of that, and files it away for later. “I don't like how he vandalizes the town either.”

“You know those are all targeted at me, right?” Jimmy asks, raising an eyebrow. He sorts through another handful of golds, pushing it to the side and keeping it far away from Hermes’ stuff. 

“Yeah. And?” Martyn raises his own eyebrow in turn, sorting more gold into the second pile without even looking. 

“...Nothin’.” Jimmy mutters, feeling the way his breath hitches a little. He decides they're done talking for now, actually, lest he get even more flustered than he already is. This gold won't sort itself after all, and talking just slows them down. He ignores how Martyn is near halfway through his bag when he thinks that, and he's just got to the one third mark with his. Yep, talking sure slows them down. Yep…

They keep sorting in silence, listening to nothing but the falling rain and the clinking of sorting coins. The Bandit begins to hum a steady tune to himself, and Jimmy could not help but work to the beat. It certainly made everything go a lot quicker, so much so that he didn't even notice the other man had finished sorting through his bag. The elf there for a minute, looking at the piles of his loot, before he makes up his mind and turns his attention to the Sheriff.

“Lemme help, it'll go quicker.” Martyn mumbled, scooting over. Scooting a lot closer . Like enough that the two men were near flushed against each other. And Jimmy was being very normal about a pretty man sitting mere centimeters away from him. He's very, very normal about it, thank you very much. Totally not red in the face or anything….

“...Okay.” He said, ear flicking a few times. Martyn just gave a nod, grabbed some gold, and started sorting. Jimmy tried to do the same, but found the task had suddenly gotten a lot harder, all thanks to the elf presence. How close they were….closer than they'd ever been. For a fleeting second, the Sheriff dumbly wonders why he was feeling all this stuff and getting so flustered, over Martyn of all people. Then he remembers how the other is dressed at the moment, and suddenly understands all over again, another trinket being sorted into the pile as he does. 

Their hands kept brushing as they worked, and Jimmy tried his damn best to ignore it. It was pretty hard after all, since they were sitting side by side and working together. But Martyn never said anything, only occasionally hummed to himself as he sorted through who knows how many pieces of gold. Jimmy tried to help best he could, even in his flustered state. He wasn’t able to do much, with his current state of mind and also how fast Martyn was with this whole sorting thing. It feels like the blonde did most of the work actually, for both of them, which bothered the Sheriff just a little. He didn't really like being unhelpful, or deadweight, but there wasn't really anything he could do about it. Plus he was far too tired too, considering it was probably nearing three in the morning now. Maybe even four, with how long they'd be at this and how much golf they'd had to sort. 

It seems, as they finish going through the bags, that Joel has finally become aware of what's happened. It took him a good few hours, but still. Outside, the rain gets even heavier, and it sounds like hail pounding against the window. The God has to be right pissed then, to make the storm that much worse. Suddenly, thunder sounds off in the distance, making the Sheriff jump a little. Martyn’s reaction to the noise, however, is a lot more intense. 

The Bandit jumps, dropping the last pieces of gold he's holding and scattering them all across the floor. His tail curls in, and his pointed ears flatten back in what has to be fear. The Sheriff gives him a surprised blink, and scoots a little closer before he even realizes what he's doing. 

"Are....are you okay?" Jimmy asks, hesitantly reaching out. He didn’t touch Martyn, but lingered a few inches away, in case doing so would scare him even more. The blonde wasn't sure if that was a normal reaction to random lightning, or something more serious. Though he felt like it was the latter. 

"Yeah I just..." Martyn mutters shakily, clearly trying to steady his breaths. "I just don't like thunderstorms…” He runs a hand through his probably damp hair, like the action is grounding or comforting to him. Jimmy scoots even closer, resting his hand a mere inches away from Martyn’s other one, the one still resting by the lingering pieces of gold. 

"Oh, okay.” Jimmy mumbles. The bandit seems surprised by his easy acceptance, like he expected to be called dumb or childish for his fear. It’s the surprised glance he gives Jimmy that really gives it away, and Jimmy decides he won’t have that. Still being scared of storms is very valid to him, especially when you're regularly upsetting the God of the Sky.

“I'm still freaked out by dogs.” He offers, hoping it provides some kind of comfort. Martyn blinks at him a few times, puzzled, as he begins to shuffle the gold he’s taking (which is most of it) into the bags. Only the things for Hermes’ remain untouched, and a few hundred to a thousand, give or take. Jimmy had still pocketed none for himself.

“Why?” The bandit asks after a quiet moment, seeming to realize what the other is trying to do. It took him a good few minutes, but he got there eventually.

Jimmy shrugs, watching as the two bags become full of Stratos’ gold one more. He wonders how much money is truly in those bags, and if Martyn had really hit the jackpot like he appeared to have. “Dunno, just never liked ‘em. Especially the big ones.” 

“And now you have cats.” Martyn noted, halfway done with his work already. The Sheriff half wonders if they’ve  lost a few pieces of gold to the floorboards, or if any were lost to the rain. He sleepily wonders if there’s a trail of gold leading Joel right to his doorstep.

“Yep. They're probably hiding from the rain.” He mumbles, a small giggle escaping him. His two cats, Norman and Flick, were very silly little things. They also hated rain, like Martyn, and would probably emerge from their hiding place as soon as the storm was over, begging to be fed and played with.

“Neither of them are scared of me?” The bandit says, curious. It makes sense why he’d think the cats were scared of him, since they hadn’t seen hide nor hair of either of them since the blonde had arrived. Thinking about it, the Sheriff had barely seen them since before he originally went to sleep, as they were being skittish that day. Maybe they'd sensed the upcoming storm…

“Nah, they're pretty friendly to people. Not dogs though.” Jimmy says, remembering how friendly his boys were. It wasn’t unusual to see them hanging around town, or his office, getting all the pets and attention from anyone they could while the Sheriff was hard at work. The spoiled little things they were…but they were his number two and three deputies for a good reason. And it wasn’t just the fact that they were cute, Jimmy sowre that up and down whenever anyone asked, and he wasn't going to stop insisting that now.

Martyn giggled at that, but is promptly interrupted by another loud clap of thunder. The elf jumped once again, tail flicking wildly behind him, and it sounded like he cut himself off from screaming. Jimmy’s eyes widened, and he moved even closer to the other out of concern. Thankfully, all the gold was now done being sorted, so none had gone flying when Martyn jumped this time. Thankfully, the Sheriff thought as the elf pressed against this side, their work was done and they could finally rest. Maybe spare Martyn some feat and sleep through the rest of this storm. 

“You can sleep on the couch, if you'd like?” He offers after a few minutes of sitting, the two men pressed together, now that the gold is all put away and the bandit’s nerves are starting to calm a bit. It’s late, raining, and would probably benefit both of them if they went to sleep now.

“Y-Yeah, that would be-” Martyn stammers, and is cut off by a loud strike of lighting this time. And after seeing how he reacted for a third time, after seeing the way he jumps and his whole body goes rigid with fear, the Sheriff knows he just can’t let him sleep on the couch like he originally suggested. He can’t leave this poor man to face his fear alone, especially with the extra knowledge that a pissed off God (who also hates the both of them, no less,) is causing it.

“Nevermind.” Jimmy sighs, grabbing the Bandit’s hand. Martyn startles at the touch, but lets it happen. He leans into it, actually, if Jimmy isn't imagining things. “I can't just leave you alone.” He manages to pull them both up from the floor, and ignores the way the elves face turns a bit red at his strength. That's one of the million other things from tonight he'll have to think about later, it seems. 

“Thanks..” The blonde mumbles, letting himself be pulled towards the bedroom without much complaint. Which was a little unsettling actually, because this was the type of thing he'd make some inappropriate joke about. Maybe reprise his earlier remark about sleeping with the Sheriff and how lucky he is. But Martyn says nothing, and is perfectly content to stay silent as they enter the bedroom.  

It's a bit awkward at first, when both of them sit on the bed. But the storm makes another noise, lighting or thunder Jimmy couldn't tell, and the bandit jumps once more. Next thing both of them know, Martyn’s pressed himself up against the Sheriff in his temporary panic, looking for anything that was warm and comforting. Apparently, Jimmy was the latter thing to him. Another thing he could think about later, after the night was long over. 

Jimmy makes a comforting humming sound, because if Martyn thinks he's comforting he's going to be so, dammit. The Bandit is curled into his side, kinda like a cat, ears flattened from the loud sounds of the storm outside. Without either of them noticing, his tail ends up tied with Jimmy’s, and the Sheriff doesn't care when he does notice. It's actually kinda….nice, being this close to Martyn, regardless if the others fear. He wonders if the blonde thinks this is nice, and if it would nicer on any other night. A normal one, without stolen gold and a raging storm, a night just for them to spend together alone. 

“Any reason why you're scared of thunderstorms, or….?” He mumbles, resting his cheek against the other’s head. He's tried and ready to go back to sleep, so the bandit will have to be a good pillow for the next little while. He does have work in the morning, after all, like he has every day….

“I just….always have been since I was little.” Martyn hums. He sounds throughly rattled, and tries to get closer to the Sheriff with every loud noise. Noises that are probably louder for both of them, due to being hybrids and having better hearing and all that stuff. Jimmy knows the thunder and lighting hurts his ears a bit, and can't even imagine how loud it might be for poor Martyn. 

“Mm, okay.” He mumbles in response, eyelids starting to droop as he once again remembers his own childhood fear of dogs that'd stuck around. Yeah, Jimmy could feel his brain shutting down, and the rest of his body begging for the sleep it probably really, really needed. Which was the Sheriff’s sign to start slowly laying the both of them down, Martyn still snugg aganist him as his own head hit the pillow. “Try to sleep?”

“Yeah, I'll try.” The bandit mumbles, and stays tense for the next few minutes. And Jimmy know he won't be able to sleep if Martyn can't, and just lays there upset on his arms. So, after a little hesitantion he starts running his fingers through slightly damp hair, an action that he hopes will calm both of them down, and lull the two gently into sleep. Normally, the Sheriff doesn't think he'd be doing any of this, but it's like, three am and he'd gone to bed late. He's functioning on an interrupted four hours of sleep, and doesn’t have the brain capacity to think why being so affectionate with Tumble Town’s most troublesome bandit might be a bad idea, actually. That , like a lot of other things, sounds like a thought and a problem for morning Jimmy. 

Thankfully, maybe due to the touch, Martyn relaxes despite the roaring storm outside. His breathing slowly but surely evens out, and before Jimmy knows it, the blonde is fast asleep beside him. Sleepily, a smile forces its way onto Jimmy’s face, and within the next minute or so, he’s fallen asleep as well; fully comfortable in the presence of a criminal. (He doesn’t mind it, he finds as he drifts off, even though he should. Something about this one is very, very different, he thinks. In a good way, a way he wants to cherish and keep close, despite everything. Despite all the stolen gold in his living room….)

__________________________________

In the morning, the Sheriff wakes up to the two of them tangled together. Sometime when they were sleeping, Martyn had ended up laying his head on the cow’s chest. He’s sound asleep, and snoring gently on top of it. Jimmy holds back a noise of amusement at that, and spares a glance at the window. The storm has calmed since they went to bed, and it seems to be past sunrise already. He doesn’t feel very well rested, not after his early morning interruption, but he’s awake and has stuff to do today. Feeling well rested is a luxury for a certain type of people, and Jimmy has never been one of them.

He starts to sit up slowly, feeling a little guilty for dislodging the person on top of him. Martyn barely even wakes up at the movement, most likely tried out of his mind from the previous night. He just snuggles closer to Jimmy, clinging onto him like a damn koala clings onto a tree, and buries his face back in the Sheriff’s chest. The Sheriff just makes another amused sound, and shifts again, hoping it would wake the bandit up this time.

Thankfully, that is finally what rouses Martyn from his slumber, though he doesn’t stop holding onto the Sheriff like a lifeline. He murmurs something into Jimmy’s shirt, something all bleary and unintelligible, and a surge of fondness goes through the Sheriff’s chest at the sound. Maybe he does actually like Martyn, just a little bit.

“Good mornin’” Jimmy mumbles quietly, pressing a quick kiss against his bandit's forehead. He feels his cheeks burn a little, and kinda wants to do it again.

Martyn doesn't notice the affection, too focused on snuggling even closer to the Sheriff. If that was possible. And he was probably too out of it as well, considering he woke up only a few seconds ago. “Morning….” He mumbles back sleepily, reaching up and pressing his face into the crook of Jimmy’s neck. 

The blonde lets out a huff of fondness despite himself, and absentmindedly runs a hand though the others hair. “You gotta get up, I have work to do.” He mumbles into Martyn’s hair, already starting to shift the other off him. 

Martyn makes a mumble of protest, putting a bit of a whine into his voice. The Sheriff had no idea he was this clingy before today, and was already thinking of how he could weigh this over the bandit in the future. In case he tried any of his more extreme shenanigans around the town. “But I'm tireddd.” 

“C'mon, you know Joel's gonna be here by noon. And I can't get caught with a criminal in my bed.” Jimmy reasons, now properly sitting up. Martyn slides off him with a grumble, but doesn’t protest. He seems content to just lay in the sheets for a few minutes longer, still blinking the sleep away from his eyes.

“As far as that God and the people are concerned, I'm the bartender right now.” Martyn mumbles, his blue eyes meeting the Sheriff’s own for the first time that morning. There’s a small smile on his face, and the cow hybrid can’t help the warmth he feels upon seeing it. 

“There's bags of gold in my living room.” He points out, gently poking the bandit on the forehead. Martyn scrunches up his nose in response, and makes yet another attempt to snuggle closer to him. Jimmy resists the urge to roll his eyes, and makes another point he’s pretty sure will work. “Fwhip's coming over at nine.”

“ Fine.” Martyn huffs, sitting up instantly. His own distaste for the deputy was enough to get him up, just as Jimmy suspected it would be. He wasn’t sure why the elf disliked Fwhip so much, but it was working in his favor right about now. The blonde is moving off the bed before even Jimmy is, his feet hitting the floor with a dull thud. The Sheriff watches him, curious, as Martyn prepares to leave for the day.

“I’ll get the gold and be gone in a few minutes.” Martyn says, doing some quick stretches. Likely in preparation for all the distance he'll have to cover with those bags in toe, even if Jimmy’s sure it's not a hard task for a bandit of his caliber. “Cover for me? When Joel comes by?” He fixes Jimmy with a look when he's done speaking, one the Sheriff knows he couldn't say no to, not in a million years; even if he was already going to agree in the first place. He kinda wants to get lost in it, if the blonde's being honest. 

“Of course.” Jimmy nods, stretching a little himself. “You can keep the clothes by the way, I don’t wear them anymore.” He adds, once again finding himself flustered by the bandits outfit. He shoves the thoughts down as quickly as they come, and tries to focus on going along with his morning. 

“Oh, thanks.” Martyn murmurs, sounding surprised. He slowly begins to shuffle towards the door, looking like he doesn't know what to say after last night and the last few minutes; now that their not as sleep deprived and bavk in their right minds. Which is understandable, there's a lot of things Jimmy wants to say as well, but doesn't know how. He really wishes he had the words for it though, because he felt important. He wonders if Martyn does too. “Well…..see you later.”

“Yeah….see you later.” Jimmy says, watching the other leave. He can't help but stare as the elf retreats, and the bedroom door shuts behind him. The sounds of moving fills the quiet house, the cats having yet to emerge from their hiding places. Or they hadn’t decided to be vocal yet, one of the two. More than likely, one of them (probably Flick) was intently staring at Martyn from some hiding spot and watching him leave, like the little weirdo he was. 

There's the sound of the bandit shuffling around in the bathroom, probably retrieving his other clothes. Other clothes, because Jimmy’s old ones were now his. Judging by the sounds, he then moved into the living room, and started to carry his two bags of stolen gold out. The Sheriff had to wonder if Joel would even miss all that gold, or if he was just gonna make a fuss about it just to fuss. And throw insults at his two least favorite people, but that's a question for later in the day. Right now it is morning, and everything feels oddly still and somber as Martyn leaves his home. It's also far too quiet, but Jimmy makes no effort to change that. He doesn't know what sound would be appropriate to fill the silence. And so no one else, human or cat, made a sound as the house's temporary visitor departed. 

Jimmy hears the front door click shut as he stands, and almost wishes he'd kissed the (his) bandit goodbye. 

[rifleseye]

Mun VS. Muse

Similarities:

Interests — We're both incredibly passionate about our interests! Perceptor's obviously got a special interest in science, and that's something I heavily relate to. And though I might not be a scientist myself I'm still very intrigued by science.

Low-Empathy — We've both got low empathy. That's to say that it's hard for us to relate to other people's feelings, and can actually feel uncomfortable in situations where that might be seen as the proper thing to do.

Eye Problems — I wear glasses. He wears that reticle. I don't really have to go into detail about this one.

Metallurgy — We both work with metal! Though my time working with metal was limited and more or less for the artistic side of it, it's still something I wanna get more into. (Also it's amazing how much you learn about the chemical compounds that make up metal when you work with it. Very hands-on.)

Absent-Minded — Percy and I are often described as absent-minded, when really we're just focusing and fixating on what we're doing to the point everything else becomes background noise.

Emotionally Stunted — Don't gotta go into detail in this. Says it on the tin.

Blunt — We're both really blunt, and it's not because we're mean (though it's often misinterpreted as such) but rather that tone is both difficult and that we try to be as concise and to the point as possible. No need to play mind games in communicating.

Strong Ethics — We both feel very strongly about our morals. Percy's more focused on scientific ethics while I'm really into ethical philosophy tho :P

Near Death Situation — Yeah.

Dissimilarities:

Intelligence — Perceptor's waaaaaaaay smarter than I am on an academic level. I wanted to pursue science as a kid but math was a huge barrier to it so I went into the arts instead.

Dyscalculia — I cannot for the life of me understand math. Percy's a mathematician.

Creativity — I'm an artist, not a scientist. I'd like to think I'm good at it too. Meanwhile I think the only art Percy ever does is drawing up graphs and blueprints.

Height — I mean. I'm 5'4. He's 36'.

Neurosis — Percy's OCD is a bit more towards the cleanliness side of things. Whereas he keeps his space organized to the point of having a spartan area, I'm much more messier. (I'd go more into why he acts that way but I'll save that for an hc post :P)

Metal vs. Organic — Pretty obvious.

War Vet — Percy's one, I'm not.

tagged. @aircommndr

[os-mod-eus]

0001.     —     01 / 2023

I’ve been having fantasies of suicide lately—a new low in this chasm of despair that I’m not totally unfamiliar with, but not numb to. A low that brings foreboding, and a sense of permanency. I worry that this is the start of the inescapable. The start of descent without feeling gravity. Depression always seems to work that way. One day you gain a glimmer of awareness; presence within it, and you look around, and somehow it’s all shocking despite the fact that you’ve been resting as some heap in this dark and lonely area for quite some time. You can know that, and you can feel the heaviness of that, but once it registers, it’s like you’ve never seen this place before. Bewildered and paralyzed with the fear that presses down unto your chest in that one moment before your brain decides to flip the switch again, and back into numbness you go, as a way to cope with the darkness you find yourself in. It’s some self-serving cycle that plays out in a miserable loop. You cannot escape because you cannot cope, you cannot cope because you cannot escape.

I’ve been thinking of why people hurt others when they reach such an inescapable low.. It terrifies me to admit that I’ve been able to empathize with the ill that go around getting revenge. I hope to never lose myself to my bitterness, but I have never known bitterness like this. A special kind of livid, borne only from the ashes of someone who now knows they’ve been burned into rubble. See, before, my self worth was so beaten down I believed I’d deserved to be burned alive, and not only that, but that I deserved every subsequent encounter with fire that singed my skin. Now I know that I am worth more than being set on fire, and within that, I find a violent rage towards everyone who even tries to bring flame near me.

I know I’ve been wronged, and I am angry, and that is both freedom and imprisonment.

Now, every time I think of the way [ REDACTED ] spoke to me, without any empathy, with the entitlement of someone who’s been coddled and privileged but experienced trauma so they can’t see that, much less admit to it when it serves them so well not to. Every time I think of her, I feel that rekindling of rage all over again in my chest. Then it nestles there, where my bitterness nurtures it. That bitterness remembers the condescension in her voice as she explained to me how I should be functioning at my lowest, that I don’t deserve her communication because I “should already know”—as if I can read minds—and then to take the buzzwords of trauma, flashbacks, triggered, low-functioning depression, and apply them to herself as a way to absolve herself of the obligation of giving me basic respect, empathy, kindness... when her objective behavior does not align with those buzzwords, but mine does: a special kind of punch to the gut.

Some people claim to be disabled while still being able to independently care for themselves. That’s what I learned at 2118 Haystreet. Some people clutch on to the terms of necessity to those who are drowning in their pain to invalidate those same people about that pain. To shame those same people for not functioning to the ability of others. For being dis-abled. That’s what I learned at 2118 Hay street.

I learned that as the one with the target on my chest, during a slip backwards, even though I still had enough traction in my footing to get up soon, and I knew it would be soon because I’d worked so hard to get to soon.

I asked for respect of my boundaries, and they were crossed, and I was told they were too inconvenient, as if that absolves someone of respecting them. Soon was not enough for someone who claimed to be my close friend, and then suddenly, I was being shamed for being sick. And then suddenly, I was not slipping back down, but tumbling back down.

Now I’m at the inescapable again, when I just barely escaped last time. At the inescapable, about to lose my shelter and sense of safety. At the inescapable, facing the consequences of being sick in a society where the ill have no place. At the inescapable, required to play nice with the person who hurt me this way, so that the last tiny sliver of safety I have won’t be taken from me, when all I feel is angry. I feel like I am metaphorically writhing within the injustice—furious to the point of insanity. Because there are so many layers to this, and in every one, I am the one who’s faced the consequences, when I am the victim. I am allowed to say that. I am allowed to understand that I was a victim. I am allowed. I am allowed. I am allowed. I am allowed to know that I was a victim and to be angry. God dammit, I am allowed! I am not only allowed—I am DESERVING! I deserve to know that I did not deserve how I was treated, when so much of my inherent rights have been robbed of me. I deserve to be able to be angry when someone attempts to rob me of more of my inherent rights. The rights to basic respect and empathy.

Now I dream of suicide because I cannot imagine a life in which I am not surrounded by those who feel above such basic humanity, and will hurt me, even when I’m screaming out for love and understanding, if it means they will be allowed to be selfish. I cannot imagine a life in which I have a group of friends that I don’t incessantly feel afraid and the need to watch my back—because so many before them have proven to me why I must. I am afraid that what I dreamed of as salvation as a child does not exist: a healthy home, a stable and loving group of friends. I’ve found only friendship flourishes when I put all of myself into the other, and take care of their needs, while having my own ignored. The second I try to advocate for my needs, I am met with defensiveness and then the tide gets turned on me. They convince me that my anger is bad, simply for being anger. And then I am back in my childhood, sitting on the bottom three steps leading down into the living room, as my foster mother berated and lectured me for hours for daring to hold her accountable—no matter how feebly.

I do not like this world. Sometimes I feel this deep morose and disappointment as I realize the only way to exist in this world is to be emotionally selfish, even mildly, and that does not come naturally to me. Why can’t I live without having my own empathy taken advantage of and never returned? And, even worse, buckled down on why I don’t deserve the empathy.

Buzz words like lazy and mooching. You offered to help me in my time of need. You offered to help me for as long as I needed until I was back on my feet. I gave you every opportunity to tell me no. I told you, explicitly, what illnesses and afflictions I struggle with, and you retained the offer. Why? Why, if the moment I showed symptoms of exactly the thing I warned you of, you would throw me to the wolves? I don’t pay attention to words; I pay attention to actions, and it doesn’t matter how many times you smile in my face, I will continue to be angry about your actions as they serve as injustice towards me, and I will not let you condescend me about why that anger makes me irrational while you are rational, because you can speak hushed and sweet while shoving a knife in my back. I am not irrational to recognize that knife, or to recognize that I don’t deserve to be stabbed, or to be angry that you’ve betrayed me. And how disgusting of you to weaponize my condition’s symptoms, as a way to convince me otherwise.

“I underestimated how sick you were,” when I bark back after you back me into a corner. Barking back is not sickness. It is the opposite of sickness. What I do when I bark back is all that matters—but I am allowed to tell you exactly what you did to me and how it affected me, and I am allowed to expect you to own up to that instead of trying to tell me that I’m just so sick, how could you have known, how could you be expected to help me.

Giving someone basic respect and empathy is not helping them. It’s the bare minimum. And I feel sick to my stomach even as I write this, because I know that to any outsider who could not know all the nuance of the entire situation, they would gladly take your side and reinforce the idea that I am just sick, so everything I say is null. Everything I say must be irrational, because the mentally ill are always irrational.

I know this because I’ve lived this, countless times, over and over and over, and this is what makes me so angry and hopeless that I will ever find other humans who just care and won’t hurt me in my times of need. This is why I’ve been dreaming of suicide, because even my ideal life, even with this compromise, is so unreachable. I will never be able to live off the grid in the woods, because it costs money to get there first, to build shelter first, to set up the means of survival first. And I am in this god awful position of genuinely being disabled with complex PTSD and nobody believing that any of the mentally disabled should be given the same rights as the physically disabled. My options are to become able again, or suffer, stifled down by a government that makes it impossible to live a life of substance if you’re unable to contribute to its capitalistic nature.

This is why [ REDACTED ] makes me so angry, because she can choose to work less solely to qualify for more government benefits, while working just enough to live a comfortable life, while she demonstrated the ability to work more. She intentionally lowered her hours so her income would lower enough to qualify for SNAP again. There is such extreme privilege in be able to do something like that, and claiming you are disabled in the same breath, while shaming your roommate for not being capable of getting out of bed to shower more than once a week let alone work even half the hours you can without immense struggle.

When I spoke of how severe and horrific my flashbacks are, what living hell they are and why they make me struggle to keep up with my basic necessities (defending myself), your response was “I know. I go into them all the time.”  while in the same breath telling me I’m “not doing my part”. So you know what they’re like, but you also think  that I should function more because “me and [ REDACTED ] clean something up when we see it’s dirty”. So you know what they’re like, but because I can’t function like you and your partner who doesn’t have them, I get no empathy for literally being disabled by them?

Some people become the face of a minority group when they barely struggle as such, and then shame those in that minority group for their minority-borne struggles. That’s what I learned at 2118 Hay street.

When I’m being invalidated, I need to remind myself of all the facts, and break down the situation to be able to feel my strength as the victim of the situation, and know that I don’t deserve the way I’m being treated. That’s what I learned at 2118 Hay street.

[hkbfinn]

Gentrification is Poison

What is interesting about gentrification is how it mimics colonisation processes.

People who live in low rent neighbourhoods (where they exist on the periphery of a society) are pushed out by people with buying power.

The social mechanisms that maintain poverty amongst a group of people also plays a huge role in making their low income homes easy targets for wealthier members of the middle classes (who literally buy them out of their low income homes, often set up my local governments as a community catchment for the redlined, under funded & financially crippled people of a particular neighbourhood).

The same can be said for colonisation (where external communities use their wealth & buying powers to control & ultimately deprive a community of what it needs or undermine the culture of it’s own autonomy in order to extract vital resources). This is the same colonial mechanism that is used in gentrification with the resource being homes & communities.

One bi-product of gentrification is ‘victim blaming’ & ‘victim shaming’ used to surround citizens who are pushed out of their cultural & social enclaves to portray them as lazy, incompetent & unworthy of empathy as their homes & community cohesion is dispersed like it’s people.

The same mechanism that once blamed poverty & high crime on certain communities is then used to disenfranchise calls for justice & social preservation when a community is in the throes of being gentrified.

When we speak of the ills of gentrification, what we are really talking about is the corruption & greed of the human spirit. When we are addressing the toxicity of gentrification we are ultimately addressing the underlying inhumanity that denies low rent citizens their right to enjoy the shared values & share a sense of community drawn from living in close proximity together.

The coloniser or gentrifiers seek to disrupt & destroy former low rent communities by changing their night lives, day lives, parking, community splendours of outdoor enjoyments, congregation & even of laughter.

The same local governments who denied adequate funding & care for the infrastructure of many low rent communities; which over time dilapidates the low rent community areas needs for good policing, fire, rubbish collection, street or elevator maintenances, education & social outreach is the same local government who will then victim blame those communities for the blight of crime, dirt & despair.

This opens the inflicted community to social regeneration in the form of gentrification & community dispersal. The coloniser/gentrifier process is an all too familiar mode of community destruction used by political structures who harbour envy & hatred towards our communities.

Colonialism is fundamentally a mode of destruction which seeks to extract the resources of a salient community & gentrification is it’s bastard offspring. Colonialism worked because it was done incrementally so by the time they tried to organise they were overtaken. Gentrification uses the same process.

Where ever we go, they will surely follow because these parasites will not stop until we make them stop. The local government pawns who undermine our safeties & boundaries will not stop selling us out until we make them stop…🏵

Created by HKB FiNN

www.justjazzvisuals.com

[hex-obsession]

Silver Lining- Three

word count- 2,389

content warning- language, sexual acts (potentially rough)

____________________________________________

Nothing like getting pulled out of a deep sleep to go repair bulky, strident machinery and run, literally, for your life. You were, physically and mentally, in a fog. Worn out from the emotional runaround mere hours ago, you weren’t your usual bubbly self. To make matters worse, Leon was here and saw the discomfort on your face. Who wouldn’t? You were always bad at masking your feelings.

“Everything okay y/n?” Chills trickled through your ears and down the back of your neck at the soothing hum of his voice. It was too early for this, but at least you were fully awake now.

“Y-yeah, just tired.” Your hand defensively moves to your other arm, sending him the opposite message of ‘I’m fine’. Leon tenderly places his hand over yours, ducking slightly to be eye level with you. Instead of speaking, you just stare back at him blankly. Mind racing yet empty, you're completely lost for words. You forgot how to even speak, let alone move your tongue. Finally, your sense of self-preservation kicks in and you blurt out “I’m fine, really. Just in a haze, I guess. Really tired.” You force a smile, praying he buys it, or at least takes it as a hint not to pry. He’s still staring at you, studying your face and body language. This man was far too perceptive to fall for a lie that poorly executed. Not wanting to interrogate you and possibly upset you further, he let it go. His face relaxed, the puzzled, disapproving expression now replaced by one of empathy and concern.

“If there’s something on your mind, please tell me when you’re ready.” He extends his other arm and gently pulls you toward him, which you do not resist. You sheepishly wrap your arms around him, worried he might feel the pounding in your chest and return to questioning you. You couldn’t help but melt in his arms, which did help calm your nerves some. Consoling each other (let’s be real, it was always him consoling you) was no new feat. His uniform was rough on your cheek, a mix of harsh fabric and dried blood, but you didn’t mind. With your head turned, resting on his chest, you saw Jeff and Laurie coming closer. As much as you wanted to stay in this exact spot forever, you were grateful to direct Leon’s attention to anything other than you long enough to compose yourself. Hands eager to touch him longer, you lovingly rub his back and give his sides a little squeeze before releasing him.

“Sorry, hope we didn’t interrupt anything,” Laurie chimes innocently.

Cheeks ablaze, you jump to defend yourself. “No you’re fine! I’m just feeling a tad under the weather and Leon is a great friend.” You smile, eyes darting back to him only long enough to see he’s staring at you. Fuck, fuck, your face was on fire. Back on Laurie, she ever so slightly squints, so quickly you would’ve missed it if you weren’t excruciatingly observant. Her lips curl at the edges. She knows. You look back to Leon, who is still staring at you. Shit, fuck. You look to your left trying to avoid everyone's gaze. Her dainty hands latch onto you, pulling you into a hug. You stumble slightly, intoxicated by nervousness.

“Oh, sorry love.” She tilts her head back just enough for her mouth to line up with your ear. “Do it.” Her voice is heavy and breathy. It almost startles you, and a nervous chuckle escapes you.

“Th-thanks Laurie. Yeah, I just had a weird dream and I’m feeling really, uh, off.”

Heart racing, you thought it might be trying to escape, the force with which it was beating. You push your hair away from your face, hoping it would make breathing less labored when, you only made it easier to see how flustered you were. A final glance at Leon confirms he is indeed still staring. You’d never been thankful for the entity taking you before, but there’s a first time for everything. The fog surrounds you and the trial ensues, scattering you across the map. Completely disregarding everything other than your feelings, you shake your head and stretch your arms above you. They come down, folding around your head and you stare at the lockers in front of you, eyes out of focus; not actually taking in what you were looking at. A few deep breaths later, you pull yourself together enough to move your feet, one in front of the other. Midwich Elementary School; possibly your favorite of all the entity’s destinations. You recognized your surroundings. This was the locker room. Leaving the second floor was your first goal. As you entered the hallway, a bright light flickered in your face. At the end of the hall, Jeff pointed to the room to his right. You jogged over to him, said brief hellos, and knelt down to work on the repairs together. Shortly thereafter, with little remaining progress, a faint heartbeat echoed in your ears. You peered around the broken wall; no sign of the killer. The generator dings to life and you decide to split up to cover more ground. Jeff drops through a hole in the bathroom across the hall, leading you to divert from your original plan and head toward the other upstairs classrooms. As you near the stairwell, your heartrate increases. Not from the unbearable sexual tension you had for Leon, but the killer was close. You see nothing down the hall to your left, which meant the killer was below you. You sprint ahead, trying to make as little noise as possible. To your dismay, you were detected. Feet heavy on the ground, your footsteps echoed around you. You tripped on something but were far too agile to lose your balance, and never fell. Before rounding the corner, you look behind you to see what terror you were up against this time. A human figure with a red stain; the Legion. Extremely misleading the first time you ran into them. Extremely. You dart left, breaking line of sight. The chemistry lab is your best bet. Dropping through the floor will most likely get him off your trail. To prevent leaving scratch marks, you slow to a brisk walk. Just as you thought you would evade the killer, something grabs you and you lurch backward. Before you could scream, a hand covers your mouth. Leon spins you around to face him and pulls you close. The two of you are pressed tightly together between lockers and a wall. Heart racing, for multiple reasons, you stare at the small space where the floor is visible. Confused, the red light was bouncing around, taunting you. All that was on your mind was the heat radiating from all the areas your bodies were touching. The sudden realization that Leon had his arms around you, protecting you, made you jerk your head back to look at him. His eyes, normally brooding, were instead intently locked onto you with, was that, adoration? You didn’t want to get the wrong idea, or make assumptions rooted in your own feelings. A gen on the other side of the school is completed, and you see the Legion vault a window into the courtyard, leaving the two of you alone in the hall. Although the killer was nowhere near you, your heart was racing, painfully. You were agonizingly aware of the recurring flush that filled your face. You couldn’t bring yourself to look him in the eyes, so you focused on his neck instead. So smooth and inviting. Every fiber of your being wanted to kiss it and bite it and moan his name into it. Your legs felt as if they would give way beneath you at any moment. You straightened your back to put more pressure on the wall behind you, allowing you to bend your legs slightly to prevent them from buckling under you. He had put himself slightly to your left as to

make sure he could block you from any attacks, if need be. If either of you moved forward so much as an inch, your legs would begin lacing together. Noticing how close your hips were to his sent a rush of heat to your crotch. Sick with suspense, you finally force yourself to look up. Before meeting his eyes, you analyze his lips. You craved them on your own. Your tongue on his; tasting each other.

“Y/n…” You’d never been turned on by your own name before. It was less your name and more the way it eased out of his mouth. Longing, impatient. Watching his lips emit your name made you crazed. You bit your bottom lip, wishing it were him biting it instead. Almost gasping for air, you take a deep breath and look into his eyes. Chills breeze over your body like a crisp fall evening. Muscles so weak you could barely move, you ease your hands around his waist, locking your fingers behind him. Your desire for him was borderline primitive at this point. If given the chance to pull him into one of the classrooms and fuck him right there on one of the desks, you’d take it without contemplation. Hell, you might initiate it in a second. Your pussy was throbbing, begging for him. You shifted your legs again, intertwining them completely. The pressure of his thigh on your clit sent electric chills through your legs to your toes. A short, pleased sigh escaping you drew his attention. His head eased forward slowly, sealing the distance between the two of you. His nose grazed yours and you gently nudged into it. You were panting in his face, which you would come to feel embarrassed about later. He continued forward until you felt his lips brush against yours. It tickled in the most satisfying way possible, like a flower against velvet.

“Yes,” you whispered against his lips, and just like that, every worry or care in the world vanished.

Softly, he pressed his lips to yours. It was electric to say the bare minimum. You took a staggered breath causing him to pull away. Your eyes shot open, darting wildly between his facial features, searching for any indication of regret. Instead, he places a hand on your cheek and pulls you into him. This time your lips met, they were ravenous. You suck his bottom lip into your mouth and bite down. Not enough to cause damage, but enough to cause him to let out a low rumbling moan into your mouth which sent you over the edge. Your non-dominant hand leaves his back and latches onto his gorgeous blonde hair. It was so soft in your fingers, like silk. You tilted your head and ran your tongue across the lip you still had trapped between your teeth. You released it which allowed Leon to open his mouth against yours and slide his tongue inside. Oh God, he tasted better than you’d imagined. Fleshy yet almost sweet, like the faintest hint of cinnamon. Your head was spinning and you felt light-headed from the stimulation (and the fact there was a good amount of blood in the lower half of your body). You were fixated on the fact that his saliva was in your mouth. You’d end up swallowing it, and vice versa. Your grip on his hair tightened and you let out a faint whimper. The combination made him growl with pleasure. His hands roamed your body briefly, coming to a stop at your waist. Seemingly effortlessly, he bent forward slightly, just enough to put his hands directly under your ass and prop you up against the wall, tongues still tangled. You wrapped your legs around him, wanting him to be even closer. You wanted, needed, him inside you. Given the new position, you could feel his engorged cock between your legs. You were almost- almost- concerned by the size of it. From what you could feel, he was well endowed. The hand on his back lowered to his ass cheek, which you graciously squeezed. You pulled him forward into you, just slightly at first, increasing the pressure of his bulge on you. You released and did it again. In any normal situation, you’d have never made a grown, fully clothed man grind on you like a horny pubescent boy, but these feelings for him had been pent up so long that they mutated from a sweet crush to full blown irrefutable lust. He caught on to what you were doing and abruptly removed his tongue from your mouth, leaving you confused and wanting all the more. His left hand came up to your chin and turned your head to the side, allowing him to press his lips to your ear.

Barely above a whisper, just a susurration, “You want me that bad, huh?” he taunted you. You were incapable of feeling embarrassment at the moment, brain flooded with desire. The warmth of his breath in your ear made you salivate. In a different setting, you would have begged to choke on his dick right now.

“Yeah? So what?” was the best retaliation you could think of in the moment. He chuckled; lips still pressed to your ear. The hand on your cheek traced your jaw and slid down to your neck. His slender, graceful fingers wrapped around your throat and gave it an intoxicating squeeze. Just hard enough to make you gasp but not hurt.

“I want to hear you beg for me,” his deep, warm voice filling your ear.

Your eyes shut and you tilt your head back in utter bliss, letting out a satisfied moan. He responded by nibbling your earlobe, which made you curse delightedly under your breath. Wanting to look at his irresistible face, you opened your eyes. Only, instead, you were greeted by eight beady black eyes peering down at you.

Snapping out of your drunken state, you blurt, “Oh fuck, Leon, the birds.”

He looks up to them with resentment and lets out a frustrated sigh. “Can we pick this up again later?” Ocean eyes begging you.

“You bet your fucking ass we’re picking this up later,” you demand before crashing your lips into his once more. “Now let’s get the fuck out of here before the whole flock follows us.”

____________________________________________

Silver Lining masterlist

[phoenixyfriend]

I know very little about GG, but my brain has decided to focus on the Stewjon GG AU. Anyway, you saying that Satine taking in the sparky clones wouldn’t work because she’s dedicated to pacifism and sparks aren’t peaceful has me wondering what Satine and Obi-Wan’s relationship is like in this au. Because like he’s absolutely going to do things that she’d find ethically unacceptable. And that’s fun. Like ok Obi-Wan might be relatively ethical as sparks go (I’m getting that impression but I might be wrong), but he’s going to idk steal body parts from a corpse at least once. And look I’m constantly fascinated my character dynamics so I’m mostly just getting excited in your inbox rn, but I’m also wondering what influence Obi-Wan might have on Satine’s ideology given they met as young-ish teens I believe. And he and Qui-Gon were protecting her I think. So, yeah apparently I’m focusing on what their relationship could be like.

OKAY so. Here's the fun thing: while the Spark is a neurotype that is characterized in large part by tunnel vision to the exclusion of ethics and morality when in pursuit of a goal, it's also heavily influenced by the culture of 1890s Europe* (which is already not great on the scientific morality front) and by the way the world has adjusted and grown with the presence of Sparks as a regular, known threat that has also encouraged the association of certain behaviors and stereotypes with anyone displaying that neurotype, much like toxic masculinity encourage negative behaviors in men that aren't naturally there.

* Primarily the regions we would know as Romania, France, and England, as those are the areas the story has passed major arcs in so far.

@atagotiak had a really fun breakdown, I think:

One fun thing about the spark as shown in GG is uh. The moral standards of even the most moral characters have been shaped by how society has been run by sparks for generations, and like, oftentimes the type of sparks that have no impulse control. And also how irl 1800’s experimental procedure is not exactly… ethical. It’s hard to tease out how much of even Agatha’s unhingedness like with the needles and stuff is inherent to the spark and how much is that this is considered acceptable-ish behaviour in her world. A Star Wars spark, especially a Jedi spark, is gonna be at least a little different and probably not perfect but def way better than the average GG spark at remembering things like autonomy and stuff because they grew up being taught ethics.

So it's not really that sparks are inherently bad at ethics, so much as that between the tunnel vision and the wider culture, they're taught that it's okay to ignore moral considerations in pursuit of Knowledge or Monsters.

If Obi-Wan stole body parts from a corpse in front of Satine, there'd be some pretty extenuating circumstances, like one of Satine's close friends is dying due to damage to the liver, and a Death Watch member with the same blood type is already recently dead from a head shot three feet away... well, the transplant will save a life! They're not using it anymore! It's not ethical, really, but it's contextually... not just 'oh hey, I'm mad-sciencing!' but weighing the pros and cons to save a life.

Another Tia quote:

She’s complicated in that she often very thoughtless towards other people. And doesn’t seem to get their pov on things. If I rewatched though that lens I could probably find a good argument that she’s somewhat low-empathy herself, and that’s part of why she’s so rigid regarding the rules of how to be a good person. Like she tries to do good but I’m not sure how intuitive it is.

So I think it's easy to say that Satine tries to understand where Obi-Wan's coming from, especially if she sees him actively toning it down whenever Qui-Gon tells him he's getting a little too intense, or someone reacts poorly to a comment.

Obi-Wan apologizes a lot, at least for those slips. He recognizes that it's a lot and can be actively scary to the people around him, and he puts a lot of effort into making sure it's not disturbing.

Satine, in turn, recognizes that this is an inherent part of who Obi-Wan is and that he can't just turn it off or 'try harder' to be a 'good person,' because he generally is a good person, just one who came pre-installed with behaviors and thought patterns that can't be unlearned and don't mesh well with neurotypical people.

(He doesn't apologize for the shouty arguments about the value of pacifism in a culture where self-defense is necessary to avoid dying, or violence must be wielded to save and protect those who cannot protect themselves, but that's not sparkhood, that's New Mando vs Jedi.)

That said, I do think that it would be enough to prevent their Tragic Romance from happening. It's not an inherent fault on either of their parts, but Obi-Wan having a heavy tendency towards concerning behaviors would put up enough of a wall that, on top of everything else in their lives (e.g. running for said lives, duties to the Jedi), the romance wouldn't happen. They'd still be friends! But I think Satine would have trouble really falling for Obi-Wan when a lot of what he does and says is inherently troubling to someone who grew up in a culture that prized violence and the destruction of others, something that involves a lot of crossing boundaries... and Obi-Wan is not great at boundaries when he's fugueing. Very few sparks are.

[mandalorewhore]

Hunter (formerly Hunter and Prey)

Cis-Female Reader Insert/ Din Djarin

Gif by @themandaloriandaily

Thank u to @cptnbvcks, @whenimaunicorn, and of course @no-droids for the inspiration and your superior writing skills, whenever i was stuck on a portion i would reread all of u guy’s works and feel inspired again

Rating: Explicit Content Warnings: Exhibitionism, Oral Sex, Rough Oral Sex, Breath Play, Deep Throating, Masturbation, Pining, Depictions Of Violence, Canon-Typical Violence Words: 11k AO3 LINK

Summary: AU where Din Djarin stays with the mercenary group owned by Ranzar Malk. Takes place a few years before Din is contracted for Grogu's bounty. You're a merc trying to make a name for yourself in the group when circumstances end up having you run away with Din. You become his hunting partner in order to support yourself but you cant help falling in love with him, even as trained killers chase you across the galaxy.

FULL FIC:

As a mercenary, you wouldn’t consider yourself an overly sensitive person. 

Maker knows you wouldn’t have lasted a week in the job if you couldn’t handle your emotions. Although you don’t consider yourself entirely void of empathy, having a sense of detachment is useful when your waking hours are spent committing crimes throughout the galaxy.

          So why the fuck are you so jealous right now?

          The obscene moans and harsh slapping that echoes throughout the hangar shouldn’t inspire a larger reaction than disgust as you dutifully continue to repair the blaster marks on one of the rogue-class starfighters. Luckily, it seems that most of your immediate associates have ran off into the deeper areas of the bay to toll your last mission.

Excluding three members, you guess.

          Thank the fucking Maker Migs isn’t here You think bitterly, willing the sparks to fly higher and machine rumble louder as you carefully manipulate your buffing laser on the metal surface. His snarky attitude certainly wouldn’t lessen your misery as you try to drown out the sounds of sex. Raunchy words hiss, bouncing off the metal walls, before finding your feet and slithering up your limbs with a foulness that chokes you. Controlling the hot spinning laser seems to stoke your inner seething more than it distracts you. 

“Mando! Stars, keep-fuck- keep doing that,” you hear Xi’an echoing. Fucking Xi’an. She knows what she’s doing to you. The cruel Twi’lek is far too observant to not know that she is practically comm-station broadcasting her sexual exploits to the entire crew, and with that sheer volume, might as well the entire galaxy. You truly wouldn’t care about her sex life if it wasn’t blatantly obvious that Xi’an was doing this to mock you. You know this is meant for your ears only, a repeat of every other time you’ve found yourself stuck with this chore.  

Even if she wasn’t directly rubbing the fact that she was fucking the Mandalorian in your face, you don’t doubt that she would find a way to taunt your nonexistent sex life just for the fun of it. Another salacious moan echoes in the bay causing you to cringe and slightly jerk the repair tool in frustration.

Fuck, why did it have to be Mando? Aren’t there enough people on this kriffing space station to warm her bed? And how is he being so quiet right now? After a second you remember that’s a stupid question, considering he is probably the quietest person you’ve ever met.

His reservation serves to intimidate your targets, all the while unintentionally stoking that warmth in your belly when you are near him. His all-encompassing presence when he enters a room strikes fear in the hearts of the opposition, meanwhile, you are secretly pressing your thighs together in desire, enjoying the spectacle?.

 You’ve found yourself reveling in the few jobs where Ran’s strategy has you in a decoy-role, weaponizing your feminine charm to lull your target into a false sense of power. The muscle composing of Burg and Mando make quick work of those men once they're thoroughly wrapped up in your wiles. Despite being placed together for jobs on several occasions you’ve never actually had a real conversation with him. 

You’re too scared to talk to him, a near-silent man covered head to toe in Beskar, but you make money killing people and robbing gangs every week. It would be funnier if that purple freak wasn’t so vile. You don’t even know how to casually approach him.. Nice job killing those guys while I manipulated them into trying to fuck me! I’m pretty good with a gun, too. Maker, it’s so ridiculous that you don’t even bother with trying to figure it out. Other fantasies are easier to picture, such as the thought of him strolling across the room to slot himself in-between your spread legs, directing that intensity into your willing, aching body.

  This infuriating crush is why you suppose that your envy wouldn’t be as biting if you caught some sort of noise from the man during these displays of exhibitionism. It would give you something to repeat in your mind while you stow away in the late hours of the night seeking your own release. You guess the inability to hear him is proof of how far Xi’an is pushing her volume. It’s all just to piss you off. 

“Uhg, how miserable..” You mutter to yourself, allowing a little moment of self-indulgent angst. Typically, you wouldn’t allow yourself to wallow like a petulant teen seeing as you’re a literal fucking criminal. 

I’m supposed to be a hardass, dammit you think, spirits low as repairs wrap up far too swiftly. You swear you’ll buff right through every layer in the ship if you keep procrastinating on finishing your job and wandering into the tucked away fresher for a shower. Wandering past….them.

Wherever they are choosing to fuck can’t be that far considering the slap of skin on skin is already fucking loud enough. The sounds seem to be emanating from a vent not too high up the wall, you deduce it connects to one of the bunk rooms not too far from the landing pad you’re working next to. It really is fucking loud with all these metal surfaces to echo off of. Making your way to your small bunk might cause you to go deaf and if the last thing you ever hear is Xi’an wailing as she rubs in the fact that you aren’t fucking Mando, well, you might just take this spinning laser to your head. Unfortunately, at this point, the exterior of the gunship couldn’t possibly get more pristine.

Sighing in defeat, you push up from your crouching position on the metal floor and start to assemble your tools for clean-up while the sounds of Twi’lek pleasure predictably pick up  in volume.

“Fuck, fuck-Ah I’m close, I-I’m going to-“ A literal howl pierces the air as your gut twists with discomfort. Fuck, this is so awkward... and like, weird? Does he consent to this? Does he like that we can hear it? Maker.. Pushing that thought out of your mind you start to jog to your goal of the darkened hall that leads to the station fresher, still so wrapped up in jealousy that you almost miss the rough modulated growl accompanying the scream.

 O-oh.

Oh shit. Was that Mando….Moaning?

The swirling jealousy is suddenly overtaken by a- stars- painful heat, so debilitating that you stumble and almost double over with an intensity that shoots through your groin. Okay well, now you feel like an actual pervert. This display of eroticism was engineered by Xi’an to make you uncomfortable, not so painfully turned on that it’s dizzying. You vaguely register a growing slickness between your legs as you hurry along the cold hallway, desperate to drench yourself in icy water and pretend to forget the sound of Mando moaning.

Shit, Maker, was he cumming? Was that what he sounds like when-- no stopstopnope. Don’t think about that. Your inner monologue is running amuck as you desperately try to block it out. This feels kinda gross, as if you’re a greasy peeping tom spying on Mando’s private endeavors even though this whole situation was shoved in your face to make you ache in countless, longing ways.

That deep growl repeats in your mind as you hum nonsensically under your breath, tapping your skull as if you can knock the sound out of your consciousness despite being well aware that you will go to your fucking grave with every detail. The top of your inner thighs is so embarrassingly slick that you have to resist waddling along the corridor to the showers. Just as you are about to round the first corner, one of the side bunker doors slides halfway opens with a whoosh. The smirking Twi’lek saunters out like the loth-cat who got the cream.

I suppose she did get the cream... Your split-second of sour mirth is further spoiled as Xi’an slides the rest of the door open revealing the gleam of silver beskar and red steel as the ever still Mandalorian adjusting his…thigh armor. You spy a large vent at the junction between wall and ceiling, confirming your earlier suspicions that she chose this location on purpose. Quickly glancing between Mando and Xi’an, your face uncontrollably floods with fire when her giggles pierce the air. You register his helmet tilting toward you right as Xi’an’s tongue slowly extends to liiiick her fingers, any curiosity at his gesture burning away in revulsion.

What does she get out of making everyone uncomfortable? You think to yourself, wanting to squirm away from the obscenity but resolving to hold your ground.

“Xi’an,” You greet the two shortly, hands linked behind your back. “Mando.”  He nods.

“Sorry,” Xi’an offers in a voice devoid of guilt. “Were we being too loud? I would never want to distract you from your… projects.” Her taunting smile curls so widely that it is almost disturbing. “What would the team do without our junior mechanic!”

Her cackle rings through the suddenly freezing hall as you spin on your heel and try to not look like you’re fleeing. Red is tinting the edges of your vision from her insult while tears threaten to flood your eyes out of embarrassment.

You need to get to that shower quickly.

    ----------------

  As the tepid shower rains down on your flushed body, you childishly wonder if you should run away. Or rather, if you could run away considering you technically don’t own any of the ships currently residing in the hangar bay. Although you technically have free reign to pilot most of the spaceships available, that freedom entirely applies to transportation between merc assignments . The thought of running away from your current acquaintances on a stolen ship is not appealing. In fact, the only crew member owning a personal vessel happens to be Mando, his Razer Crest gunship was often subject to your mechanic skills.

Mando, who always offered a genuine “Thank you.” after you’d spend hours touching up the vessel’s damage procured from the rare missions he lent its flight to. Mando, the person who you are presently trying to not think about while naked and still trembling with emotion.

Your sillier fantasies would sometimes involve stealing away in his gunship, hand pressed over his chest and leg thrown across his lower body like a romance novel while he skillfully pilots the ship away. Kriff, you felt like a soft girl whenever you run this scenario through your mind, so cliché and campy that you cringe at yourself. Thus, this particular dive into your consciousness was reserved for special moments such as lying in bed after a strenuous job, or after long days spent working through that junkyard of hangar bay trying to strong-arm your way into earning worth in the company. Private moments where you are finally comfortable letting your guard down to drift aimlessly throughout maladaptive daydreams.

Not so soft fantasies exist in your mind as well. Once again that modulated groan springs to the forefront of your mind causing your clit to throb softly. The conflicting feelings of embarrassment, rage, and painful arousal serves to create an energizing cocktail that goes straight to your pussy.

‘Fuck it,” You whisper breathily to yourself, “Nows as good a time as ever..” your fingers are trailing down your stomach as you say the words out loud. You adjust the water to be slightly warmer and sigh as the comfortable heat compliments your tickling fingers. If only you could replace your hands with the significantly larger leather-clad ones of a certain bounty hunter. The thought spikes your arousal as you lightly brush against your mound, choosing to tease yourself as images flash through your mind. The armor-clad Mandalorian gripping the back of your neck to you press facedown on the floor of his ship and take his cock. Or your legs spread wide across his hips, crushing your pussy on his groin while he’s seated in the pilot seat of his ship.

Your fingers dip slightly into your slick hole then drag up to your clit causing you to bite your free palm and hold back a moan. Eyelids heavy, you give in to the fantasies and begin to earnestly rub at your clit.

“Mmf Maker, f-fuck..”, you whine into your hand at the thought of him breaking your pussy open. You just know he fucks hard -- it’s a given that the crazy Twi’lek would be one for rougher sexual affairs. Someone who spends nearly every moment of life feeling nothing but the weight of fabric and beskar on their skin must be so fucking touch starved. You bet the opportunities he’s had to feel a tight cunt wrapped around his length would completely overwhelm his restraint. Muffled moans begin to fill the fresher as your fingers speed up between your legs, head hanging forward into the metal wall and water dripping off your brows.

Your eyes flutter shut as you pull your hand from your lips to tug at your hardened nipple, other hand still between your legs, imagining a dark visor being trained on your soaking wet, writhing body. The image sends a shooting pleasure up your spine as you spin around and press your back to the wall. Imagining his dark form watching you from the other side of the gathering steam, you open your thighs and spread your labia apart, sighing at the wet sound it makes. “Like what you see, hunter..?” you whisper into the empty room wishing he would find you in this shower.

Removing your fingers from your nipple you reach down to your crotch and greedily fill yourself with two fingers, pumping in and out as your other hand works at your swollen clit. The volume of your now unmuffled pleasure is likely overheard by anyone on this section of the station, but you can't find it in yourself to give a shit. If Xi’an can screech out her orgasms at any given opportunity to fuck with you then let them hear.

Let him hear.

Your imagination runs rampant at the notion that he could hunt down your gasps and take care of you himself, causing you to gasp louder. S-shit people can hear you, you just won't say his name out loud, it's fine, it's f-fine- The thought of him discovering you here is so hot that it's blinding, and suddenly your orgasm is rushing up to crush you entirely.

Your lower half is locked tight then suddenly your knees buckle and you’re cumming hard. Your choked gasps cutting through the steamy shower like blaster fire as you peak higher, uncontrollably calling out for the Mandalorian while white-hot pleasure wrings you dry. Let him hear you crying for him as you gush around your fingers, convulsing in bliss.

     In the shuddering aftershocks, you don’t hear the uncharacteristically loud padding of leather boots retreating away from the fresher door.

    ------------------------------------------

    You’re good at your job. You wouldn’t be doing it if you truly couldn’t handle the ordeal of being a mercenary. The whole point of the job is to take care of the dirty work, so those far disconnected wouldn’t have to dwell on their choices too hard. You’re used to not asking questions, motivated by credits and reputation alone. But in moments like these, a job going this awry… well, you just feel like pure shit. This hit was way too easy and far too filthy even for your career mostly consisting of professional filth. It was so glaringly obvious that even if your associate’s numbers were sliced in half, you would still sweep the ground with your winnings.

And what meager earnings they are.

The crew’s assignment this round was to hit a casino shipment just outside the outer rim planet of Cantonica. Due to the Razer Crest’s ability to fly under the radar of both Imperial and New republic records, Ran rudely allotted that Mando should allow his ship’s use for crew transport. You’re surprised he agreed at all, but perhaps the prospect of gain motivated him. His motivations are rarely clear to you. You’re guessing the price of a wealthy city’s supply sounded frankly too tempting for everyone involved; Ran was practically salivating over the drawing board for this particular errand. One would imagine a hull stacked to the top with credits and the finest luxuries for Canto Blight’s flashy tourists. It is Catonica’s main attraction after all.

But once the team’s resident crime droid, Zero, breached the cargo ship's record, the whole team is  informed that the cargo-freighter ship only contains “organics”.

Slaves.

          In the end, Migs remarked that there may still be something of worth to obtain from this job, and thus the plan morphed into an robbery on the surface once the cargo landed at its isolated dock. You reluctantly agreed to continue while Mando shortly nodded, both of you last to assent on this change in direction.

----------------   

Some hours later you’re crouching in a derelict warehouse while the lessening blaster fire showers spark like fireworks across your corneas. The fighting between your crew and the dockyard guards has almost died down at this point and you take the moment to catch your breath behind a large stack of cargo boxes.

          “Holy stars,” you gasp out, head falling between your knees as a wave of guilt consumes you momentarily. This job fucking blows. It’s so much easier robbing Imps and gangs because they are inherently bad fucking people. Robbing a group of slaves is the lowest point you think you have ever hit in your life. This is so wrong, this is so so wrong, they don’t even have ownership of their own lives and here your crew of fucking mercenaries swoops in with a vengeance over being cheated out of something that we didn’t own in the first place.

The last straw was when you witnessed a young bedraggled woman fearfully tossing the Twi’lek sibling, Qin, a small wooden necklace, the last possession from her life before slavery. You ended up turning tail and running deeper into the dock while Qin needlessly hissed at her just to enjoy her terror. You’re sure he’ll just toss the thing after the job is over.

“I never would’ve agreed to this…” You breathe out shakily to the empty air, hollowness swallowing your ability to compartmentalize your humanity from the nature of this work. You are still fighting the impulse to give in to that deep pit of sorrow when a large shadow makes you start and grip your blaster before relaxing in recognition at the chrome gleam.

          “Oh, hey, Mando,” Smiling tightly in his presence as he approaches silently, his helmet tilted down at your crouched form. His gaze makes you straighten up quickly, realizing that you probably shouldn’t look so stricken in front of your crime associate. Gotta look tough, can’t let people think you’re too soft for this work. Man, didn’t he help start the company? That thought motivates you further to stand up and face him head-on.

 “Not what we expected huh? Certainly no Canto luxury here..” you quietly murmur to his cheek groove.

If you looked directly where his eyes might be he would likely catch the sparkle of moisture threatening to pool at your bottom lashes.

          “No,” he breathes shortly through the modulator. “Not this.” Something in his voice inspires the bravery to glance at his T-shaped visor. Compared to his usual tone of speech he almost sounds …stricken right now. Distraught by this display of debauchery your crewmates have shown the slaves and few people manning the dock. It's not noticeable unless you’ve been around him enough to read him on some level but deep down you know he feels the same way. You try to recall him taking part in the violent takeover and realize he was barely present for the ordeal. Aside from the initial violence that broke out during landing he hardly did anything and was noticeably absent once the slaves were targeted. In the back of your mind, you pray that he won't be reprimanded for the lack of effort. The thought is ridiculous but you’re scared anyway.

Stars, this is all too much, your head is swirling with grief and stress as your heart rate picks up and suddenly you are so desperate for humanity, for empathy  that you lose your filter and-

          “Couldn’t stomach it either?” You blurt out to him, desperately hoping he understands and will not judge your deep sorrow for the enslaved people affected by this brutal takedown. Your mind catches up in panic half a second later when Mando doesn’t immediately respond. Did you just seek sensitivity from the Mandalorian? Fuck. Wait. That sounded like an insult too. Fuck um-

“Ah, um I-I mean. I just mean I don’t remember you firing on anyone helpless and I um- I didn’t either, I didn’t fire my blaster at all to be honest I-Fuck- I hid. They’re just slaves not Imps, Mando. The guards were taken out in seconds and-” You hiccup and stutter as tears gather at the edges of your eyes and begin to fall. You feel so overwhelmed with anxiety and guilt that all of a sudden you forgot about his open show of emotion.

Pull it together, don't do this in front of the Mandalorian. He is the very picture of a stoic, hardened mercenary and now you’re kriffing crying in front of him? It briefly registers that this is the first time you’ve ever spoken one on one with him, the both of you were almost always alone or with members of Ran’s party during time off. You internally curse your existence for thinking you could tearfully word vomit in front of a fucking bounty hunter and get comforted by him. Your knowledge of Mandalorians is limited, despite knowing one, yet you think the point of his whole creed about giving up your identity and giving yourself to war. Why the fuck did you cry in front of a damn Manodlorian? You’re just starting to unfreeze from your panic-stricken muscles to dab at your cheeks when a gloved hand swiftly brushes just below your eye to catch a tear.

          ‘This wouldn’t have happened if that Droid could do his job,” You glance up at him in shock at his biting tone juxtaposed with the gentle gesture, but he’s already turning away, voice rotating with his visor. “The worst is over now that the shooting stopped. Let’s round up the others.”

          He pauses with his back turned and you take that moment to compose yourself. You’ve only shed a few tears so your eyes can’t be that red.

“O-okay.. .” You reply, trying to inject your usual backbone into the tone of your response before moving to follow him around the piled boxes and regroup. Staring into your warped reflection in the back of his helmet you try to find the words to thank him but they get lost in the ghosts of today.

          Your mind is still swirling but the clouds of despair have mostly cleared away. You know you don’t have time to dwell on your short interaction yet your mind is fully absorbed in his every move, both present and past. Coming from anyone else his reaction would seem shitty and dismissive but coming from Mando... well, you're honestly shocked. Those two sentences were fairly long for someone usually so silent. And what about his reaction to the way this job has gone? Him brushing away your tears?

You are gazing down at your feet deep in thought when you suddenly bonk into the back of Mandos broad back, wacking your forehead on the base of his helmet.

          “Oww.” You groan lightly, rubbing your forehead and stepping to the right of his body, “Why’d you stop so sudde-'' It is then when you notice the muffled whimpering coming from the clearing in front of the both of you. A crimson pool of blood laps at the Mandalorian’s boots, its kiss staining the leather a deep black.

Now you are truly sickened, bile rising in your throat as a ragged gasp leaves your mouth.

          “Why…? How can you..”

          “Xi’an!”

          Your choked whisper leaves your lips at the same moment the Mandalorian fucking barks the Twi’leks name.

A crumpled form adjacent to her body is the source of the whimpering and bloodshed, their contorted limbs looking less than human as muscles strain against metal binders. Xi’an’s triangular blades are dripping in her grip as she spins on her toes like a dancer and flounces childishly in the direction of your frozen form. Tearing your gaze away from the shell of a human you meet her eyes with open hostility. She stops several yards away from you.

          ‘Aha! So good to see you two. Isn’t this job sooo disappointing?” She calls out to the two of you casually. When no one responds her body deflates as she twists her knee inward and clutches one arm peevishly. Performative. “What? No hello? I could’ve died today!” She cackles at the notion.

          Mando is a statue at your side. You can feel the rage radiate in waves off his body like a heater and you wonder what's going to happen if Xi’an pushes this further. Your heightened stress from moments before is vibrating throughout your nervous system, compelling you to step forward and speak up.

          “Xi’an… this-this is completely unnecessary. The only thing required to complete our hit was taking out guards! What the fuc- and they were clearly incapacitated by you before you decided to take your blade to their skin!” Okay, that came out a little shakier than intended, but it feels like a disservice to hide your revulsion for her actions with the victim lying right there. “You could’ve just hit em’ in the skull with a blaster shot if you needed them out of your way!”

          “Guards? Oh, I already took them out. This-” Xi’an punctuates the word a kick into the person’s stomach causing them to groan weakly, “Well, this is just an Organic as Zero would put it.” Organic? Fucking- You jump slightly and glance to your left when the Mandorlorian makes a shocked exclamation at her words. Maker, you’re so sickened you forgot he was with you.

“You mean a Slave? From the shipment?” He hisses the question through his teeth. You can’t see his face but you can hear the tension in his jaw, his body still a ridged form at your side. Xi’an pokes her tongue out and runs it lightly over the pointed edge of her teeth while she considers her response. She seems to be measuring her response to Mando with a little more care than she bothered with while speaking to you. You’re guessing that she cares far more about his perception of her than your personal attitude regarding the Twi’lek. Wouldn’t want to piss off her fuck buddy.

“Answer me!” He snaps when her response takes a millisecond too long. Your purple associate sighs, exasperated now.

“Yes a slave,” she hisses, drawing out the word in contempt, “Really I’m doing him a favor. From the looks of him, he was picked up on Tatooine. I doubt he even had a family to mourn him back on that shitty dustball of a planet-” Her eyes suddenly bulge as she clamps her mouth shut, gaze fixed on the armored man betraying a twinkle of... fear?

Slowly, you turn to him. The pit in your stomach is somehow weighing heavier than ever when you take in his body language. If you thought he was emanating white-hot rage before Xi’an’s response then you don’t even have words for how he holds himself now. You take a half step back in trepidation as the air around you seems to warp around the Mandalorian’s gravitational pull.

“A foundling?” His tone is unexpectedly quiet for someone who is manipulating the very atmosphere of this desert planet. Time seems to freeze. Shadows are ebbing at the edge of your vision and your head feels like it is going to pop in the pressure. You want to do something, anything, to relieve the pressing wall closing in on the three of you, to somehow end this interaction so that you can crawl in on yourself and bury the ghosts in the back of your mind. Fuck, your mouth is so dry, heart palpitating with a painful squeeze. Shit, fuck, what do you do? What did he mean by that question and why is Xi’an freaking out? You’re still fixated on the gleam of his helmet, rushing to find appropriate words when-

A flash of red explodes in your peripheral-vision, sparks seeming to fly 20 feet in the air. The words die in your throat in shock.

Did he? Did he shoot her? You barely saw him move yet as your mind races to catch up on this turn of events, you realize his blaster is drawn low on his hip, while the rest of him hasn't shifted an inch. The pressure cooker disappears in a sweeping wave of silence.

You swallow and turn awkwardly back to Xi’an. Oh.

He shot the slave.

Xi’an is just as stiff as you, her arms slightly raised as if she instinctively tried to ward off the blaster fire before realizing its trajectory. You are still processing his actions when a gloved hand wraps around your wrist and pulls you swiftly as he runs from the scene, tossing a flash bomb behind the both of you.

Without question, you run with him.

  ----------------

  “Hey!” Within minutes your chest is burning from keeping up with Mando’s relentless pace. You’re fit from your job but he's twice as big as you and probably more than twice as fast. You get the feeling that he's moving slower than usual so you aren’t left behind. Struggling to control your breathing, you attempt to make sense of the jumbled thoughts by wheezing out, “M-Mando what are we doing?”

“Running.”

“Okay, fucking obviously!”

“To the Crest.” He clarifies just as shortly. Okay. Okay, once you reach his ship maybe you’ll get more answers. Right now, both of your priorities align with getting the fuck away from Xi’an before her vision returns and she comes after the both of you. But you can’t yet push some of the recent events to the side.

“You shot him.” You mean to phrase it like a question but it comes out more accusatory than intended with how breathless you are. “The slave you shot-“

“I ended his suffering.”

Oh. That makes sense, even if it makes your chest contract in duress you recognize his killing the slave came from a place of empathy. What exactly did he say right before drawing his blaster, something about… foundlings? You don’t know the term exactly but contextually you can guess it means orphan or alone. Fuck, this is so bad. Just what are you going to tell everyone? He may not have directed his shot at the Twi’lek but he temporarily blinded her. That still counts as an attack on a member of the team. Your chest is burning unbearably now so you slap at Mando’s vambrance to signal your need for a break. He drags you gasping around a corner into the shadowy edge of the warehouse.

“Listen, hey, look at me.” His large hand reaches out to gently grip the side of your face, warm against your skin and smelling sharply of blaster residue. Looking into his visor you realize your cheeks are damp again as hysterical hiccups threaten to make themselves known. “We are going to run. You don’t have to come with me of course but I unintentionally put you in the position of being complicit by attacking Xi’an. That-that wasn’t the plan… but I was leaving the company anyway”

His chest suddenly deflates as he rids it of air.

You realize you were holding your breath at the same time as him as you gasp out, before rubbing at your cheeks and asking dumbly, “Y-you were… leaving the company? Is Ran pissed?”

Stupid question. Of course, he’d be pissed at losing the one Mandalorian in the group. Mandos' presence gave him cred. 

“Ran doesn’t know.”

“Ran doesn’t… what? When was this happening then?”

Mando’s visor turns away from your gaze and looks off into the middle distance. His gloved hand on your face is still gripping gently to lock you in place. “Today. That’s the only reason why I agreed to let him use the Crest for this job.”

He shakes his helmet slightly and turns back to your face, the metal covering his face becoming your main focal point while the room spins. You can't see his features, and never would, yet you feel as if you are looking directly into his eyes. Your body has impeccable timing when you feel your cheeks heat blushing.

However, your senses return in an instant when a familiar piercing howl echoes off the walls. The glove drops and he is gripping your shoulders,

“Can you run again?”

Adrenaline springs your limbs into action as you spin around, catching his wrist and pulling, roles reversed as you lead him in the direction of his ship.

Dust is billowing from below whenever your feet meet the ground. The steps sound like thunder in your ears as paranoia begins to worm its way into the forefront of your senses, every corner, every shadow, every blindspot could be hiding one of your former partners. Xi’an is an excellent assassin; time and time again her main skill has proven to be stealth, targets dropping dead expectedly. The Crest isn’t very far thankfully. It sits right on the back of the targeted freighter since Zero requires physical contact to hack the other ship systems for paths. Oooohh shit you forgot about the droid- 

“Mando, Zero’s in there.” You puff out shortly in between breaths. 

“Fuck that droid. I’ll take care of him, just back me up.” You both slide around a corner as he responds, bringing the two ships into your field of view. You are facing the rear end of the larger vessel, thankfully leaving the coast clear as far as you can tell. Mando’s helmet scans the area then nods, indicating the go-ahead with his fingers before running ahead of you. You follow him, casting fervent glances behind you for any signs of life. You reach the ship a millisecond after he does, his vambrance held high to lower the rear ramp. As the ramp begins to lower he grips your shoulders and spins you around dizzily.

“Stay right outside here. The second I enter the crest I’m dropping the Droid. I’ll call you once it’s safe.” You gulp quickly and nod in assent right before he leaps into the opening of the ship.

Seconds pass. 

Your nerves are plucking way more than they normally would.. You never particularly liked Zero, but the sudden turn of taking out your ex-allies is making you high strung and nervous. Zero’s voice cuts through the silence, making you jump.

“Mandolarian, you are back early. Were the prospects plentiful despite being Organics?”

“No.” You twitch when a shot echoes in the hull followed by the clash of metal on metal.

 The Mandalorian sharply calls your name springing you into action. You enter the ship immediately spying Zero’s body under the cockpit ladder, blaster wound still smoking with red-hot metal ringing the edges. Your eyes linger a little on the droid’s body, slightly leery at the death of someone who was your backup only hours ago, then you sigh and duck to get a handle on under his shoulders, dragging him to toss out the open entryway. 

Grunting with effort you direct your voice at the cockpit, “Tossing the droid! Take off when read- Shit.”

One of the droid's hip joints gets stuck on a portion of the hull wall, preventing you from moving his corpse. Something wizzes above you at the exact moment you duck down to adjust the body, right where the back of your head was a second ago. One of Xi’an’s triangle blades ricochets off the wall and slides across the floor, stopping right under your nose. Oh f-

“Fuck! Fly, fly, she's here Mando!” You lurch to the floor as the thrusters kick in, twisting your head to try and get eyes on the clearing. Through the rapidly closing ramp, you see a flash of purple skin, but before you have time to react the Crest door snaps shut. Heart thudding at what feels like a million beats per second, you try to get your bearings on the floor. Twisting sideways you suddenly find yourself face to face with Zero’s corpse, revulsion whipping through you like lightning as you scramble backward on your hands and feet.

    You can’t do this right now. 

    The last thing you want is to seem weak and needy in front of the man who just selflessly saved your life, for reasons still unknown, but you can’t do this right now. A creature of habit, you fold your neck between your legs, the same reaction you had to the violence on Cantonica. A minute, you just need a minute, a minute and then this horrible drone will go away, and you can deal with this, you’re a fucking mercenary…  the blackness swarming at the edges of your sight overtakes you all at once and you slide limply to the floor.

  ------------------------------------------

  You aren’t sure how much time has passed once you rouse. At your request, Mando tosses Zero's body before kicking into hyperdrive right about 120,000 feet in the air. You stare at its flight path until the speck disappears in the taupe shithole that is Cantonica. Feeling shaky as your adrenaline finally dips, you decide that the Crest could do with a once over before the long journey. 

After performing a quick analysis on the Crests systems it’s determined that the two of you are lucky this hunk of metal can fly. Hyperdrive operating at 67% capacity, weak communication signal if it even works half the time, plus more damage than you can currently process. If there weren’t five million different stressors weighing on you, your mechanic brain would probably explode at the current state of Mando’s ship. He probably should’ve taken it to you, or anyone else handy with tools if he wanted it to be in proper form for departure, but it makes sense that he didn’t want to draw too much attention. Hopefully, his pilot skills will compensate for the Crest’s sorry state. 

 To be fair, the whole blow-up-your-coworker-and-run-for-your-life aspect didn’t seem to be in Mando’s original plan. 

“So… where are we going?” You’re on the floor in the cockpit, back facing the passenger chair while the Mandalorian is seated pilot. After crawling under the console for a while you couldn’t bother to lift your aching muscles on the chair, resigning to scoot on your butt over to the closest object that could support you. As a result, you end up craning your neck to look up at him, his back straight in the chair. 

“My original plan was to head to Nevarro to take on a few quarries. I’m still with the guild and Karga doesn’t give a shit whether I’m running with Ran or going in alone.” You bite your lip anxiously. Oh yeah, you kinda forgot your presence threw wrench in his plan. He notices and tilts the helmet sideways at you, “You’re not in the way. I’m not concerned about you joining me, someone of your skillset is helpful to have around. I’ll introduce you to Karga so you can get on your feet.”

The compliment lifts your spirits enough to make you playful, poking at his boot with your toe, “Gee, glad I’m useful enough to keep around. All I have is my blaster and the clothes on my back, so if you drop me, I’d be  pretty fucked.” 

You giggle quietly but you know it’s the truth. All of your possessions are back on the space station, but you didn’t own too many personal artifacts, aside from some clothes and weapons. The only thing of use would’ve been your credits. You worry again at the realization, dipping your head before continuing to speak,

“Shit Mando, I don’t have any money on me. It was all back in my bunk, I don’t know how I’ll help pay for things around here unless Karga decides I can take on a quarry right away. Even then I’ll have to bring it back before I ever have a lick to my name.”

“You can make it back. I’ll split the profit from jobs that you assist me on. Cut depends on how useful you are and once you prove yourself, Karga will give you the decent pucks.” He swivels the chair and faces you, knees slightly spread as he leans forward in the chair, “Deal?”

You swallow and nod your head, mind blanking at how your head is level with the bend in his hips. You don’t think he's trying to come across as suggestive but the effect, intentional or not, invites a flutter of desire in your tummy. The Mandalorian leans back on his leather backing and sighs, the sound gentle despite the modulator warping his natural tone,

“You aren’t in my way. I swear it. If I had more time before leaving I would’ve asked you to join me anyway, you're good with your hands and always had more… compassion? Than anyone else in the company. I admire that quality.” That makes you straighten back up to meet his visor. He sounds nearly shy.

“O-oh…” You never even thought he noticed you aside from when you touched up the Razor Crest. The compliment sends warmth throughout your body, as languid as sex pollen in the near feverish effect. You don’t know how to respond at all, you’re feeling disjointed, like you may reveal too much if you don't change the subject soon. You wish you could be snappier but you’re exhausted. Maybe try for a joke?

“I g-guess you value girls good with their hands, huh. H-haha?”

Silence. Hm. 

That was the absolute worst thing you could’ve come up with. 

It didn’t meet even a single one of your simple ass goals, which entail the following:

Thank him.

Change the subject.

Not reveal how much his words make you want him to rail you.

    Wow, what the fuck- kill me. He hasn’t moved an inch, much less reacted to your shitty joke. The positioning of your bodies that you found so hot ten seconds prior is now a place you’d try anything to escape from. It’s almost comical how his height advantage serves to emphasize the disappointment in the small room. He hasn’t responded so you’re guessing he won’t bother to try. Heavy silence suffocates you to the point of desperation, you need to fill it with something right now or you swear you’ll die. 

    “I-I jus-t mean like- Well you had certain- ah- habits, you’d adhere to in your free time. Li-like um, I mean you didn’t hide much. Kinda obvious if you- listen, uh, I didn’t mean t-to say that I-I was joking around-”

“Get to the point.”

“I-” Your tummy fills with heat at his command. “Umm..” You wipe your hands on your thighs and glance down from his voice. The hours of on and off adrenaline must be majorly messing with your head. It’s kinda weird that you want him this badly after everything that went down today. Wasn’t your most recent concern something about avoiding death at the hands of a bitch you hate most in the galaxy? To be honest you can’t recall. 

The proximity of his groin is suddenly at the forefront of your mind. Again.

He slowly tilts his helmet to look at you, arms bending to settle in a relaxed position on the armrests. You are extremely aware of how you’re blatantly staring at him but your mind is slow to come up with a valid response, blankness written in the reflection on his visor. His position on the chair is mountainous, looming over your body in a way that boxes you in between the passenger seat and the Crest console. You feel like a prey animal... In a sexy way? Maybe?

Although, when he leans back into his seat, helmet still trained on your face, you are unsure if you’re actually pissing him off or not.

“Say what you mean.” 

Okay, the sexy is mixing a little with anxiety. 

“Ah- Um well, I just mean like. It’s not like you hid it from me- everyone else too. In the company. Ran’s company? ‘Cause, I- We… always overheard you and Xi’a- Her…” Fuck, your mouth is so dry that last part came out like a squeak. “I’m sorry, I’m rambling again um, I kinda thought you were doing it on purpose. With Xi’an. Making me hear when you’d...fuck her.” Cheeks blazing, you duck your head back down, which doesn’t help at all since you’re just face to face with his crotch once more. 

    “You say ‘always’...” Mando’s inflection is lost somewhere between statement and question, his tone confusing enough that you end up lifting your head from its bowed position below him. 

“Y-yes?”

“As in this was a common position you found yourself in? Did you overhear me multiple times?” Now he poses not one but two questions for you, neither of which you feel brave enough to answer steadily. You can’t deflect further at this point so you answer him with a sigh.

“No, I only heard you once. Xi’an always wanted me to hear her though. It was gross.” Mortified, you gather your legs under your body to stand up from the floor. You think the hyperdrive issue is fixed well enough to hold until Nevarro. When your hand reaches for the edge of the armrest to pull yourself up it is abruptly enveloped in warm leather. Half crouched, your arm jerks back a little in surprise at his touch. 

“I wasn’t asking about myself specifically. And I wouldn’t force you to participate in her games, had I known.”

Maker strike my ass down. Can humans die from embarrassment? You wish it were possible if it got you out of this conversation. He’s correct, he didn’t specify whether you had heard his moaning. If you weren’t nursing these stupid feelings for Mando you never would’ve given away the fact that you memorized every tantalizing second of what you overheard. Not only is this embarrassing, but you don’t want him to think you’re a sicko who wanted to eavesdrop in the first place. The clarification about his awareness of Xi'an's timing is comforting but not enough to erase what you already admitted to him. You somehow feel sweaty and bone-dry at the same time, a flush spreading over your face.

“I’m so sorry.”

“I heard you too.”

You both speak at the same second, and a beat passes before either of you process what the other said. He- what? What is he talking about? Are we having two totally different conversations right now? When did you ever fuck someone on that space station anyway… unless he means… in the fresher…

This time he is the one who breaks the silence, “You’re sorry for… overhearing me?” 

“Y-yes, I really, really, don’t want you to think I’m a creep or anything. Anything I heard was involuntary, I swear. Xi’an w-wanted to make me… Um…” You trail off shyly, sitting down again. His hand is still over yours.

“Get to the point.” His voice is filled with heat now, so low and compelling that you’d tell him anything just to keep it that way. You whisper your response, lifting your eyes to his dark visor wishing you could meet his gaze.

“She wanted to make me jealous. Over you.”

“Mm… You wanted me instead?”

“Maker, yes.”

The climate between you and the Mandalorian made a 180. Nerves dissolving like honey in tea, all at once being taken over by a hum of sexual tension while his fingers caress a warm pattern over your knuckles. Exhilaration builds within you, though in the back of your mind you are calculating the possible motives behind his advance. 

You know sometimes, after a particularly rough day, people are compelled to relieve their pent-up stress through intimacy. There’s a reason why the market of sex work thrives under wartime, terror existing constantly in a fighter’s life must be paired with the softer, inner-most comforts of knowing another living being, or they’d go mad with sorrow. Brothels made a lot of money during the last stages of the Empire’s rule from both Imps, Rebels, and neutral parties alike.

It’s not out of the ordinary for you to seek each other out right now, yet can’t help but dream that this might mean more. 

The Mandalorian’s hand currently encasing yours flips your wrist to trace the lines of your palm. Sighing you tilt your head to the side, a curtain of hair cascading across your features. His free hand reaches out to brush the strands away before he gently grips your jaw, hand large enough to press his thumb on the front of your chin while his fingers wrap lightly under your ear. 

“I heard you too, pretty girl. You called out for me in the fresher… just what were you doing in there? Describe it- please.” He speaks with such allure that you break under his voice, pressing your cheek to his palm.

    “I-I thought of you watching me while I touched my pussy. I was so wet thinking about how I want you to feel me after being under all your armor, Stars, even the wind can’t touch you Mando. I thought about how you must crave the feeling of something so soft… can I show you how soft I am?” Your free hand raises to rest gently on his knee, fingertips hesitating at the edge of his thigh piece. He is still fully suited for battle, explosives strapped to one boot and rifle across his shoulders. 

You wish so badly to help him unwind, you would never disrespect him by trying to remove his armor, but you want to help him move past the experience that was Cantonica. Mando continues to stare at you for several tense seconds before melting into your touch.

“H-helmet stays on.” He breathes out shakily, a slight tremor running through his legs as your fingers lightly explore the fabric under the edge of the piece of metal. “But the rest… the rest can come off.” 

He’s already moving to undo the magnetic connectors holding his cuirass in place so you scramble to follow his movements. The rust-colored armor on his body has complex enough attachments that you don’t really know where to begin. Your hands clamber around, mostly following his deft movements. Slowly a man of flesh and blood is revealed, and as his impenetrable exterior melts away you find the true shape of him. 

The armor serves to add a few inches of bulk on his features, enhanced proportions making out a dramatic silhouette designed to be spotted from miles away. Without it his body is still so powerful, built hard as stone and broad, hard angles melding enticingly with a hidden softness. Not hidden- you realize -it compliments him completely. The pieces fall away and you’re left with the unexplored bareness of him. He is human and warm, evidence of this betrayed in rare moments where his hands travel lightly up your arms while you work at his pauldrons, brushing through your hair here and there before finally returning to your jaw to hover in front of your lips. 

“Off.” He instructs shortly, brushing the seam of his thumb over your bottom lip. Your mouth falls open to explore him with your tongue, tasting salt, blaster residue, and a hint of the heat he holds in his body. Satisfied, you bite down gently on the glove ridge, watching as he pulls off the leather encasing his hand and drinking in the sight of golden skin as it is revealed to you inch by inch. All you’ve seen of him is one bare hand and somehow it is the sexiest thing you’ve ever laid your eyes on. Flames lick your body, spreading from your white-hot core, energy gathering with such impassioned motions that at any second now it will burst from your skin, a reaction so immense that you could birth another galaxy.

You want to taste his skin too.

“Fuck baby-” You take his middle finger down to the knuckle, emboldened by his slurred reaction, noises startling to babble out of the bounty hunter as his stoicism falls apart under your tongue. Humming around the digit, you start to bob your head gently, eyes locked on his impassive visor while filthy, filtered noises drift through the beskar. It’s like there is no barrier at all between you, the air thrumming with a longing so great that you feel one with the man crumbling before you. If you're not careful you will fall with him. 

“Mando, Plea-se,” You stutter around him, voice shaking more than intended. “I want to f-feel more of you, let me touch you, please-” You squawk, mouth empty when he suddenly rips off the other glove, tossing it behind him before reaching down his torso to pull the hem of his trousers south. You gulp in trepidation, unable to tear your eyes away as enticing dark hair displays itself, leading to the base of his cock. He pauses, but you’re so caught up in discovering him that you don’t notice the tonal shift.

“Before I show you this-” dark words enunciated by palming his cock through the fabric, “I need to know where to put it.” 

What kind of question is that? You’re honestly bewildered, mind blank before you realize that the options are overwhelming. In his own way, he is asking you to verbalize consent, which is very much appreciated. You want him in your pussy, to work his way deep in your body and in turn, discover just how human you are... yet… You feel oddly unprepared. It’s not that you don't think you can take him, in fact you can't recall ever being this wet in your life. It’s just… after today… you want to help him unwind but you’re still not fully there. You still want to please him, but you’re not ready to let him know you that way, not until you come back to yourself. 

So in that case…

“I want you in my mouth, hunter.” 

Mando growls then grabs your wrist, guiding it over the edge of fabric and onto his throbbing length. He shudders while you process the feeling of him. He is thick, the width of his cock so wide that your middle finger and thumb are straining to meet each other. You release him from his pants then try to pull at the hem to wiggle them down his thighs. He obliges and lifts his hips so that you can reveal more delicious olive skin, but he makes no move to assist you with his hands. You get the feeling that he is drinking in your efforts to touch him, the sensation of your jerky movements giving away how much you want him. 

You kiss and nibble at every possible moment, one hand drifting lightly over the length of him, twirling at the base dusted with short, dark hairs, cupping his balls then moving back up, your mouth traveling to meet your fingers. Hissing, his hand flashes up to meet the back of your head, fingers tangling in strands to tug tightly on your scalp. With a light moan, you tongue along the side of him, teasing hot air more than actually licking him. 

“Look at me- fuck - pretty thing, s-so fucking willing for me, I want to see you take my cock as far as you can, s-show me how much you can handle-” He pulls harder at your hair, dragging you roughly enough to control your neck, back up from where you were sucking at his hip to the head of his dick. “Are you going to show me yourself before or after I gag you on it?”

Fuck, you never realized how tantalizing submitting to another person could be, not until that came out of his mouth, rough enough to clip through the modulator. You elect to show him what you can handle. Leaning forward to meet the swollen tip, you part your plush lips and kiss at the drop of precum gathered there, before relaxing your jaw to take him halfway. He groans and nearly doubles over at the sudden sensation, holding you there for a second before you draw back up to spread your saliva more thoroughly. Lips rewet, you sink back down on him, gliding smoothly as you pull his cock deep within your mouth, drinking in his breathy groans.

“Maker, yes … that’s it, fuck-” You attempt to sink even further down on the Mandalorian’s impressive length, but stop short a few inches from his base, blunt head pressing in your throat. “-so good, s-so good for me baby, you look perfect like this.”

He’s so far back inside you that you can’t access your vocal cords to produce any noise at all, otherwise you’d be whining at his praise. Your hands are free to assist you at any time, you could circumvent his daunting length if you wanted help. But you want to impress him. Besides, your palms are warm on his torso, traveling under his shirt to feel the ropes of muscle there. You don’t want to remove them. 

You surface to the tip, taking a deep breath in preparation before ducking to take him as deep as you can manage. He watches you, entranced at the sight of a face so lovingly strained to please him. Your gag reflex spasms but you will it away, determined to fully engulf his cock at least once even if you find you’re unable to handle more. The noises rising from your throat are brutal and raw as you choke around him, his helmet blurring when tears fill your eyes. You bob a little then almost give up when the urge to retreat floods your senses but then he starts talking again- so filthy that you can’t stop yet.

“You’re trying so fucking hard, fuck, I love seeing you wrapped around my cock, Maker, you feel so fucking good, I can’t imagine how your little pussy must feel, you’re so warm, so, fu-fuck, tight…” The stream of filth serves as your motivation to bob for as long as possible on his length, throat stretched obscenely around him. You realize hazily that there are tears streaming from your eyes, but the urge to pull off is lost in dizziness as the oxygen in your lungs depletes. You keep going and going, your high at its peak as you recognize that your body is starting to fade in black. You should pull off and breathe, one quick breath is all you need, but the way he’s filling you is more addicting than the purest Spice. He notices when you start to slump into his lap and pulls you up gasping for air. 

Nearly fainting never felt so good.

“Shit, are you alright?” You nod and rest your cheek on his thigh, face turned on its side to meet his visor as he spins little circles in your vision. A soothing hand brushes against your cheekbone, tracing a gentle pattern on its height. “You were doing so good for me baby. No need to hurt yourself.” Mando’s voice is still breathless, offering you tenderness through a cloud of stimuli.

“I’m okay- I’m… I just need to catch m-my breath.” You’re still heaving unevenly but you want him so bad, you want him to finish for you, your wants translating into weak pawing at his dick trying to give him more sensation. He catches your wrist with an airy laugh and guides your uncoordinated movements to better stroke him. The sound fills you with light.

“Pretty thing, I know you want me. Try to not die on my dick before I’ve had the chance to feel your cunt.” His hand leaves yours on his length and reaches over your ass to cup the apex of your thighs through your pants. You jerk up and almost crack the crown of your head open on the chin of his beskar but his other palm is pressed between your shoulder blades, keeping you bent over in his lap. A garbled noise tears from you when his index and ring finger spread on either side of your outer lips, allowing his middle finger space to travel up and down your seam, so wet that you can feel the slickness gathering through two layers of fabric onto the tip of his finger.

“Ah, Fuck! Mando, I-I- wait please, please, wait-” He draws his hand up away from your wet center, reaching your asscheek before you yelp and snatch his forearm to stop him from retreating farther. “I s-still wanna, I wanna make you come. You first, before-before me.”

“Baby, you’re… fuck okay. Can I still touch you?” Mando caresses your hip at the fold where it meets your thigh. 

“Later, let me d-do this, please.” He allows you to lift his arm from your spine and rest it on the crown of your head as you move forward and try to meet his cock again. Pulling his thighs to the edge of the chair, you settle back on your knees and stroking him one-handed while he hums low in his throat. You wrap your lips around the swollen head, sucking and swirling your tongue before taking him deeper, this time using a palm to stroke the last few inches instead of opening your throat. Starting up a rhythm of bopping and stroking his velvety length that pulls incredible noises out of the Mandalorian, each one going straight to your swollen clit. 

Coming up for air you start to jerk him off faster with your slick hand, meeting the T of his visor with your heated gaze, hoping that you are finding his eyes. He must enjoy the sight of you jerking him off because his moans start to tighten, hips thrusting into your palm. 

“K-keep fucking doing that, good girl, fuck I-I’m close, where-where do you want it, baby?” You respond by settling low near his thighs, putting his cock above you with your tongue sticking out, wetting the tip while your wrist moves faster. Somehow he’s harder than ever and-

Mando curses through his teeth as his cock convulses, warm spurts of cum painting your tongue, cheeks, and nose bridge, rivers of him flowing down your chin and dribbling on the swell of your chest. He grips the back of your head tight enough to hurt, then rips one hand down to stroke himself, smearing the mess across your features. 

The fingers on your scalp loosen then graciously begin rubbing at the base of your neck to soothe the soreness on your head. One of your eyelids is sealed shut due to a rope of his cum crossing from nose to eyebrow, the other eye unfocused, hazy with pleasure as you listen to him come down from his peak. A low noise rises from your throat as he massages your scalp, feeling tingly all over as blood flows back to the area.

“T-Thank you… that was great, I-“ he breaks off when you start to gather his cum off your skin, licking it off your fingers while studying his visor through your lashes. “Hey, let me…” 

He surprises you by wiping at your face with his cape, still hanging off the arm of the pilot chair from when you detached it. You giggle, “Is there a way to wash that on here? I can’t even tell if that hole in the wall includes a shower.” 

“There’s enough to work with.” 

You laugh louder at that, “That’s encouraging. I hope there’s ‘enough to work with’ so that I don’t meet Karga covered in cum.” Pausing to consider your current position, you add, “Actually, that might help my case.” 

Face wiped mostly clean, you're able to open both eyes now, taking in his posture. A jolt shoots through you when you realize he’s holding himself differently for some reason, he looks almost predatory but maybe that’s just the effect of Beskar’s harsh angles... Nope, he’s leaning forward now, caging you in again.  

“You want to look sexy for Karga?” Gulping, you try to figure out the best response but he continues before your slow-ass mind can catch up, “You’re right, that might help you get better pucks. But I don’t know if I want my hunting partner to be introduced that way. I still need to return the favor…” 

He lifts your body with ease, pulling you sideways onto his lap. Mando’s warm hand slides along the bend in your knee, slow and sensual on your body. He caresses you aimlessly, relaxed in the afterglow of cumming so hard. You’re still tightly wound, energy balled in your body as his movements serve to wind you up even more. But he’s not moving any faster so you relax into his broad chest, enjoying the feeling of his bare skin. 

Time blurs with your senses. His touch pulls you to a place right out of your daydreams, where everything is draped in velveteen and silk. You’ve honestly forgotten his original goal in the first place, and as his arm begins to drag on its path, it seems like he has too. The stroking on your arm has lowered your arousal to a simmer, leaving you content to stay laying across his lap, the glow of hyperspace streaking over your bodies. All at once, you realize he’s no longer moving over your body, his chest rising and falling deeply against your shoulder. 

He’s asleep. Surprise registers sleepily somewhere in your exhausted mind, the realization behind layers of warm fuzz. Didn’t even think he slept. 

There’s a full day of travel until you reach Nevarro. Snuggling closer into the warm crook of his neck to resolve to live in this dream for as long as possible. Who knows what tomorrow will bring.

[glassartpeasants]

Fool

Overhaul x F!Reader

Warnings: Angst, name calling, death??, toxic relationships

A/N: If I’m sad ya’ll gonna be sad too. Kinda grinded on this one too so it might be bad and it might be good. 50/50. This was also done at work so :D

~~~

“Damnit, Damnit, DAMNIT!” You yell into your pillow as another night was ruined. 

Your ‘husband’ was nowhere to be found. Which only made you that much angrier. Tonight was your guy’s anniversary and again, just like last year, he missed it. The dinner, the surprise you had in store, everything was just a bunch of bullshit.

“Stupid prick.” You throw off your dress and clean up all the makeup on your face, stepping into the shower crying.

“What’s so wrong with me that he can’t even bother to show up?” You hiccuped in the shower as you felt the shower water mix with your tears.

~~~

Once you were finished with your shower you put on your pajama’s and went into the living room putting your blanket and pillow on the couch before snuggling into it.

He didn’t deserve to even be near you after this little stunt he pulled for the second time.

‘Do I really not mean that much to him?’ You thought to yourself as all your insecurities comeback to haunt you.

Tears keep slipping down your face before you went silent hearing the door unlock signaling your ‘husband’ was home. You closed your eyes steadying your breathing holding your tongue as the urge to lash out at him became almost unbearable.

“Why would she be sleeping here? The bed is not far away? Did she accidentally fall sleep here?”

You clenched the blanket tightly as tears threatened to show. You could just sense the lack of empathy in his voice as he tried to figure out why weren’t you in bed. But even after trying to convince your self to stay quiet the anger rose up once more.

“I’m sleeping here cause I want to be away from you asshole.” Your tone of voice held venom in each word as Chisaki looked at you with wide eyes realizing that you weren’t asleep at all.

“Care to explain why?” His voice was still monotone but you looked in his eyes and sensed just a tiny bit of confusion.

“What’s the date and time Kai?” You replied, your words still sharp.

“It’s midnight and the date is-oh...”

“Yeah, it was our fucking anniversary which you forgot. FOR THE SECOND TIME!” You yelled at him standing up from the couch as you looked deep into those golden eyes. 

“Sorry I guess?”

“YOU GUESS?! YOU GUESS?!?!”

“Your voice lower it-”

“No Kai! Do you know how much it hurts me feeling like im not worth your god-damn time?!”

“(Y/N) I’m warning you...”

“Please at least tell me what im doing wrong!”

“I SAID ENOUGH!” Before you could even react Chisaki’s hand reached towards you and grabbed you by the arm, causing you to be overhauled in a instant before getting put back together.

You jerked your arm out of his grip looking at him with wide, fearful eyes, your entire being shaking with terror. You shook your head, taking steps away from him as your tears flowed down your cheeks, heavily breathing.

“You-you...” You looked into his eyes and saw no hint of remorse. At least nothing you could see as you moved quite far away from him. He didn’t even make an attempt to say sorry before turning around and going back to his room.

You crashed to the floor as you rubbed your arm while you silently cried. Hiccups slowly becoming the only thing you could hear as you laid on the floor in a fetal position. Your breathing becoming ragged as the crying made you struggle for air.

~~~

One Week Later

You haven’t spoken to Kai since the incident. You haven’t even looked in his direction. You shook everytime you remembered that night. It was only a week ago but it still felt like it was only a few seconds ago.

You sighed as you walked past Kai’s office, needing to pass it in order to get to the kitchen.

Just as you were walking by you heard your name come up in a conversation in his office. You stopped walking and slowly went to listen, being quiet as a mouse.

“I seriously feel like she’s only with me for my money.” You wanted to gasp out in offense but decided to stay quiet. You stayed with this man for almost three years and he thinks that your only with him for the money? You felt your heart break even more. Why did he even ask you to marry him if this was his mindset?

“She’s really starting to piss me off Chrono.”

“Have you talked to her since that night?”

“WHY WOULD I TALK TO THE COCK HUNGRY WHORE WHO GETS UPSET ABOUT EVERYTHING?!” That was it. Your heart was shattered even more then it already was. You take off your ring and throw it down that halls of the compound before running to your room to gather all your things that your asshole of a husband didn’t buy.

You had a few clothes and sentimental things before shoving it all in a suitcase and putting it into a guest bedroom. As much as you wanted to leave right away, you couldn’t since you weren’t anywhere near family.

‘I mean there’s always living on the streets.’ You thought before quickly dismissing the idea, realizing it was to dangerous to be going out alone in this quirk filled world while being quirkless.

But the more you thought about it the more your plan came into fruition.

~~~

5 Days Later

You looked out your window as you felt the breeze hit you from your open window. You still havent even spoken to Kai and pretended like he didn’t exist at all. 

‘Tonights the night.’

You sigh as you take a deep breath before climbing out the window slowly, trying not to hurt yourself. Your things were already outside, putting them there earlier that day.

Once your feet hit the ground you grabbed your things and booked it. You ran as fast as your feet could take you. You couldn’t help the smile that etched itself into your face.

Your feet finally came to a stop once you saw the old building you were planning on staying at for the time being. Being homeless is better then being with that self absorbed prick.

You started walking as you legs carried you inside the house and up the stairs. It was an old apartment building that was left abandoned after the Kamino incident.

~~~

Kai let out a sigh as he got out of the shower ready to go back to work when he noticed something.

All your REALLY important stuff that belonged to you was gone.

He shrugged his shoulders thinking you just took it with you to your room before putting on clothes and walking down the hallway towards his office.

Just as he reached the office he felt something underneath his shoe. He moved his foot and to his surprise your ring was underneath it.

He picked up the ring looking at the engraved words he had put into on so that it would always remain special to you. What was this doing here? Did it fall off your finger and you didn’t notice? He let out a low grumble before turning to go to your ‘now’ room before realizing the door was locked. 

He tried the lock again before getting angry and smashing the door ope only to find a bare room and an open window.

~~~

1-2 Months Later

Letting out a sigh as you looked around your now ‘living area’ and smile in happiness. It was only one tiny room so you had to make the best of the situation. You gathered a few things for your little home so it looked more like a little room and less like an old basement. You lived in the top of the building, aka the attic. You had to steal some things in order to have it look a little nicer. You might have stolen a bed out of someones back end of their truck but we don’t talk about that.

But all in all you thought it looked pretty good.

You sigh as you fall back on the bed looking up at the clean ceiling smiling knowing all the spiders are gone.

You turn on your little radio by ‘your’ bed before slowly shutting your eyes and falling into a peaceful slumber.

~~~

A thousand thoughts swirled his mind right now. All these problems and it feels like he was running in circles.

First, he was trying to figure out his plan with the bullets, then there was you.

Where did you go? He asked so many people if they saw someone that looked like you and no one saw you. He grew more anger by the minute.

A million of ‘If i haven’t done this or If I hadn’t done that’ went through his entire being making him shake with anxiety. He knows what he did was wrong, but he also knows that his pride will always be and always has been his biggest down fall.

He can still remember the way you looked at him that night. You looked at him like he was a monster. 

He didn’t even notice he was crying until he saw a tear drop fall from his eyes and onto the paper work.

“I shouldn’t have said all those nasty things about her...” He held his chest where his heart should be only to have his mind keep running at lightening speed thinking what if?

What if he never missed those anniversary's?

What if he never killed you?

What if he never called you all those nasty things?

And...

What If he never let you go?

[ddarker-dreams]

Want. Yan Risotto x Reader [COMM]

You’ve never taken this long before.

Risotto is acutely aware of your everyday routine. Your shift at this cafe ends at 5:00 P.M., but you’ll chat with your coworkers for a few minutes afterwards. Then you’ll proceed to the staff room to retrieve your bag, check your phone, and leave through the back exit at around 5:10. When it’s a nice day out like this one, you’ll then walk home to your dingy apartment. However, if it’s raining, you’ll set up a carpool with a friend. 

Expecting you to be exactly on time always is unreasonable, yet Risotto prefers to stick to what he knows. This isn’t a small, overlookable delay either. It requires further scrutiny. 

He mulls over his options, all the possibilities that’d offer an explanation for this delay. Knowing that you’re still inside despite it being twenty minutes past the normal time for you to leave, he assumes something must’ve happened. Slipping out front isn’t a possibility either, he keeps watch there too. Calling your boss is a possibility, but a risky one at that. 

Binetti’s voice always quivers in blatant anxiety, never brave (or foolish) enough to ask why exactly a member of Passione has taken such an extreme interest in his employee. Curiosity is still there, as is to be expected. Ultimately, Risotto doesn’t want the weak willed man to mess up his carefully crafted plans, by accidentally revealing something to you.

So that leaves learning the reason for your absence to his discretion. 

Metallica gives him the ability to freely observe you to his heart’s content, but it doesn’t entirely erase him from existence. Under normal conditions he’d follow behind someone entering the cafe to avoid suspicion, since to anyone else, it’d appear as if a door was opening for no reason had he interacted with it. Dispelling the iron around him, he cautiously approaches the door that leads into the back of the building.

He’ll be able to use his Stand to hide his presence once he’s inside, but quietly opening the door will be the main hurdle. None of the windows are an option since they’re locked, and breaking them would be counterproductive to his plan. All of this trouble to ensure your safety. A few feet lay between him and his destination, his approach methodical. 

Only for you to open it before he even gets the chance.

Headphones in your ears as they usually are, you’re too busy picking out a new song while humming to notice Risotto’s presence at first. When you finally sense a shadow looming, it catches your attention, earning a small gasp. Risotto’s expression betrays his conflicting inner feelings, a calm facade already set in place to avoid further suspicion. He’s aware of his frightening appearance, but other than your initial astonishment, you don’t seem concerned.

Tugging the headphone out of your ear, you look up at him curiously. “Oh, uh, hello. I’m not sure if you’re lost, but the door to get into the cafe is--” you pause, pointing towards the corner that leads to the street. “--that way. I can show you, if you like.” 

Voice saccharine like sugar, he entertains the thought of how much better it’ll sound when you speak his name.

“I’m friends with the owner.” Risotto lies with practiced ease, his deep voice causing a shiver to travel down your spine. It’s a small experience, but it’s overwhelmingly thrilling to finally interact with the object of his affection. This isn’t what he planned originally, but Risotto is able to adapt in any situation without breaking a sweat. 

Letting out a hum of understanding, you offer him a beaming smile as if he’s your longtime friend. Muscles going taut at the endearing sight, he closes his eyes momentarily to regain himself. It’s nonsensical, how his heart remains steady when he takes the lives of others, but you render him weak at the knees by simply fluttering your eyelashes. Despite the lack of control it brings, he’d be lying if he said he didn’t savor it. 

Interaction with others is understandably limited for Risotto. He speaks with his squad, but tries to maintain a business-like relationship for their sake. It’s a lonely lifestyle, even if it’s what he chose for himself. The less traces of an assassin the better. It won’t always be this way, you filling the gaps in his heart he never knew existed. He just needs a little more time… 

“I’m glad you’re here then. I don’t want to stick my nose where it doesn’t belong, but Mr. Binetti has seemed on edge lately,” you sigh, crossing your arms with a worried frown. “Please cheer him up if you can, okay? He’s a bit of a skittish man, but he’s always been kind to me.” 

The news doesn’t come as a surprise to Risotto. Binetti can hardly stop sweating when he comes to check in on you, ensuring that you’re being treated well and no coworkers are giving you any flack. Still, it’s a detail he isn’t willing to overlook. If Binetti mentioned something to you -- whether it’s on purpose or not -- it’ll make things more complicated than they need to be.

Wanting more information to be safe, he prompts you to speak further. “Oh? Really? Has he said anything to you?” 

Risotto’s vermilion eyes admire how your soft lips move to the side while you think, how you  place a delicate hand to your chin. He’s seen and memorized your usual body language, but being on the receiving end of it feels different. Surreal. Now he’s this close to you, able to take in every aspect that makes you unique. Not to mention hearing the small flairs of your accent seeping through, it’s all too precious.

“Now that you mention it…” you trail off, eyes narrowing as memories come flooding back. “He did say something out of the ordinary the other day. Kinda like, be wary of everything? I didn’t think much of it. Maybe he’s just been paranoid lately. There is a lot of criminal activity in this area at times… though it never seems to affect us directly.” 

So his concerns weren’t unfounded. Your boss was attempting to signal you in his own, covert way. Irksome as it is, all problems have a solution.

Clasping your hands together, you attempt to alleviate his worries, still believing that Risotto is emotionally invested in this person’s well being. It doesn’t come as a shock. You may be naive, but you have a good, compassionate heart. It’s what drew Risotto to you initially, like a moth to a flame. 

“I know it sounds ominous, but I’m sure it isn’t anything that bad. Don’t worry too much, okay?” you reassure, eyes softening with empathy. Risotto’s owl-like stare observes as you reach out to him, the height difference not stopping you. Placing a considerate hand to his shoulder, you give a comforting squeeze. “You have to think of your own well being too.”

From all the immoral things he’s done in his lifetime, does he really deserve this? To have your attention for this long, to feel your heavenly touch. He isn’t normally a sentimental person, however, your caring actions touch him deeply. But as sweet as this little interaction is, it isn’t enough to placate a deeper hunger within. To know what you’d be like as a lover, his lover. All attention directed at no one other than him. 

“I’ll keep that in mind.” 

His monotonous response doesn’t reflect overwhelming emotions within, all of his strength being used to keep his composure in front of you. How he desperately longs to take you with him. Your future shared bedroom is already waiting, he’s nothing if not prepared. Risotto amuses the thought, wondering if he should throw caution to the wind.

But it’s not the time for that. Not here, not now. Patience is a necessity in his field of work, and it applies here as well. There are still loose ends that need to be removed, more arrangements that need to be made. Seeing you in front of him, so tangible and real, reignites a fire beneath him. It won’t hurt to speed up the process a bit. 

Looking down at the time on your phone, you let out a quiet curse at how late it is. He knows it’s unusual for you to not be home by now. Troublesome as it is, he won’t be able to watch over you while you walk back either, but he’ll know when you arrive home. The motion sensors ensure that. 

“I’ve held you here long enough. Have a good day, alright?” you smile, placing your headphones back. He dismisses you with a nod of his head, eyes tracking your retreating form with interest. Heading off in the direction you normally do, you shoot him a final look. Giving a cheeky thumbs up and wave, you return on your way. 

A light scent of coffee mixed with your normal perfume stays even when he can no longer see you. He makes a mental note to buy this perfume late, recalling how it typically sits on your bathroom sink; making it difficult to gain access to when you’re home. 

There’ll be time to reflect on this pleasant experience, but for now, he has business to attend to. A talk with Binetti is in order. 

-- 

So it’s leftovers from Tuesday tonight. 

It’s disappointing, as watching you cook is always a sight to behold. From the way you carefully place uncooked pasta into a boiling pot so as not to burn yourself, or how you hum when chopping vegetables. It’s a domestic task, but one that Risotto has grown familiar to seeing. He hopes that you'll make dinner for him one day with the same enthusiasm. Take out and microwave meals just aren’t the same.

Seasoning your dish more to your liking, you stick it in the microwave with a satisfactory click. A low hum fills the cramped room, Risotto taking note of how you begin to sway in rhythm. He knows what that means, his heart fluttering in excitement for what’s to come.

Lips parting, the room is filled with your singing. A song he doesn’t recognize, but he’s never been musically inclined. Singing only for yourself, you get distracted in your song and forget what it was you were doing originally. Your voice is heavenly enough, but it transforms into something else entirely when you sing. There isn’t a satisfactory enough way to describe it, but he settles on the word stunning. 

The lyrics of the song are in English, your native tongue. He only picks up a few common phrases, but your talent transcends language. It’s a special privilege to be able to see you like this, entirely vulnerable and acting as your true self. Where you can apologetically be who you are, unaware of Risotto’s looming presence. Many sleepless nights he closes his eyes, picturing your voice serenading him with loving lullabies. 

How intimate. Beeping from the microwave causes you to jump, laughter soon following after. Risotto hasn’t ever tasted your cooking, but by how fast you consume it, assumes it must be good. Taking note of the time, he knows he’ll have to leave soon, a job needing his attention tonight. Wanting to spend more time in your presence is tempting, but work is work. 

‘Another thirty minutes.’

When you’re relaxing from a day at work, you spend time on social media or your other hobbies. Interchanging between them until sleep takes ahold of you. In the winter, blankets are warmed in the dryer at night for extra warmth. It’s a small detail, significant all the same. Observation is a vital part of his occupation. 

You’re not a target, in the traditional sense. A target of his affections, nothing purely malicious with killing intent. Methods from years of tracking and stalking for the purpose of murdering gave Risotto all the tools he needs to effectively keep watch over you. It was for peace of mind at first, but it evolved into something more. A calling to be the person closest to you. From the color of your toothbrush to the time you wake up in the morning, Risotto knows it all, which brings him pride. 

This knowledge will help ease the transition, once Risotto kidnaps you. He isn’t delusional, he knows the sudden change in lifestyle will be jarring. There’ll be exchanges of cruel words, tears shed, and possibly blood spilled. That’s why extra care is put into the villa you’ll soon live in with him. He still needs to find your favorite perfume to put on your bedside table.

Placing dishes in the sink, you dry your hands before venturing to your tiny bathroom. Risotto hears water running, faucet squeaking in protest. Frowning, Risotto reassures himself. Where you will live in the future is what you truly deserve, not this dingy studio apartment. He helps himself to the crevices of your room, running his fingers over your discarded clothes with interest.

‘These colors, hm?’

Shirts and dresses consisting of your favorite color and patterns are gently caressed, mind wandering to what you look like when wearing them. Casual is the style you’re fond of, wanting to be comfortable outside of your usual work clothes. Moving on, he looks at your phone which you had flung onto your bed prior.

Shower still running, he swiftly checks the screen while he’s still able to. A few text messages from your friends, and some from your parents in English. Scrolling further, Risotto’s eyes narrow in concentration at a new name. Marco. The text itself can be interpreted in a variety of ways, Risotto’s mind favoring the unsavory ones. 

From the lock screen, all he’s able to see an out of context message. 

I hope you’ll see it my way.

What were the two of you talking about? It’s a risk to steal your phone now, not wanting to alert you to any foul play. If only Melone were here, he’s more skilled with electronics. It sounds like this individual wants something from you, but what exactly? Now that he thinks about it, Binetti had mentioned that this coworker of yours is what caused the hold up earlier. Though the fickle man insisted that he’s unsure what words were exchanged, swearing on his life. 

‘How troublesome.’

If it weren’t for the looming assignment he has tonight, he’d personally give this Marco a visit. There’s always an option to ask one of the members of La Squadra to do it for him, but he prefers not to intertangle business and pleasure unless it’s unavoidable. Reading the text another time, he hears you turning the faucet off and knows his time is short.

Placing the phone back to its original spot with care, he reactivates Metallica and heads for an unlocked window. Venturing down the fire escape, Risotto considers what methods will be used on this unfortunate soul. Razors, perhaps? Or maybe scissors? Death from iron deficiency? He has time to give it some thought.

--

Finally gaining the opportunity to speak to you was a blessing, and a curse. 

As if he had tasted the forbidden fruit, knowledge of how euphoric it is to experience your attention firsthand leaving him wanting more. Watching you from afar is no longer enough to satisfy his deepest yearnings. For months he could tolerate never exchange a single word with you, harrowing as it was. Not anymore.

Everything is falling into place as he pictured it. The house the two of you were to share together fit your image well, furnishings put in place with your taste in mind. A wardrobe of your current clothing set up, normal toiletries, and the like. Even little, thoughtful gifts that Melone showed him from your wishlists. No detail is overlooked, Risotto wanting nothing more than to please you.

All that’s missing is the most important centerpiece to tie it all together, you. 

Stepping inside your workplace without using Metallica to conceal his presence, Risotto ignores the few stares that are shot his way. It’s par for the course, he’s well aware of his daunting appearance. Coffee and pastry aromas hit his nostrils, along with distant sounds of silverware clinking and muted chatter. People don’t stare at him for too long, whispers dying out after a few seconds.

He spots you speaking to a male customer, an incandescent smile on your face. His stomach churns as the customer returns your smile, firmly believing no one else deserves to witness such a beautiful sight. It feels like a knife being twisted in his gut, having to share you with the rest of the world.

Risotto isn’t sure what he’s doing here. Maybe it’s the anticipation for tonight, or the distaste his conversation with Marco instilled; that gave him the drive to speak to you in person again. This might be the last time for a while that you don’t perceive him as a monster, Risotto not looking forward to the inevitable animosity you’ll soon express. 

“Oh, I remember you!” you exclaim as Risotto approaches the counter, eyes lighting up in recognition. Binetti took notice of him, pretending to occupy himself with cleaning a spotless coffee filter. Risotto notices how his hands shake, yesterday’s confrontation still in mind. Not that Binetti’s behavior around you will matter much longer.

“I guess I should ask for your order first. What can I get for you today?” you inquire, leaning forward with a spring in your step. Risotto glances over the menu, before settling on a simple drink.

“A small red eye,” he answers without further thought. Remembering that he’s talking to you, continues. “Please.” 

Nodding your head with a concentrated look, you input his order before exchanging the required amount. Risotto shakes his head when you go to return his change, motioning towards the tip jar. Every concern in his mind melts away at the bright grin you flash him, gratefully tucking the extra money in with eager thanks. 

You move with practiced grace, working the silver machines with ease. He hears you humming a song you’ve sung in the past, recognizing it after the first few notes. Deft fingers measuring the required amounts for his drink, you set to work with the press of a button. 

After a few minutes, you hand over a steaming hot cup. Fingers lightly brushing over his own, his breath hitches. The first time you’ve ever touched him, and surely not the last.

“Is it alright if I go ahead and take my break now?” you call back to Binetti, who startles at the sudden sound of your voice. The middle aged man props his glasses up, eyes briefly flickering to Risotto’s imposing form before looking at you. 

“O-of course. Take your time.” 

Smoothing out your wrinkled apron, you walk over to Risotto who has taken a seat in the furthest corner of the store. “Mind if I hang out with you for a bit? My feet are killing me, and all the other seats are full.” 

Risotto feels his body erupt in warmth, knowing that you actively sought him out. Even if it’s only because there are no other options, the means to an end don’t concern him. Not wanting to seem overly eager by responding right away, he pretends to consider your proposition despite having already known the answer.

“Help yourself.” 

Taking another sip of his drink, the bitter flavor pacifies his dry mouth. Hot liquid running down his throat, he maintains a stoic expression in spite of his hammering heart. It could be pure luck that you came to sit here with him, or it could be fate. He’s grateful for it nonetheless. 

Chair groaning against the floor, you smooth out your skirt once you take your seat; thinking of how to start conversation. “It’s amazing that you can drink coffee without any cream or sugar. I know I never could.” 

Risotto’s lips quip upwards as he places the cup down onto the wooden table, well aware of your preference for sweets. “You get used to it.” 

“That could be true. I’ve never been brave enough to try it more than once, so I wouldn’t know,” you respond, a light laugh leaving your lips. “I don’t normally have caffeine this late in the day. It would be too hard to sleep, ya know? There was this time I saw a special that was only lasting one more day, and I didn’t want to miss trying the drink. So, idiot that I was, I went ahead and ordered it despite it being six o’clock in the evening.” 

Shaking your head with distant regret, you continue your story. “What a mistake that was! I was awake all night. My hands were so jittery I could’ve sworn they’d fall off. Not to mention I had a test the next morning… you know you messed up when you look out the window and the sun’s rising.” 

If it were anyone else, Risotto would find this chatter bothersome and pointless. However, since it’s you, every word matters to him. Fully appreciating even the most benign things you have to say, Risotto closes his eyes in contentment. Casual conversation doesn’t come easily, contemplating what a satisfactory response would be. 

“Was the drink good at the very least?” he wonders, watching as your jaw tightens and nose scrunches up. 

“Not at all! It was six dollars though, so you bet I drank the entire thing like it was ambrosia from the gods. A few days later I even saw articles of people making fun of how bad the drink was. It looked appealing enough, bright colors and all. But the taste… way too sweet, way too syrupy. A crime to the tastebuds.” 

“The person who invented it would’ve been locked away in the stocks if it were medieval times. Or is that the dark ages? One of the two. Anyways, if you ever see a bright purple and blue drink, run like your life depends on it.” you continue with apparent disdain, before snickering. 

“I wouldn’t try a drink like that.” he answers honestly, preferring bitter coffee over sugary flavors. 

“I wish I had thought the same. Would’ve saved me a lot of strife,” you sigh with exaggerated melancholy. “Enough about my myriad of dumb mistakes. How have you been lately? Mr. Binetti seems to be feeling better, so I think whatever you said to him cheered him up.” 

‘I don’t believe cheered up is the term I’d use.’

Risotto drums his fingers against the table. “I’m glad to hear that.” 

“I feel so dumb,” you suddenly proclaim, lightly hitting your forehead. “I just realized! We’ve been talking all this time, and I never bothered introducing myself.” 

Risotto points to your name tag with amusement. Looking down, you let out a quiet “ooh” at the sight. “How about you then? I don’t see any name tags on you.” 

It can’t hurt to tell you his name now, it’s far too late for you to do anything if you even did discover who he is. Sitting there obliviously, you’re unaware of the web the stranger in front of you has tied you in. 

“Risotto.” 

Goosebumps dot his skin as you repeat his name back to him, rolling off your tongue beautifully. Nodding your head in approval, you’re completely ignorant of the effect you have on him. He lightly clears this throat in hopes of regaining control of himself, excitement budding. 

“It’s a unique name,” you comment. “I like it though. My break’s just about ready to end, so I should get going. Thanks for letting me chat with you for a bit. You’re a good listener.” 

Bidding one another goodbye, you return to your job with a renewed vigor. Risotto finishes his coffee, tossing the cup before leaving the cafe. Everything he’s worked hard for is within reach, a small bag of sleep medicine in his pocket. One more visit to your apartment to gather some more essential belongings, and then he only needs to wait.

Unknown to you, this’ll be the last shift you’ll ever work.

-- 

It’s pitch black.

Everything feels heavy, an imaginary weight on your chest that you’ve never experienced. Head throbbing violently, a displeased groan leaves your lips. Fatigue has set in to every corner of your body, all of your strength required for the measly action of lifting your head. Blinking rapidly, the blurry surroundings start to come into focus.

‘This... this isn’t my room? Where the hell am I?’

You’re set upon a canopy bed, curtains obscuring where the door must be. Panic begins to set in at the unknown surroundings, shooting up only to hear a metallic clink. Hissing at a pain on your wrist, you look to see that you’ve been handcuffed to the bedpost. 

It feels as if your heart will burst from how rapidly it beats, adrenaline overtaking you. Thrashing in hopes of freeing yourself, it does nothing but irritate your skin. Swallowing doesn’t come easy, mouth too dry with primal fear to produce saliva. What options are there? You’ve been kidnapped, no doubt, but why? Money can’t be the motivation, you scrape by every month. 

Neither do you belong to any important family, who could assist in bailing you out. The motivations are murky, not that it matters now. All that matters is finding a way out of this nightmare of a situation. 

‘Think, [First], think!’

Calling help for help could be detrimental, who knows what your captor (or captors) might do once you’re awake. It’ll be wiser to utilize this time where you’re alone, hopefully gaining your freedom in the process. Who knows what demands could be made of you if you’re no longer alone. 

Glancing down at your body, you check to make sure everything is in order. You’ve read news stories in the past of people who traffic organs -- could that be what this is? With your free hand, you pull up your shirt, letting out a sigh of relief at the lack of tampering. No stitches, no pain. At least that’s off the table.

All the pain you feel comes from your wrist, and your head. Maybe you were knocked out somehow, most likely drugs; the pain not severe enough to have been bludgeoning. 

The handcuffs are the biggest issue here. It’s skin tight, leaving no room or hope of wiggling free. If you can find something to dislocate your wrist with, maybe it’ll allow you to pull free? Looking around further for anything that might be of assistance, you frown at the barren room.

Everything that could be of use to you is out of reach. Bed creaking underneath your weight as you shift forward, you curse silently. Was that loud enough to alert whoever is holding you captive? Staying perfectly still, you will yourself to silence your uneven breathing, listening closely for approaching footsteps.

Nothing.

A shiver goes down your spine as you return to your previous task. It doesn’t make sense, but you don’t feel like you’re alone. Someone is watching you, somewhere. It’s an uneasy feeling, not being able to see the furthest corners of the room due to how dark it is. 

Looking to your left reveals windows that are barred off. This person thought of everything. The door that you can see most likely leads to the bathroom, so even if you get free that won’t be an option. Maybe locking yourself inside?

Frustration and lethargy mix together, taking any semblance of logical thinking from you. This is too much, the fear of the unknown plaguing you with unshakable anxiety. Squeezing your eyes shut, you feel tears escaping down your face.

Sniffling softly as you can, you all but jump when a glass is placed down next to you. Head snapping in the direction of the noise, you’re able to make out a liquid that looks like water just within your reach.

“W-who’s there,” you shakily demand, searching around the room once more. Nothing. “I don’t have anything. Please.” 

“You must be thirsty. Drink.” 

It’s a terribly deep voice, that’s obscured by darkness. Bringing with it a sense of familiarity, you feel as if you know this man. That you’ve spoken with him in the past, but who could it be? And what does he want? 

Grabbing the glass, you carefully inspect the liquid. Your mouth does feel dry and achy, you’re too leery of the contents to trust it. What if it’s drugged? Grimacing, you throw the glass in the direction the voice last came from. It shatters against the wall from the force, not hitting your intended target.

Somewhere else in the room, you hear a disappointed sigh. “Already acting up?” 

Lips twitching downward, you sneer at this derisive comment. What the hell was he expecting? For you to lap it up gratefully like a dog? No, whatever is going on -- you resolve yourself to be a pain in the ass. There’s no way you’ll roll over for this fucked up monster, doing as he pleases.

“I-I don’t know who you are, but the police are searching for me. I always text my friends at night, they’ll report me missing if I don’t!” 

A single chuckle resonates throughout the room, coming from another direction yet again. How can you not hear any footsteps? Or even see a slight shadow of this person? The moonlight streaming in from the window should serve to give you some information, but it does nothing for you. The voice is not coming from a microphone either, being too clear for that.

“Who are you?” 

It’s all you can bring yourself to ask at this point, throat constricting and head growing dizzier by the second. Adrenaline is starting to wear off, all your energy being dedicated to staying awake out of fear. You’re not expecting a response, but he gives you one after a few minutes. 

“You’ll know soon enough. Sleep, I won’t harm you.” he tells you, voice commanding. It’ll be pointless to argue, as much as you want to. You need your strength back, whatever you ingested earlier still remaining strong in your body.

“Though you may not believe me... this is for the best, [First].” 

[novantinuum]

Fandom: Steven Universe

Rating: Teen Audiences

Words: 6.3K~

Summary: In another world, he doesn’t have his mother’s sword or shield to hide behind when Bismuth lands her strike. The bubble pops.

Steven falls apart.

Chapter summary: In which freedom is a future worth fighting for.

Finally finished this chapter, yay! I promise I throw canon off a ravine entirely next chapter, I just needed to set up some stuff. Hopefully the Ruby POV makes things somewhat fresh.

If you read this and enjoy, I’d greatly appreciate your support through reblogs here, or kudos/comments on AO3. Thank you! <3

____

Chapter 13: system/REBOOT, Part 1

The whole mission is Garnet’s idea. 

By this point, they’ve known about Homeworld’s rushed Beta Kindergarten project for about fifty years. Frankly, its composition leaves much to be desired. The area is rich in the iron and silicon deposits necessary to produce a strong batch of quartzes, but the foundation they incubated all their new soldiers within is red clay cemented sandstone; it’s soft, and in constant danger of erosion. According to all the rebellion’s peridots, many of them top Homeworld kindergarteners before their eventual defection, this type of stone is critically unfit for Gem production. It can’t compress the inclusions of injector fluid at the correct pressure, can’t reliably bar the excess from draining through the porous material. As a result many of the individually incubated sites are predicted to ‘weep’ and lose critical volume, which will inevitably cause the emergent quartzes to be ‘off-color’ in some fashion. Some may be under regulation height, some may exhibit crystal twinning, some may be incapable of standard abilities like shapeshifting or weapon summoning, so on and so forth.

As a fellow off-color herself, Garnet carries a deep empathy for all those who are forsaken and unwanted. She can foresee the dire fate of these Beta Gems creeping over the dawning horizon even without the benefit of future vision, can foresee that despite all of these soldiers’ loyal programming, they’re ultimately cursed to be eliminated within the cruel machine of Homeworld. One day beyond the battlefield, the so-called Great Diamond Authority will see no further use in their existence, and then they’ll be purged. Harvested for scrap. Trapped within a myriad of Gem-powered objects. Crushed and used within their drop ships for fuel. 

It’s pure tyranny. 

Thus, she refuses to let their cruelty stand without a just fight. They have to give these Gems a chance beyond Homeworld’s rule, because abandoning them would be abandoning everything that their brave rebellion stands for, that she stands for. She refuses to stand powerless and idle in the face of a Diamond’s commands like the Sapphire and Ruby she once was, refuses to let another tragedy slip by without at least attempting to mend its damage. She is Garnet, she is freedom, and she is love.

And deep within her core, she believes these soon-to-emerge soldiers deserve the same opportunity for renewal and hope as any other Crystal Gem.

 __

For all Ruby’s aware, a whole geological era could have passed between that fateful moment she first set eyes on Jasper and the shards-late arrival of Amethyst and the others. All three of them duck behind the low rock formations she’s hiding in the shade of, Steven still breathing heavily from the no-doubt harried and concerned exertion of their sprint towards her. Hard light coursing from the gem in her palm to all other extremities at random intervals amidst crackling cinders of immobilizing terror, (she’s almost surprised her form isn’t flickering at this point), she desperately attempts to babble an explanation. She’ll admit— it’s not a particularly coherent one. Ask her mere minutes later, and there’s little chance she’ll be able to repeat what she said. Heck, she’s not confident about her words now, in the heat of the moment. It’s probably something about holes, something about injector scrap, about all those Gem monsters, a-and—

"Whoa, what the heck!” Amethyst blessedly interrupts, raising her head above the rocks and pointing across the clearing at the orange and red striped quartz diligently prowling the area like a true squadron leader. “Jasper’s here, too? Did everyone decide to skip on over to Beta today, or somethin’?!”

Peridot’s face scrunches in confusion as she regards her former mission partner.  “What is she doing?”

“She’s got all those corrupted Gems in cages,” Steven murmurs with realization, a tiny spark of outrage lighting up behind his eyes on those creatures’ behalf. “They’re not even bubbled, they’re just… trapped, and scared!”

Ruby brings her fist to her mouth, nervously nibbling at her fingers for a moment to anchor herself back to this present. Above all else, ignoring every thread of trepidation and insecurity she bears, there’s one burning question that pulses at her core with an unmatched luminosity about this whole scenario:

“B-but why would she want so many corrupted Gems in the first place? Doesn’t she know she can’t tame them?”

The purple quartz growls, the fringe of her hair casting a dark and menacing shadow over her features as she tilts her head down and glares at her self-proclaimed rival. “I don’t think she knows nothin’.”

And as— instinctively, mistakenly, running off of over five thousand years of deep engrained habit— she attempts to open her third eye towards the winding tributaries of potential futures they may soon find themselves wading through and fails, it slowly dawns on her just how isolated and lost they all are, without Sapphire’s sight. Without her love.

“Neither do I…” she says softly, her stature shrinking in the throes of that suffocating inadequacy. Riding an abrupt wave of frustration, she slams her foot into the coarse dirt, gripping thick chunks of her coily hair between her fingers. “Aughhh, this is a terrible time to not have future vision!” she huffs, spitting out each word staccato.

“Pipe down!” Jasper hollers at the poor corrupted Gem cornered in the distance as she kicks one of the bars of its cage, her booming voice easily reverberating off the cliffs’ curvature.

All four of them can’t help but bite back their gasps upon this clamoring startle. Peeking her head just above the rim of the rocky outcropping, Ruby watches the fur covered quartz visibly shrink back at the soldier’s command. Jasper continues, her unwavering act of confidence currently undeterred by this reaction. 

“You take orders from me now. You used to be a quartz too, didn’t you? What happened to you?”

Utterly failing to comprehend any of her words in this vulnerable, animalistic state, the corrupted Gem merely snaps its fangs at the bars, and then tilts its head sideways to begin chewing on one of them. Jasper scoffs, her lips rising in a mild sneer. Taking the risk to edge closer, she continues to verbally berate the poor thing, talking the same sort of smack Ruby’s former Homeworld commanding officer, Condor Agate, used to dish out. Ruby grinds her teeth together so hard as she watches this display that the pressure and heat alone might be enough to form a brand new batch of Gems. Jasper even finds a moment to rope Amethyst into her insults, which almost has the stone in question summoning her whip in pure unfiltered fury. It’s only Steven and Peridot’s quick clutch on her shoulders that holds her back from steamrolling into the clearing with zero preparation and potentially making a terrible mistake. Still, she’s gotta admit, the temptation to whoop this Homeworld brute’s butt right this minute is devilishly hard to resist.

Ruby growls, one of her gauntlets emerging into existence on her clenched fist with a burst of light. “Oh-hoh, do I wanna launch this baby right into her dumb, chalky face…!”

“But maybe first we should go back to the temple and grab reinforcements?” Peridot whispers hastily, whirling around to face her. Panic visibly tightens its grip on her form with each passing second. 

She pauses a moment to let the logic of this suggestion sink in, gaze hardened, and self-consciously aware of how her fellow Gems are (wrongfully) looking towards her as their leader in this chaos. What options do they even have? They can choose to fight, that’s one. They could disengage. They could retreat to Beach City and seek backup. If they were truly desperate, they could surrender. (Although she’s not confident Jasper would gracefully accept anyone’s defeat, not until it ended with their poofed— maybe even shattered— gemstones littering the coarse sand.)

As the gears are still pirouetting in her mind, she turns towards Steven, who nods in vehement agreement of Peridot’s strategy, his mouth stretched thin.

Sighing with frustration, she loosens her grip, recalling how even Garnet was barely able to match up with Jasper’s might. “Yeah, you’re right. She’d beat us into the dirt without Pearl or Sapphire.”

“Okay, so far we got three votes for retreat,” he says, holding up the appropriate number of digits as a visual. “Amethyst?”

In sync, the trio turn towards where the quartz just stood and find nothing but faint granules of recently upended dust filtering through a beam of sunlight. Both Peridot and Steven let out a fearful squeak at her absence.

“W-where is she?” the former Homeworld technician cries, craning her neck over the top of the rock formation to try and secure a visual.

“Up there!” Steven exclaims under his breath, pointing at a ridge a good ten feet above them that crosses from the arched entrance of this natural amphitheater all the way to the other side where Jasper stands, her back still turned to them.

Following the path of his index finger, Ruby catches a flash of purple, black and lavender stealthily advancing along the narrow rim towards the very soldier who reportedly poofed her with a single strike about a week back. The light sustaining her form nearly drains from all her limbs and rushes back to her gem. 

“Oh, shards no…”

Stars above, what the hell is her problem? she thinks, her mind riding in a narrow track between exacerbated vexation and dread. Does she have a death wish, or something?? Surely the last place a rational person would choose to run is directly into the arms of the Gem who clobbered them into a senseless cloud at their last meeting. Surely a rational person would instead choose to retreat and regroup. However, as she glumly reflects upon the dour happenings of the past few days, Amethyst’s actions prove she’s currently unable to think rationally about Jasper or any other kind of conflict. She’s been markedly sullen at everyone around her ever since she first got her butt whooped. Obsessed with her private training sprees. Emotionally stand-offish. Prone to making rash decisions, like letting her mouth run off at poor hapless Steven about matters that aren’t his fault, or slashing her whip right at people’s feet to push them away, or… or rushing directly towards Jasper in an enclosed space with little to no backup just because she’s desperate to show her up for the sake of her own self-worth, or whatever.

And Ruby gets it, to an extent. She understands how cripplingly powerless it can feel to be written off as ‘the weak one,’ as nothing but an expendable. She understands the vivid temptation to let one’s anger drive such antagonistic confrontations. However, she’d also like to believe that she carries enough self respect in this gem to not throw herself right on an enemy’s anvil. Whether or not Amethyst possesses the same level of restraint is another question entirely. She flexes nervous, twitchy fingers at her side as she watches her dear friend creep further along the rim, ever closer to what she fears will be her unquestionable demise. 

With the corrupted Gem’s racket still occupying Jasper’s undivided attention, Amethyst leaps from the cliff’s edge and into the clearing, pulling her whip from her gem in midair. The moment her toes touch the ground again, she slashes its barbed ends at the bars of the cage, right next to the quartz soldier’s hand. Jasper yanks her digits back. Her entire body snaps tense upon this disruption. Watching from behind their rocky cover, Ruby, Steven, and Peridot bite back the urge to gasp in shock. 

“HEY!” Amethyst yells, lowering on her haunches right behind her opponent. 

Now, there’s obviously no way to prove it without somehow obtaining intimate knowledge of her headspace, but upon external observation, Ruby swears that this big, buff Beta Kindergarten quartz is masking surprise. The sentiment is visible in the alignment of her shoulders, lifted high and tight against her neck. It’s visible in her narrow stance, light years away from the proper form of a soldier expecting battle. Flexing her thick, dexterous fingers at her side, she makes a blatant show of puffing out her chest before she turns to face her challenger, an almost predatory smile curving upwards on her lips as she regards her.

“You back away from her,” Amethyst hisses, nodding towards the Gem in the cage.

Jasper lets out a hearty chuckle. “Oh-hoh, what do we have here? You finally decide to crawl back for a rematch, runt?”

She grits her teeth, tightening her fist around the pommel of her weapon. “That’s right. I’m back, and I’mma wipe you all over these cliffs!”

“Perfect,” her opponent practically purrs, cracking her knuckles in anticipation. “I’ve been needing a light warmup.”

 __

Rose approves her mission without question, when she first brings her the idea. Of course she would, in retrospect— the hidden diamond she was. 

Garnet takes forty of her fellow soldiers and friends with her to the Beta Kindergarten. They don’t wield any weapons. These Gems are brand new, stepping into the light for the very first time. There’s no need to threaten them; all she wants is to peacefully talk, to introduce them to the concept of freedom, of choosing their own path beyond the Diamonds’ rule. 

At the time, all she wanted was to follow her beloved leader’s example and choose peace and harmony over subjugation and brutality.

But with the bitter truths they know now, and reflecting upon the horrid atrocities they themselves participated in amidst the war… despite Rose’s self-proclaimed ‘pacifism,’ despite the shaky justifications of their cause being different than Homeworld’s brand of violence... she’s increasingly unsure if any of them ever had a choice.

 __

Tragically, it only takes mere seconds for the initial triumphant beats of Amethyst’s war against Jasper to devolve into a one-sided thrashing. 

With a mighty, almost frenzied yell, Amethyst moves one foot forward for counterbalance and slings the weighted, barbed tip of her weapon directly at her opponent’s face. Jasper catches it midair, mere inches from her gem. An arrogant smile paints her visage. After winding the whip’s end around her hand, she yanks its user towards her with a snap of her wrist, swings her in a wide arc, and effortlessly slams her into the nearest cliff wall, blowing up a huge plume of pulverized rock and dust. It all happens so fast that the rest of the party barely has any time to react. As the rubble settles, Ruby finally spots her friend amidst the chaos, collapsed on hands and knees in the dirt. The poor Gem’s hands are nearly trembling as she vies to rise to her feet again, vies to stand her ground and keep fighting. 

There’s only one thing she knows for sure, watching all this: if hard light were consumable rather than indelible, she would quite literally be chipping away at her knuckles with her teeth by now.

His expression blown wide with fear, Steven breaks their communal silence to holler Amethyst’s name. Hands flexing in and out of fists, he darts away from their hiding spot. And they tried to stop him, they really did— it’s simply that he’s far too nimble for either of them to catch in time.

“Steven!” Peridot cries, trying and failing to grab his hand to hold him back.

“Steven, no!” Ruby yells, arms outstretched, as he sprints into the clearing— entirely blowing any remaining amount of cover the three of them had, placing his gem at Jasper’s mercy, and causing a thousand living nightmares to flood into her consciousness in but a millisecond. “Come back!!”

“Wait! Wait,” he gasps, waving his arms wildly to catch the larger quartz’s attention as he passes into the center of this natural coliseum, firmly planting himself at Amethyst’s side. “Stop! We don’t need to do this!”

Giving a growl that would rival that of a corrupted Gem’s, Ruby clenches her fingers around thick coils of her hair at either side of her head and yanks. “Aughh, why does nobody listen to me when I’m short??” 

A faint trail of glowing embers marks a record of her path as she leaves Peridot by their rocky outcropping and storms right into the open after him. Oh, hoh, hoh— that boy can disobey her clear, simple orders all he wants, but in his folly he’s forgetting one very important fact: rubies are stubborn Gems. And she’ll fight to protect him from the crossfire of Jasper’s hubris and Amethyst’s self-destruction even if that means braving her deepest terrors to run out there and drag him back to safety herself.

(Ideally, she’d be able to drag Amethyst with her out of the thunderdome as well, but she’s also quite the stubborn one. So try as she may, that’s not likely to happen.)

Ruby strides towards the middle of the clearing and defiantly plants her feet in the sterile soil right in front of Steven, and adjacent to Amethyst. She summons her gauntlets, her features twisting in a scowl. “Stand down and let them go!” she shouts up at that bulky orange quartz with all the Garnet-like confidence she can muster. “This is not a Homeworld controlled planet!”

“Steven, Ruby, get out of here!” Amethyst hisses under her breath, her battle-ready stance solidifying with a strange mixture of apprehension and anger as she regards the two of them.

“No!” she shoots back, tugging at her arm. “Come on, you know I can’t just leave you here.”

Jasper’s molten amber eyes narrow, her steely gaze colliding right into her.

“ You,” she says, enunciated as sharp as a dagger. “One half of that vile war machine.”

“War machine?!” Steven cries, distraught by the very implication. “She’s not a war machine! Garnet fuses for love!”

“Yeah!” Ruby jabs her fist in the air loud and proud.

The Homeworld warrior scoffs, seemingly not impressed by their display of solidarity. She folds her arms solid across the Yellow Diamond insignia emblazoned upon her chest and steps closer to address her directly. “And where’s this love now?” she spits, mockingly stooping to her level.

And despite the faint, triumphant memories of her last incursion with this quartz, (well… Garnet’s last incursion), she can’t help but cower in her presence, can’t help but crumble like the deficient sandstone of this very kindergarten under the cruel, personalized precision of her blunt words. Because... she’s right. Because that’s the whole problem, the pulsing heart of life’s cruel game. Fusion offered her a tantalizing taste of freedom, a glimpse of a reality where, together, a lowly guard and her sapphire could achieve literally anything through the strength of their love!— but that world feels like nothing more but an unobtainable mirage now. She’s absolutely useless on her own, just some pathetic waste of resources! No authority, no power, no wisdom of foresight— she brings nothing to the Crystal Gems’ cause. She never did. It was always her. Tears bead at her widening eyes, her gauntleted fists already beginning to tremble at her sides. 

“I-I…”

“Where’s any of your power now?” Jasper continues as she raises back to her full height, lifting both open hands towards the empty, cloud-streaked skies. She throws her head back as she offers them all a bright, boastful chuckle. “To think I used to view you traitors as a threat, but now even your disgraceful cause is falling apart, isn’t it… Rose?”

Still standing a step behind her, Steven’s immediate reply brims with tones of frustration. “I’m not—“

“But you’re wrong!” a high, familiar voice urgently calls out from behind them all. 

This whole messy confrontation breaks to a halt as everyone turns to gape at the lone Gem poking her head out above the rocky outcropping. Peridot gasps at the sudden influx of attention, and hastily ducks for cover again. 

“What are YOU doing here?” Jasper growls with annoyance, grinding one of her feet in the dirt as if inwardly hoping she could shift the very earth they stand on and finally gain the advantage of surprise once more.

“I-I…” the green Gem stammers, slowly creeping out from her hiding spot, summoning newfound confidence as she lays her eyes on each and every one of her friends. “I’m here because our cause hasn’t fallen apart! We live on Earth to be free, to learn new things about ourselves. Like how I can bend metal to my bidding!” she exclaims, tossing enthusiastic fists into the air.

On the cliff face over twenty feet away, a skinny length of metal from one of the injector’s legs slips from the device, falls straight down, and noisily clatters as it collides against the rocky soil. Amethyst facepalms. Meanwhile, Jasper appears so underwhelmed by this display that in any other circumstance, her glazed-over expression could be comedic.

Peridot briefly scowls at her botched handiwork. “And sure,” she shrugs, nodding towards that shard of metal, “nothing’s ever perfect here, but together, we work to help and support each other, just like we’re supporting Amethyst now. Isn’t that freedom worth fighting for?”

A few beats pass as the heart of this proclamation sinks in, the ticking seconds seeing Steven beam in pride at his friend’s progression since the beginning of her stay on Earth, and Jasper’s features scrunch inwards in an almost sour manner. Between the stifling roots of her own despair, even Ruby herself can’t help but feel a little uplifted by this hopeful sentiment. It’s a well-timed salve to an old burn, a naive yet ultimately truthful promise of lighthearted days to come. After all, hasn’t her time as a Crystal Gem taught her by now that no circumstance is permanent? That a single unifying cause can collapse empires like a wildfire, can continually reshape one’s entire understanding of existence? Her gauntleted hands shift at her side as a new spark of timid confidence ignites at her core. What was she thinking, letting this brute of a quartz tower over her and define the very pillars of her own story? She’s better than this. For the very sake of her friends she has to be!

But alas, before this newfound bravery can see its hour of triumph on this secluded battlefield, she finds herself once again cast aside by one of the very friends she’s vying to protect.

Amethyst growls in frustration at their continued presence, and summons her weapon. “UGH, you GUYS!” She slashes its barbed tips against the cliff face right above Peridot, not close enough to hit her, but certainly with enough force that it spooks her into diving behind the low rock formation again. Scowling, she then turns and plucks an actively protesting Steven right off the ground. “Get out of here!” she yells, tossing him back towards the clearing’s entrance. “This isn’t your fight!”

Ruby gives a sharp yelp as she just barely leaps backwards to dodge the business end of her whip, swinging low in a vain attempt to tangle up her feet. “Hey—!”

“It’s just you and me, Jasper,” the purple quartz breathes heavily, and abruptly whirls around to jab her finger towards her opponent. “ONE-ON-ONE!”

Silently, a consenting smirk riding over her lips, the taller Gem summons her ramming helmet in a glittering flash of light.

 __

The mission is— in the terms of the brave humans they sometimes fight alongside— a bloodbath. 

When they first warped in, Garnet only expected to find a small handful of disoriented jaspers, citrines, and carnelians roaming about. Gems they could talk to. Gems they could reason with, just as Rose reasoned with her fellow quartzes at the very start of this bold rebellion. Instead, what emerges soon after their arrival is more shocking and unpredictable than any future Garnet could’ve ever visualized.

Bursting from the very heart of this slapdash, rushed Kindergarten, despite every single locational and structural disadvantage this place stacks against one’s favor, is Her.

The strongest, most perfectly formed jasper she’s ever laid eyes on. She’s seven feet tall, built as solid as diamond, her flawlessly faceted gemstone gleaming bright and proud in the rising sun. She wastes no time in following the miserable orders the Great Diamond Authority cruelly embedded deep within her soul, immediately calling the hundreds of scattered and confused off-color Gems surrounding her to action.

Garnet and her squadron simply don’t have enough time to intervene, to try and settle this skirmish halfway peacefully. They don’t have the numbers. 

Twenty three Crystal Gems are shattered that day. Numerous more on both sides are cracked or poofed.

And yet one of the greatest tragedies, in her mind… is that these emergent Gems never got the proper chance to consider any purpose beyond their assigned station. Never got a chance to glimpse the promise of their own freedom. 

Everything happened so fast. 

She took this place for granted— thanks to her own preconceived notions about the kinds of Gems that could emerge here, utterly failed to foresee this potential turn of events— and in the end it cost lives. Both those of her fellow Crystal Gems, her friends … and those of the Beta quartzes she failed to save from Homeworld’s damaging influence.

That night, as she bitterly weeps for the recovered shards of the beloved they lost, clenches her gauntleted fists tight around her gemstones, she vows to never let such a harrowing tragedy escape her vision again. No more.

A leader like her is not allowed to fail.

 __

With the mighty roar of a lion, Amethyst stamps her leading foot to the ground to center her balance and rears her weapon-wielding arm back, wholly intending to defend her pride from this boorish bully. The first and second slashes are fruitful, one striking Jasper in the face, and the next hitting her chest with such intense force that it slams her into the cliff wall a few feet back, but Ruby can’t help but dread the litany of unknown possibilities haunting their future as she watches, powerless in her lack of second sight to influence their present. Could Amethyst win this fight? Sure. There’s gotta be at least one river of time where that occurs, where Jasper is so wrapped up within that facade of insufferable hubris that she fails to take her seriously as an opponent and pays the price. But on the other hand, she senses so many chinks in Amethyst’s armor that she can’t help but fear the opposite. She’s blinded by her anger, unable to consider consequence rationally. Her form in battle— compared to her usual performance— is notably sloppy, as if she’s throwing herself at this fight with such an explosion of tangled, raw emotion that her years of training and refinement have all but melted away in the inferno. Her fingers are trembling as she tightens her grasp on the whip’s pommel.

All of this stated, Ruby may not possess the gift of Sapphire’s future vision, but she has more than enough experience on patrol and on the battlefield to recognize a soldier who is woefully unprepared for a fight. Something terrible is about to happen, she can just feel it.

“Be careful!!” she cries, cupping her hands around her mouth.

“It’s fine, she’s totally rocking this!” Steven says with a huge grin, seeming uncharacteristically calm, given the circumstances. He whoops, and punches his fist in the air. “Go Amethyst!”

Ruby and Peridot briefly match eyes, the noted concern in their gazes pointing towards the fact that they both think that Amethyst’s insistence to fight is reckless and naive. In retrospect, of course her friend would agree with her. She spent a lot of time cohabiting with Jasper on their journey to Earth, so she’s bound to be well aware of her fundamental nature.

At the moment however, given the shorter quartz’s tunnel vision, she’s certain that any of their valid concerns would fall upon deaf ears. 

“Who’s weak now, huh?” Amethyst spits from across the clearing, flicking her wrist to activate the triplet spiked balls at the ends of her whip, an upgrade gifted by Bismuth she surprisingly hasn’t seemed to have abandoned. With a holler, she swings her leading arm back and around to build up momentum and then slashes at Jasper’s chest three times in succession. The last hit comes with enough force to push her backwards in the dirt a few feet. “Who’s powerless NOW?!”

Then, just as Ruby fearfully predicted, the winds shift. 

The firestorm doubles back upon them, Jasper merely swatting the flail ends away like they were nothing more but a momentary nuisance. Her expression narrows into a scowl. Emergent shock mingles alongside the dark cloud of Amethyst’s anger like wayward lightning bolts as she growls in frustration, the side-swept fringe of her hair shadowing her features. In retaliation she summons a second whip and immediately slashes them both against the soil, endowing them with a crackling, purple-tinged energy, almost a fire of her own making. She tucks into a ball and literally hurls herself at the quartz warrior, her form only recognizable in the heat of that moment via a dazzling blaze of light.

The resulting collision throws up so much dirt and smoke that Ruby has to throw her small body in front of Steven’s to shield him from the worst of the debris. 

When the thick curtains of dust finally part, the consequences of this overly-impulsive move are revealed. Jasper still stands proud and tall, her mettle unaffected by this attempted show of strength. Barely a scuff even marrs her uniform. Meanwhile, Amethyst lays hunched over on hands and knees, hacking up fragmented remnants of sandstone she likely swallowed amidst the impact. (Alas, that’s the price she pays for choosing to always reform with an semi-operational digestive system.)

“Is it sinking in yet?” Jasper queries pointedly, advancing towards the trembling Gem on the ground.

Amethyst is so exhausted she can’t even muster the strength to respond, her arms quivering beneath her as she vies to hold up the simulated weight of her hard light form.

Her foe roughly kicks her in the chest, her foot striking mere inches under her gem. Ruby visibly cringes at both the shallow huff of distress that this hit elicits from her, and Steven’s cries of fear in response. 

“It doesn’t matter how long or hard you fight,” Jasper boasts, her imposing figure hovering like a bad omen over her quartz sibling’s, “because I’ll always be stronger! Runts like you never had a chance. Runts like you are worthless.”

Angrily, she grinds her teeth together, cradling the vulnerable gemstone on her hand. 

Worthless.

Worthless.

Who the hell does this square hunk of stone think she is, slinging such heavy-handed words around like the blunt end of a mallet?

“Get your worthless, sorry forms back in formation!” wretched old Condor Agate used to scream at her and the others in her squad, back when she spent eternity guarding empty corridors, back before she was eventually reassigned to Sapphire’s personal guard. “You’re an embarrassment to your commanding agates, all of you!”

Ruby growls, finding her resolve. That’s it. No more. She can’t bear to stand at the sidelines gripped in fear while some bully is literally beating her friend into the ground, both physically and emotionally. She can’t bear for Amethyst to fall prey to the same type of unwavering torment she herself experienced all those years ago on Homeworld, torment that utterly deformed her sense of self-worth until recognizing any ounce of good in herself became a gargantuan, near-impossible task. Admittedly, she still hasn’t healed from those days. Not entirely. Sometimes she’s unsure she ever will. But it’s her duty to put an end to this, to what’s happening in the here and now. After all, what’s the point of being a Crystal Gem if you don’t look after the people you love?

“We have to separate them,” she says firmly, turning towards Steven and Peridot. “She’s gonna get clobbered!”

The former kindergartener’s expression warps to despair under her visor. “But how? She doesn’t even want us to be here! And none of us are strong enough to face Jasper…”

“Could we make a distraction?” Steven suggests, his voice tinged with the same sort of urgency she feels thrumming like a frantic drum line at the depths of her core.

Humming in thought, Ruby considers the status quo. To no success, she attempts to ignore her friends’ expectant gazes, trustingly falling upon her exactly like all those fellow rebellion soldiers used to look at Garnet… as their de facto leader. But she’s no leader, far from it. Garnet would barely have to think before coming up with a genius, foolproof plan, but she’s going into everything blind. She can’t weigh out potential consequences before rushing into action. She has no ability to pinpoint the most ideal outcome and work backwards from there. With all this in mind, it’s really no wonder that Garnet passed command of the group to Pearl instead of her. At least Pearl has experience leading missions solo.

And yet desperate times call for desperate measures.

She scans their surroundings for inspiration, considering what options may be open to them. At this point there’s no time to double back to the barn or the temple for reinforcements. (And she strongly doubts Lapis would care to so much as match eyes with Jasper, anyways.) One or more of them could always charge into the fray to attempt and break up this small skirmish by force, but that would risk their safety, too. The last thing she wants is to knowingly throw her friends into harm’s way. No, the best option would be breaking the two quartzes up using something in their immediate environment, something large and heavy but capable of being quickly moved, something like...

Her eyes snap wide. “That injector!” she whispers excitedly, pointing to the hulking piece of junked equipment precariously hanging from the cliff wall, only stabilized by a few legs that still penetrate the cracked sandstone. “It’s right above them. If we knocked it down, then maybe…”

Peridot flashes a hopeful smile, and nods.

“We’re on it,” Steven says, summoning his shield. The two of them glance at each other, perhaps silently coordinating their plan, and then leap into action.  

“Metal powers activate!” she exclaims, and throws her hands up in the direction of that rusted injector. 

Subtly but noticeable, its legs begin to shift and creak under the force of her ferrokinesis, loosening from the eroding stone. Licking his lips, Steven aims his weapon and hurls. It strikes the device directly at its center, clanging against solid metal. The injector wobbles for a moment, its delicate balance obviously destabilized by this force, and then begins to slide free from the porous kindergarten wall. One still-impacted leg snaps under the torque as the cylinder’s immense weight plummets towards the ground.

“Heads up!” Steven calls out, causing a bemused Jasper to flick her gaze skyward, towards the falling object staining the soil with an ever-growing shadow.

The collision of the junky old injector almost appears like a small explosion, flinging dirt a good ten feet into the air and resolutely separating the two quartzes. But Ruby barely has time to high five Peridot and celebrate their success before the kid she’s supposed to be keeping safe darts off into the clearing once more. She hisses a small curse under her breath. Drat, of course he’d run straight to Amethyst’s side again at his first opportunity! She should’ve seen that coming a whole star system away. At least Jasper’s been temporarily marooned on the other side of that busted Gem tech, though.

The real question is, for how long? 

Nibbling at her lip, she hastily sprints towards the edge of the injector to keep a watchful eye on their opponent as Steven attempts to have a mid-battlefield heart-to-heart. (At least, that’s what she assumes he’s doing. Admittedly, they kinda failed to hammer out the fine details of their plan before sprinting into action. Her fault.) Thankfully though, at first glimpse it seems the impact’s force has effortlessly knocked Jasper clear off her feet. She seems slightly dazed, but beyond that remains unscathed. Time will only tell if this strategy was a beneficial one. Briefly turning back towards the group, Ruby watches Steven crouch next to Amethyst. She’s muttering something to him, she thinks— her expression raw with fresh tears— but her words are far too hushed to make out. Whatever she shares, however, it’s clearly enough to elicit a strong emotional reaction from her companion.

“No, no!”  he pleads, hurt painting his features. “My mom- Rose, she doesn’t matter. Whatever Jasper thinks doesn’t matter. She's the only one who thinks you should be like her!”

“But-”

“Stop trying to be like Jasper. You're nothing like Jasper! You're like me!”

“But even you’re different!” she explodes at first, but any anger present in her form immediately evaporates into something more innately hesitant, more self-conscious. Her fingers claw thick troughs into the reddened soil as she curls them inwards. “I’m not like you at all, I’m not some di—”

“No, that’s not the point!” he says, tears of his own budding at the corners of his eyes. “You’re like me because we’re both not like anybody. And yeah, it sucks. Everyone always expects us to be someone we’re not, but you know what? At least I've always got you. And you've got me! So stop leaving me out of this!”

Slowly pushing herself to her feet behind the junked injector, Jasper groans, her voice strained with newfound exhaustion Ruby never imagined she possessed. 

“Y’guys, she’s getting up!” she calls out to her friends behind her, equally a warning as it is a call to action. After all, if this bold stunt finally managed to crack through the first layer of their opponent’s armor, then they might genuinely stand a chance now.

She’ll never know if they heard her, though— because in the same split second she turns back to check on them, the now embracing pair is engulfed in a blinding white light.

Even in the absence of a soldier's fire, everything turns to smoke.

[silenthillmutual]

daniil dankovsky is autistic and here’s why:

because i’m autistic and i said so

i kid, obviously. what sort of autistic person would i be if i wasn’t read to back up my silly little claim with an overly long post of evidence a total of three people will read? (hi ned hi jordan hi raven :))

i’m aware that this is cringey because adults aren’t supposed to have autism or interests or talk about either of those things, but this is my blog and you are free to block me if the cringe is too much for you.

these are some things i picked out from the DSMV’s diagnostic criteria, found on the CDC website:

deficits in social-emotional reciprocity

reduced sharing of interests, emotions, or affect

abnormal social approach

abnormalities in eye contact and body language

defecits in […] understand[ing] relationships

difficults adjusting behavior to suit various social contexts

repetitive motor movements or speech

rigid thinking patterns

highly restricted, fixated interests that are abnormal in intensity or focus

hyper- or hyporeactivity to sensory input

there’s also some misc. stuff not in the diagnostic criteria (though it may be in the adir or gars-3) i thought was worth noting.

important note from the diagnostic criteria: “symptoms cause clinically significant impairment in social, occupational, or other important areas of current functioning”. i’d say that in his case, they do.

spoilers for pathologic classic, pathologic 2, and the marble nest

deficits in social-emotional reciprocity

in bachelor route of classic, daniil

seems completely oblivious to eva making advances toward him, to the point where she complains to him that he’s ignoring her in favor of asking questions about simon.

seems surprised when people mention maria being in love with him, despite outright asking her a couple of times if she’s flirting with him.

not to mention the fact that he asks her that at all.

his inability or resistence to making connections with others is typically considered one of his character flaws. although it is not outright stated in the dsmv criteria, one trait of autism and other neurodivergencies is “having extremely high or extremely low empathy” - and daniil, despite being a doctor, lacks empathy. which is not to say he doesn’t care at all. i think that he does, but is terrible at showing it.

for example, this scene from marble nest:

Sticky: You must feel terrible… right? That’s fine. I forgive you. You just got confused… Adults always do. Daniil: Oh yes, adults are always occupied with the most asinine nonsense. Like feeling anxious that a bunch of urchins keep roaming the streets, putting themselves in mortal danger!

daniil clearly cares about sticky’s wellbeing (and the wellbeing of the kids looking after him, though he’s not cognizant that he’s in a coma), but his way of showing it is… kind of by being a jerk. all of which bleeds into the next item on the list

reduced sharing of interests, emotions, or affect

he has no problem sharing his interests, but in both pathologic classic & pathologic 2, daniil speaks with a flat affect - which is to say that he lacks intonation. the words we read him saying may be dramatic or come across as passionate, but the actual voice reading his lines is very monotone, which may contribute to being read as lacking emotion.

and in pathologic 2, he has a voiceline lamenting not telling “her” (eva?) how he felt

in marble nest, he’s teased by the tragedians for being “heartless”:

Tragedian: Maybe. Possibly. But it’s useless to explain to a heartless man. …Take heart, Excellency! If you ever find it, that is. And then come back to us… Even though it all sounds like a rather implausible turn of events.

abnormal social approach

daniil has a tendency to say things that are tactless, odd, or just socially inappropriate. i probably don’t need to point out too many examples, as i think it’s fairly obvious - these are the things people love to pick at when it comes to him, but i do have a few in mind. like, for example, from haruspex route in classic:

Haruspex: What of the antibodies essential for making a serum? Bachelor: I don’t know for sure yet, I’ll send you a report in a few hours. Don’t go about cutting people’s hearts out for your panacea until then. It’s a… controversial solution, you know… Haruspex: What?! Do you even hear yourself? Bachelor: Sorry! I meant no offence… it was just a momentary lapse of… well, you know. Haruspex: None taken.

until artemy points out, daniil doesn’t seem to be aware he just said something rude. even with therapy, picking up on social cues doesn’t come naturally to people with autism, so we tend to say things that come across as rude or strange to others without realizing we’ve put them off. we tend to lack a “filter” that tells us when things are or are not appropriate to say. even when we may recognize it, the rules may not make any sense to us. for example, it makes very little sense that allistics favor politeness over honesty.

i think the glaringly obvious abnormal social approach in pathologic 2 is him threatening to hold artemy at gunpoint to get in the house, which is just overkill, but my personal favorite comes on day 7, when he’s complaining about the orders aglaya has given him. artemy stops him to say he doesn’t understand what daniil wants from him, to which daniil replies:

From you? Oh, nothing. I was just sharing.

to daniil, they were just having a normal conversation. but some part of this - his tone or his words or maybe even his body language - didn’t give artemy the impression that this was supposed to be a regular conversation. (we could, in fact, attribute the same idea to artemy here; why didn’t artemy pick up that this was a normal conversation? the reason i count it towards daniil is because artemy doesn’t seem to have this problem with anybody else. for the record: i don’t think artemy is neurotypical either.)

abnormalities in eye contact and body language

it’s hard to get proof of this in video games, but i will say i think it’s very funny that in pathologic 2 daniil’s idle animations are “pacing”, “sitting like he desperately wants to start bouncing his knees but is stopping himself from doing it”, and “standing unnaturally still” - but there you go. i don’t know anything about making gifs, or i’d gif this one specific talk menu idle he does where he holds eye contact for about three seconds, looks away uncomfortably, and then looks back out of the corner of his eyes.

deficits in […] understand[ing] relationships

mostly examples from his route in classic:

when the army arrives, he can claim to block that aglaya, whom he’s known for two days, is his best friend

he seems baffled by the fact that everone is smitten with maria and working with her, and seems equally baffled by the idea that she’s smitten with him

despite eva implying on day two that she is in a relationship with andrey, is completely blindsided by the revelation on day 6, asking him, “How in the world is she ‘your woman’?”

i’d also like to use his sign-off on his letter to artemy, day 2 of the haruspex route - he signs it as “Your friend (hopefully)”. i know i’m not the only autistic person who used to ask people if we were friends or not. pro tip, if you’ve never done this: don’t. it really weirds people out.

difficulties adjusting behavior to suit various social contexts

the fact that he stands out is blatantly obvious even in pathologic 2 and in the haruspex route of classic. people will comment on him being an outsider and mention that they don’t trust him. but you can watch it happen in real time in his route, because he never fully acclimates to the town. he says something about this to aglaya on day 7:

Bachelor: Was there any particularly notable backstory? I’m deadly tired of all these people. They’re inhuman. They tell the future, believe in walking zombies, and die in all manners of painfully abnormal ways. Inquisitor: Your line of t hinking is obviously falacious - and I was implying something rather mundane. I promise you, no one can really tell the future around here: and neither are deaths inspired by third parties uncommon. Mysterious phenomenons do occur here sometimes… but hardly more often than anywhere else.

actually, there’s an example of him saying something similar to artemy on day 5 in pathologic 2:

Damn this town… I feel I’m trapped in a nightmare. The absurdity of it all… There’s no one to talk to. Everyone’s so volatile. They all seem to want to help, but… their help is worse than hostility.

some of this can be explained by the town’s strangeness, but keep in mind that the first instance happens after he’s been there and involved in the ongoing for an entire week, and the second at nearly a week in. clearly he’s struggling to adjust to the changes.

it’s also worth noting that his reason for fleeing the town in the nocturnal ending?

I have no place here anymore.

This town is no longer mine. No longer human. No longer rational. It doesn’t… accept the likes of me anymore.

repetitive motor movements or speech

it’s harder to see the motor movements in classic, but remember how i pointed out earlier that he paces? pacing is a form of stimming. murky, who is canonically autistic, can also be found pacing as one of her idle animations. having stock phrases for characters to speak when you come near them already ticks off the box on “repetitive speech”, but that by itself doesn’t really cover what they’re talking about - echolalia.

but you know what this does fit with? “‘quoting’ things(communication is HARD! sometimes we need to take shortcuts and use someone else’s words)“

i’ll get to the more obvious example in a minute - i want to point out something that happens very early in pathologic 2 first. you know how you first meet him and artemy accuses daniil of trying to guilt-trip him by asking if it’s true that isidor would still be alive if artemy had come sooner? keep in mind that he spoke to rubin first. and this is what rubin says, when you get a chance to talk to him:

Yesterday, I was told you had killed your father.

That’s not far from the truth, Burakh.

You betrayed him. You left when he needed you most. He cried out for your help, but you didn’t care. He was in peril, and you were too busy elsewhere, He believed, truly believed, that your arrival would put an end to his troubles. And, as always, he was right.

i’m not saying this was necessarily the game’s intent, but it’s entirely possible daniil is parroting back to artemy exactly what rubin said to him.

now, for what you’re probably expecting in this section: the latin. people love to refer to his use of latin as “random”, so let’s clear that up:

it is not latin daniil has made up. with the exception of latin that is mispelled in the game’s texts, all of them are proverbs or otherwise common sayings. you can find most of them on the wikipedia list of latin phrases, or through a 3-second google search.

he’s a doctor. him having taken latin isn’t anymore strange than a lawyer taking latin. in fact, if you pay attention, artemy also took latin; this is implied when artemy tells him he’s always sucked at it.

his uses of latin actually aren’t random at all. what he says fits the situation, and sometimes is used in place of him having to come up with something to say on his own.

prime example:

Forget it, Burakh. I have a splitting headache. If you have no urgent business, then we’ll talk later. Later, later… Qui non proficit, deficit.

qui non proficit, deficit - he who does not advance, loses ground. in other words, “i’m sorry, but i really do need to keep working.” one of his voice lines.

as for why he doesn’t translate the latin: it probably wouldn’t even occur to him to. these are not obscure sayings. the utopians all have a certain degree of education - what would he need to translate them for?

this bleeds into something that isn’t really mentioned, but that i’ve found i have a lot of trouble with in everyday life. autistic people have a tendency to either overexplain (and then have everyone get mad at you because they feel you’re being condescending) or underexplain (and have everyone get mad at you because you haven’t explained anything). the latin would be a case where it feels like a justified underexplanation. you’ll notice that when it comes to anything scientific, he tends to do the reverse, and overexplain. this also happens in classic, whether artemy has asked him to clarify or not.

rigid thinking patterns

the thing i had marked for this was simply his strict adherence to western medical practices and refusal to acknowledge the supernatural, even when it seems obvious - he has a conversation in his route in classic with yulia about this, and that is in fact how he manages to get to her: by asking saburov if there are any other logical skeptics in town. it should be noted they seem to be breaking with this in pathologic 2, where one of his voicelines is “I’m no positivist. There are things in this world beyond our mundane perception.” i have no idea where they’re planning on going with that.

there’s also a quote floating somewhere around twitter about him having been raised by a military man, and militaries tend to enforce very rigid routines. you could say the same thing of block - who (in classic at least) i also have my suspicions about.

highly restricted, fixated interests that are abnormal in intensity or focus

special interests. the one that should obviously come to mind is thanatology, though i would argue latin if not classics in general is a special interest of his as well - in addition to his usage of latin, he also references pericles in the marble nest and was probably refering to the roman occupation of haruspicy in addition to augurs in the same text. he also makes references to shakespeare more than once in both marble nest and pathologic 2.

hyper- or hyperoreactivity to sensory input

i don’t have much written down for this one but there seem to be several places in classic especially where he asks npcs to stop shouting at him. we don’t really have the privilege to know their volume or how they’re interacting with him, but i think it’s also worth noting that he’s the only one of the healers who wears gloves. in pathologic 2 he’s the only named character i can think of who wears them at all. his thing in the lucid dream about the brain being “a border”? gloves are his border, as is his jacket, which may be worn to cut down on sensory issues.

he will also sometimes seem to “overreact” to the situation at hand - such as in classic, when some dogheads mispeak and say that daniil is going to “sterilize” them, and instead of understanding that they must have mispoken, freaks out over the idea that they think they’re going to be… well… sterilized. or in haruspex route, when his reaction to the inquisitor arriving is to threaten suicide.

miscellaneous

he never goes anywhere without that carpet bag. we don’t see it in pathologic 2, but we do hear about it and he doesn’t let it go for a second in classic - not even in the cutscenes where he’s using the microscope. his bag could be a comfort item.

“getting very attached to things like inanimate objects” could work for the bag - but you know what it actually fits the bill much more obviously? the polyhedron. in the haruspex route he recognizes that it’s a lost cause, but he’s still too attached to it to let it go.

in classic at least, daniil is absolutely terrible at lying. most autistic people either are not good at lying, or feel uncomfortable or anxious with having to lie. when he’s asked by yulia and the kids in the polyhedron to lie to block (for different reasons) he’s clearly uncomfortable with the idea that it’ll work. and when it actually comes time to come up with a way to lie to block about why he needs five rifles, your options are to either buckle and tell him the truth, or simply say that you need them for “self-defense”. block believes that you’re not lying to him, but daniil can’t come up with any embeleshments to explain why he needs what he’s asking for.

Commander: Are you hiding something from me? Bachelor: No.

he comes across as naive to other characters. in classic, capella has a voiceline saying, “The Bachelor is not smart. Intelligent, yes… but not smart.” in Pathologic 2, Daniil complains that Aglaya takes him for “a useless dreamer”. he’s also easily used by the Kains to fulfill their endgame in classic.

my final, and absolute favorite: he takes things way too literally. autistic people (and adhd people, from my understanding) have a hard time differentiating jokes and sarcasm. so my favorite moment in marble nest is a case of him taking that earlier advice - to “take heart” literally, by bringing the tragedians a literal human heart:

Tragedian: Oh… Excellency. What a sordid sight! Sorry for underestimating you. You definitely do have… how shall I put it… a creative touch. But this is pure madness. You can’t take things so literally! Daniil: You wanted me to come back to you with an open heart. Well, here I am. …It looked too fitting to be a coincidence.

your mind map, after this, updates to say “I misunderstood the tragedians.”

conclusion

people don’t stop being autistic with age and i think he’s a good example of what it’s like to be in your late 20s and be autistic. i’m sure i missed things as i haven’t finished haruspex route of classic yet and there may just be some other things he does or says that i missed! if anyone has anything to add they think fits i would love to know, thank you for your time :)

[fefipranon]

Let’s talk about depression

In my latest book ‘The Power of Death’ I talk about this topic in depth. I will post the links to it at the end of this post if you are interested in reading it. If there is one part of the book that resumes the message that I wanted to transmit, it’s Mikasa’s (The main character) press conference at the end of the last chapter. 

It’s okay if you don’t read the whole book, but at least, read the following extract from the book (some stuff removed to avoid spoilers): 

Standing behind the podium Mikasa started the conference by saying, 

"Paradis island doesn't have studies about the topic we are about to discuss, but other countries do. In the United States, in 2019, a total of 47,511 Americans died by suicide and an estimated 1.38 million attempted it. [2] What about other countries? you may ask, well, overall, suicide was in the top 10 leading causes of death across Eastern Europe, Central Europe, high-income countries within the Asia Pacific, and Australasia. Within regions and countries, though, suicide rates soared among people with lower social and economic status. [3] This data comes from research made by the Institute for Health Metrics and Evaluation in Washington, Seattle. [4] This goes without mentioning that for every suicide, it is estimated that there are seven to ten people intimately affected."[8]

Mikasa stopped to take a sip of water and looked back at the audience to continue her speech, 

"Untreated depression can, and possibly will lead to suicide, death. In biology, homeostasis is the state of steady internal, physical, and chemical conditions maintained by living systems. [5] Depression does have an impact on this. Research shows that the hippocampus is smaller in some depressed people. For example, in one fMRI study published in The Journal of Neuroscience, investigators studied 24 women who had a history of depression. On average, the hippocampus was 9% to 13% smaller in depressed women compared with those who were not depressed. The more bouts of depression a woman had, the smaller the hippocampus. [6] The hippocampus is not the only area of the brain affected by depression, the Amygdala, and Thalamus are also affected.[6] Depression is, and should be treated as, an illness that, if left untreated, can be lethal. Just remember the statistics I gave you about suicide at the beginning of my speech. With that data as the base of my argument, it is safe for me to say that depression is one of the top life-threatening illnesses having, in some countries, the top mortality rate overall."

A woman from the public raised her hand and when allowed to talk she said, 

"How can you call an illness to something that can be 'cured' by just talking to a so-called doctor about your issues?" 

Mikasa gave the woman a serious look and said, "Therapy, is not just talking. Psychotherapy stands over years of research and development going as back as the 19th century. There is extensive evidence of its effectiveness. Also, most cases of depression treatments include medication." 

Then a man shouted, "So now doctors will give our kids a bunch of pills just because the child is feeling a little sad?!"

"Several tests are usually performed before a psychiatrist gives a diagnosis of depression. Tests like: physical exams, lab tests, psychiatric evaluation, and the country's manual of mental health like for example the DSM-5 which is the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders from the American Psychiatric Association, is applied. After that, the psychiatrist might do more testing to see if medication is an option. Because they are physicians, psychiatrists can order or perform a full range of medical laboratory and psychological tests which, combined with discussions with patients, help provide a picture of a patient's physical and mental state. Their education and clinical training equip them to understand the complex relationship between emotional and other medical illnesses and the relationships with genetics and family history, to evaluate medical and psychological data, to make a diagnosis, and to work with patients to develop treatment plans.[7] In other words, for a doctor to prescribe medication to your child, it has to first do an extensive evaluation on the kid before even start to consider medication in the first place. If in the end, medication is needed, then it would mean that your kid is not only 'feeling a little sad', it means that there is a deeper problem that needs to be addressed and the physician will have a lot of evidence to back up his claim.", Mikasa said. 

She stopped talking and pinched the bridge of her nose out of frustration, then she looked seriously at the same man she was addressing before, and said, "Would you rather lose your child to suicide or seek valid, scientific-based help to save the kid's life?"

The man was frozen in place. He was not expecting to be put in the spotlight this way. Mikasa noticed the teenage kid who was seated next to him with his head bowed to the floor. Before he could answer Mikasa said, 

"Do you even know how depression feels like? To have your own mind to conspire against you? To illogically feel worthless, alone, like nobody can understand you, or at least, nobody that hasn't been through the same darkness as you. Do you know how it feels when people tell you worthless crap like, 'get over it', or 'just stop being sad' like being sad is just an option you chose because apparently, you like to torture yourself? Have you ever contemplated to end your life out of desperation to get an out, a break, from your own mind?"

By this point, the kid was looking straight at Mikasa with tears pouring down his eyes. Mikasa knew she was getting through him. She grabbed the microphone and started to walk while resuming her speech, 

"To feel like you are constantly drowning. To feel like an ungrateful ass because logically, you should be happy because you have everything. But you aren't... Thinking that there must be something really wrong with you for you to feel this way without an apparent reason. To feel lost, alone with this feeling that is eating you inside slowly until it gets to the point where you desperately want to rip your soul out of your body. When it gets so bad that causing physical pain to your body is an option since, at least, for a brief moment, your mind focuses on the physical pain which is better for you because the emotional pain is so much greater than a little cut on your forearm."

The man realized that she was no longer addressing him but the person seated next to him, his own son. Mikasa stood right in front of his son and looked at him in the eyes. She lowered the microphone and while brushing her fingers through the kid's scars on his forearm she said to him, 

"You are not alone."

Then, she showed him her own scars and the kid stood up pulling her in for a hug while repeatedly saying, "Thank you"

Reporters were recording the whole encounter. It was real. Depression was real, and it was being recorded. The father of the kid sat back down while looking at his son in shock. Trying to find the words to say he just pulled him in for a hug while saying, 

"I'm sorry. I didn't know."

"You never really asked.", the boy replied. 

"I'm sorry. I will do better. You deserve better.", his dad replied with a broken voice. 

Mikasa lifted the microphone again to talk and said, "Depression is a silent killer. It could be your child, partner, parent... it could be closer to you than what you think. So before you speak about the topic remember that. Your words could be hurting one of your own for your lack of empathy."

She walked towards the podium again to start answering reporter's questions,

 "What would you say to someone who is going through this?"

Mikasa lowered her head lost in thought and said, "You don't need to have a traumatic event in your life to have depression. Depression is not just sadness and is not only caused by personality type or environmental factors. Genetics and biochemistry are also a big part of it, and those two have nothing to do with how much crap you've been dealt in life. What I am trying to say it's that, it's okay to not be okay, you don't need a reason to, and you don't need to feel worse about it for not having a reason. Being sad is not a right you earn after a certain amount of societally accepted shit has happened to you. Just seek help, see the situation logically, and not let people bring you down. If possible, educate others on the topic. Be the change you want to see in the world."

She paused, thinking of her own struggles with depression, and the stability and peace she finally felt once the pills started to work on her. Sure, dark thoughts still lingered at the back of her head, but, it was no longer unbearable, now, it was manageable. With time and therapy, she had managed to live with it, minimizing their negative effect on her. With this in mind, she said,

"Do not get frustrated if anti-depressants don't work at first, sometimes it takes a couple of tries with different types of medications to get the one that works for you. Researchers are exploring possible links between the sluggish production of new neurons in the hippocampus and low moods. An interesting fact about antidepressants supports this theory. These medications immediately boost the concentration of chemical messengers in the brain (neurotransmitters). Yet people typically don't begin to feel better for several weeks or longer. Experts have long wondered why, if depression were primarily the result of low levels of neurotransmitters, people don't feel better as soon as levels of neurotransmitters increase. The answer may be that mood only improves as nerves grow and form new connections, a process that takes weeks." [6]

She paused and looked at the crowd. Then, she said, 

"In the meantime, stay alive, even if it feels against your will. Do not give a permanent solution to a temporary problem, because trust me, it DOES get better."

Stay Alive

Feel free to share this to raise awareness. This book has all the things I wish someone had told me in my darkest moments, and I hope, it can help someone out there who is going through the same painful path in life. Remember, it's not your fault, you are not alone.

Resources used in this part: 

[1]  Oswego City School District Regents Exam Prep Center. Archived from on 25 October 2012. Retrieved 12 November 2012. URL: homeostasis

[2] American Foundation for Suicide Prevention: suicide-statistics

[3] global-suicide-rates-study

[4] Global, regional, and national burden of suicide mortality 1990 to 2016: a systematic analysis for the Global Burden of Disease Study 2016: content

[5]  Gordon., Betts, J. Anatomy and physiology. DeSaix, Peter., Johnson, Eddie., Johnson, Jody E., Korol, Oksana., Kruse, Dean H., Poe, Brandon. Houston, Texas. p. 9. ISBN 9781947172043. OCLC 1001472383.

[6] What causes depression? Harvard Medical School: what-causes-depression

[7] What Is Psychiatry? from the American Psychiatric Association. URL: what-is-psychiatry

[8] Lukas, Christopher; Henry M. Seiden (1997) [1987]. Silent Grief: Living in the Wake of Suicide. Northvale, New Jersey: Jaron Aronson. p. 5. ISBN 0-7657-0056-5.

Book Summary: 

Mikasa is a woman suffering from clinical depression. There is one thing that she is sure of: she wants to die. But when she received some unexpected news that makes her death wish a reality, she starts to wonder if that was really what she wanted. She starts a journey to discover the truth about her biological parents that gave her up for adoption when she was a baby. This journey will guide her to cross paths with someone as broken as her, someone that hates her to death for what her biological family did to him. Will she have the courage to, for once, fight to live? or will she let him drag her to hell with him?

The book is tagged as an ‘Attack on Titan’ Alternate universe fanfic but honestly you don’t need to know anything about the anime to read it. The story has nothing to do with it so feel free to read if you haven’t seen it. 

You can find the story in the following links: 

Archive of our own:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/30452145/chapters/75087657

Wattpad:

https://www.wattpad.com/story/264598251-the-power-of-death

[thevirgodoll]

idk if tou will ver reply to this but lets go

first off sorry for my bad english. I fell really insecure bc of my body. Im not skinny, im not fat, im not thick, im...a square, i dont have ass and got a huge belly. When i look sideways in the mirror i feel sick. But at the same time i dont wanna change the way i eat and live cause i hate this fitness lifestyle and i want to love myaself the way god made me... But i dont know what to do.

Ppl always tell me how georgeous i am, and they sey i look like a bunch of beautiful celebrities and i feel that like when i see my face on the mirror i just know im THAT bitch but at same time i always think ppl must be lying or that because of my body i dont get reconized enough? Like... Why dont boys ir girls want to get with me? Why dont ppl ask me to be a model or something if i look like other models and stunning singers and actress? What should i do?

Hi angel. Your English is fine. Never apologize for that.

You do not have to look a certain way first and foremost. People, especially women, are always under the impression that they have to fit a certain “mold”. You don’t have to fit any category regarding your looks...you just have to be yourself and own it.

If you are unhappy with the size of your belly, sure you can exercise and eat cleaner some days of the week. But overall, that won’t change the fact that you perceive yourself as less than. When people lose weight while maintaining a negative sense of self, they still have distortions with their thinking and low self esteem in the long run. So, altering your body is not really the solution...that should only come when you’re in a place of love and compassion for yourself and you feel the need to improve an area of your life, not conform or make yourself fit a mold. You have to ask yourself where this is coming from.

Questions to reflect on:

•Why do I feel inadequate when it comes to my body image?

•Where did these feelings originate? Is there a past experience I can pinpoint?

•Is it hard for me to be honest about these feelings? Is there trauma surrounding my self image or esteem?

•Who has given me the image that I feel I need to conform to? Is it social media? Has social media negatively impacted my perception of myself? How can I change this?

Answer these in a diary or document. Keep it to yourself to honor your experience and privacy. After answering these questions, you may find yourself feeling shameful or gross in a way. This is normal because you’ve tapped into uncharted territory.

What to do now?

Reshape your definitions and expectations. Challenge yourself daily.

•Confidence regarding body image is not the existence of perfection and need to control. It is the ability to appreciate your body’s value. The things that are uniquely designed, and make you YOU.

•How do you honor your body image when you express yourself via fashion? Have you allowed yourself to fully navigate your own fashion sense? Allowing yourself to do this will give you a sense of power and appreciation for your qualities. You will learn to dress for your shape, not cover and hide.

•Stop consuming unhealthy media that affirms your negative thoughts. Social media might be influencing your expectations and standards regarding image. Be honest with yourself, and know how to cater to your needs.

•Allow yourself to exist without condemnation. Judgment of yourself is condemning your existence, as if parts of you are a mistake or shouldn’t have been formed. Your thoughts are not facts. Call yourself out on your stuff. Say: “That is not true, actually. I know I am smart. I am worthy.” Refute irrational thoughts with things you KNOW to be true about yourself. List your strengths. Have you ever given yourself props?

•Treat yourself the way you’d like to be addressed. You say people say you’re beautiful. You should treat yourself as such and carry yourself with that importance. Why haven’t you ever thought of yourself in a high regard?

•Take other people off pedestals. It’s typical to put certain people on pedestals and glorify their looks, but it’s not helping you. It is time to focus on yourself and end the cycle of comparison. It is exhausting you.

•Accept some hard truths about yourself and the world. By that I mean, you have to recognize that there will be people evil enough to be jealous or make inflammatory comments. Maybe you’ve had that experience. But you should know something: not everyone has to approve of you. Their behavior is projection of their own issues. Stop living for other people’s approval and comments. It’s going to hurt you in the long run. And in general, most people are too busy with their own lives to judge you the way you harshly judge yourself. You don’t have to be adored by everyone, but you do have to be loved by yourself, understand your own value, and reshape your expectations. You do get treated different when you carry yourself like you know you’re something special. That is just a fact of life.

Above all, this is a process and you have to remember nothing in life is linear or clear cut. These are all things you have to do in order to work towards a healthier body image. Have you ever taken time to just create a pampering routine and dance and just let yourself go? You have to foster a deeper connection with yourself, rather than a connection with the world. What you wake up with is yourself, and what you go to sleep with is yourself. Your quality of life can improve little by little in the way that you address yourself in your head, treat yourself with your actions, and validate yourself with compassion and empathy. It will fail unless you believe in the process and get mad enough that you want to change. You have enough bravery by sharing, so you have to be even braver and address the things that are stealing your joy.

Sometimes, our biggest enemy is the way we learned to deal with our own pain and feelings. The way we learned to process information. The way we learned to navigate life through our past, and it attacks our self image and self perception. You’re working against yourself and your unhealthy mechanisms, not everyone else. These mechanisms have to change as we begin to grow older.

There are different versions of you looking at who you are right now, who you have potential to become, and who you will be. Remember this truth as you work towards a better you. The answers are within you.

[stones-x-bones]

It’s Only Water (Day 1)|| Mina, Frank and Bex

TIMING: Current PARTIES: @drowningisinevitable and @inbextween and Frank SUMMARY: After weeks of planning, Frank finally puts his play into motion. When it rains, it pours.  CONTENT: Domestic Abuse references

If she wasn’t so worried, Mina might have scolded herself for how quickly she responded that she’d meet with Bex. Mina really would do anything for her. Anything. Bex only had to ask, and Mina would be there. Even if that meant meeting late at night in the woods. Especially if that meant meeting late at night in the woods. She had her phone out to make sure that she got the location right. She walked carefully, looking out for monsters, people. It grew oddly quiet, the closer she got to where she was supposed to meet Bex. Nothing stirred. That worried her. Everything about this worried her. She tried not to let it show too much. As she drew close to the marker on her phone, Mina called out, “Bex?” She couldn’t keep the worry out of her voice. She couldn’t. She couldn’t. She couldn’t see Bex, and she was supposed to already be there, and everything about this felt wrong. Something was wrong. Mina didn’t have time to comprehend just how wrong it was, though. 

Frank had been preparing this for weeks. Scouting the area, making sure it was secluded, off the path, but not too strangely out of the way. He had set up traps (an iron net, iron bear traps, and his favorite, an iron tripwire that would trigger if she tried to run once she was inside of the area) and built his own seat up in one of the trees to watch and lie in wait. The prosthetic hand he now sported had iron in the fingertips and the knuckles, the palm. Cold iron. It would hurt. He wanted it to hurt. The iron knife he’d stabbed Bexley with was sheathed in his boot, ready for the final blow-- he hadn’t even cleaned the blood off. It would hurt more. He would make it hurt and he would savor it. Finally, he heard her footsteps approaching and pressed himself low, the crossbow in his hand ready to aim. Just a few more steps. She looked nervous. Good. She should be. The first shot was a warning, right in her shoulder. The second was on purpose, a bolt through the leg. Frank dropped from the tree before she could say much of anything and aimed the crossbow once again. “Surprised?” he asked, grinning.

Being shot was one of Mina’s least favorite experiences. It had only happened a few times. Before the two crossbow bolts lodged themselves into her, she’d been able to count the number on one hand. Of course, she’d need two, now. She stumbled, first as one of the bolts sunk into her shoulder and again when she was shot in the leg. The shock was more prevalent than the pain, confusion causing her eyes to widen as she frantically looked around her for the source of the attack. And then he dropped down from a tree. The warden. Frank. His name was Frank. He was a human being with a human name standing there with a gleeful human grin on his face. “You,” she said, and her stomach started sinking as she realized that it wasn’t Bex that asked her to be there. Mina had walked herself into a trap. This was what carelessness got her. This was what being overly emotional and under prepared got her. “I don’t want to fight.” She was already backing up, despite the pain in her leg, looking for a way out of this situation. A part of her wanted to kill him for what he’d done to Bex, kidnapping her and chasing her through the forest. But Bex hadn’t wanted him dead then. Mina doubted she’d want him dead now. 

Frank laughed and it echoed and it was void of any empathy. “You might not,” he growled, “but I do.” He lifted the crossbow again, aiming directly at her. He was tired of waiting, he was tired of being yanked around by people. By Bexley, by her mother, by his own parents. THey’d all done this to him. They’d all made him into this. “I think I’m gonna enjoy killing you, monster,” he growled. He was already enjoying the amount of confusion on her face as she had tried to figure out what was going on. He smiled again, a toothy, angry thing, splitting his face in half. “Bexley says hi, by the way,” he chided. He wanted her to get angry. He wanted to make sure she fought back. It would be pointless if she didn’t fight back. His finger stayed on the trigger, even as he lowered the crossbow. “I dropped by to see her the other week. She was with another girl. At least, until I stabbed her. Not sure where she ended up after that.”

Eyes widening again before they narrowed, Mina practically snarled at the boy, her eyes full of hate. She stopped backing away. “What do you mean you stabbed her?” Stabbed her? Why would he stab Bex? Wasn’t his whole point that he wanted to protect her from the dangerous, murderous Fae? “Why would you stab her? She’s human. She’s human. What about your bloody code?” Unless his code wasn’t like hers. Unless his code just allowed him to kill whoever and whatever he deemed necessary, and he’d now deemed an innocent human girl necessary. Mina didn’t understand it. But she had made him a promise, hadn’t she? “I told you if you hurt her again, I’d take your other hand,” she said quietly, coolly. She wasn’t like him. She wasn’t going to let her emotions rule her. She was furious, though. She’d rip his hand off with claws and teeth if she had to. She didn’t care. She shifted her weight into her uninjured leg, keeping herself light and ready for an attack. She wasn’t making the first move, but she wasn’t running either. 

“You’re really asking me why?” Frank spat, bewildered that she was still caught up in this strange narrative that what she was doing wasn’t hurting Bexley. “It’s because of you!” He snarled back, loosing another bolt. But in his fury, it had flown high right. He threw the crossbow down and lunged at her, swinging his new iron first. It whistled through the air. Why wasn’t she getting angry, too? He wanted to see her angry. One swing missed, but he swerved on the back swing to try and slam his knuckles into the side of her face. “My code is about erasing scum like you from the earth! And sometimes civilians get caught in the crossfire. Whatever happens to her now, it’s your fault!” 

“Because I cared about her?” Mina asked, ducking left as he shot. He was just as sloppy as she expected, and, certainly, he could blame it on the missing limb, but she knew what it was. He was reckless, overzealous, out of control. He was a shoddy hunter. No matter. He wouldn’t be much of one at all when she took his other hand. She wondered if Nell’s hellhounds would want it. She stopped wondering about anything as cold iron connected with the side of her face. She couldn’t help but cry out, the heat and cold of the metal at war as she felt the burn forming on her cheekbone. She cradled her face with one hand. “You’re a fool,” she spat out. 

“Because you poisoned her mind!” Frank hissed. His knuckles connected in a satisfying crack and he could smell the iron burning her skin. He grinned and turned back to face her, curling his prosthetic into a fist. “I’m the fool? Have you looked at your life recently? Or her life?” He swung again. Again. Always with the iron fist. He wanted to burn her again. He wanted to hear her scream again. He was backing her straight towards one of his snares. It would bind her leg and burn all the more. “You ruined everything!” He shouted, charging her now, bent low, ready to tackle her.

Mina tried to dodge as many of the blows as she could, but she was tired and injured and slow. She’d been sleeping even worse than normal since she and Adam had gone into the portal. She wasn’t doing her best. Again and again the iron burned her skin, through the sleeves of her shirt. He burned her arms, her jaw. Scales formed around the burns as if trying to protect her, but there was no protection, no tolerance for cold iron. “Have you looked at your— “ she cut herself off with a short scream. She’d pivoted out of the way of his tackle only to step on a pressure plate, triggering a bear trap that dug metal teeth into her leg. 

Frank tumbled to the ground as she pivoted, but his ears were greeted with music as she screamed in agony. One of his bear traps had gone off. He rolled and stood back up easily-- he’d always been agile on his feet-- and turned back towards her. “We had a good thing going,” he snarled, reaching down to slowly pull out the iron knife sheathed in his boot. He held it up to her so she could see the blood caked on it. Turned it over in his hand as he watched her from a safe distance. “And you ruined it. She has to die now because of you.” He gripped the handle of the serrated knife so tight his own knuckles turned white. “I hope you know that this is your fault.” 

“You call a lie a good thing?” Mina asked, but she paled considerably. It wasn’t from the loss of blood, either, or the pain. Not completely. “No, no, no,” she said, her fingers clawing at the bear trap as she tried to free her leg. He would not kill Bex. He would not. Her blood was still on his knife. She bared her teeth at him, sharp and deadly, with a mix of fear and fury pouring itself into her. She stopped trying to mess with the bear trap. She’d rip him apart the second he got close enough to her. She just needed to get him close enough to her. “You’re delusional,” she said, her voice low. She sneered. “It must feel good to be able to lie to yourself like that.”

“A lie?” Frank growled, advancing quickly. But he stopped just shy, watching her teeth bare and her scales crack across her skin. He was confused for a moment, but blinked it away. She might not be the type of fae he thought, but he understood how they worked. He held the knife up. “It wasn’t a lie until you came along!” He lashed out, then, unable to hold his ire back. The blade slashed across skin satisfyingly. “I’m not delusional. You are.” His teeth clenched as he stepped back, away from her grasp. “Thinking you could keep her safe, thinking she could ever have a normal life with you?” He gestured emphatically to himself. “I could’ve taken care of her! I could’ve protected her! Even if she never loved me back, I could’ve given her those things. But you? What have you given her? Really think about it and ask yourself that-- what have you given her except pain and heartbreak?”

“It was a lie to her. She was never going to return your affections.” And maybe Mina didn’t know that explicitly, but she knew it was the truth. There was no way Bex would have seen this reckless boy as anything more than a friend. She jerked back, the knife slashing across her collarbones. “I never thought I could give her a normal life. I just wanted her to be happy.” Without thinking, she ripped the crossbow bolt out of her shoulder and used it as an improvised weapon. He might have escaped her claws, but that gave her attacks just a bit more reach. “I’m not the one that tried to kidnap her. I’m not the one that’s made her bleed. When she wakes up screaming at night, it’s not because of me. She’s not afraid of me.” Mina grinned, mouth bloody. She was breathing heavy. Everything hurt. She managed to stand, even with one leg still caught. “I may be a monster, but you’re the bad guy in her eyes.”

Her words cut Frank deeper than any wound. Certainly deeper than the bolt slashing at him. He jerked back, watching a thin line of blood begin to pool on his arm. Grit his teeth and glowered at her. Without much warning, he lunged at her again, knocking them both to the ground. He grabbed the bolt in her leg as he did and twisted, his other arm bracing against her shoulders as they collided with dirt. “You have no idea why I did what I did! I was trying to save her from them and you people led her straight back!” He lifted his fist and punched at her face. “And now we’re all suffering! You, her, me!” He punched again. “Why couldn’t you just let me take her away from here?”

Between the ambush and the iron and the fact that Mina was already tired and weak, she knew that her chances of making it out of this were growing slim. Pinned to the ground, being beaten, her leg still trapped in the iron maw of a bear trap. Frank wanted to kill her. She was in no shape to even try fighting him off. “She didn’t want you to,” she rasped out. Then she spat blood into his face. “She didn’t want you to take her, so I couldn’t let you.” She weakly reached out with one clawed hand, webbing between her fingers and scales trailing up her arm under her sleeves. She dug sharp nails into whatever skin she could grasp. She hoped he did suffer, for Bex’s sake. 

Frank fought against nails tearing at his skin. He didn’t care. He wanted her to die. He wanted her to suffer. He cried out as they scraped at his face, his arms, his chest. Blood was soaking the both of them, but he knew only his blood would hurt her. He drove his thumb into the bolt hole in her shoulder, the iron of his prosthetic nearly cauterizing the wound as he did so. He could smell it burning. He grabbed his knife once more, still stained with Bexley’s blood, and held it above Mina’s chest. “Odell sends her regards,” he growled, before he drove the knife into her side, right where he knew it would hurt. Where he knew once he left her, she’d bleed out. Slowly, painfully. Suffering. He leaned down close to her. “Don’t worry,” he muttered, and his voice was flat now, “I’ll make sure Bex joins you soon.”

There was still enough fight in Mina for her to scream, not in pain but in raw fury as Frank said that Bex would be joining her soon. She was going to kill him. She was going to kill him. Even if it was the last thing that she did. She lashed out with her claws again, but there was only so much that she could do like this. There was a knife in her side eating away at her slowly. There was still a crossbow bolt in her leg. She was still trapped. There was only so much she could do. But she still tried, still raked her nails against his face. “I’ll kill you,” she snarled out. She felt feverish. “I’ll kill you. I’ll kill you. I’ll kill you.” 

Even through nails raking across his face, Frank could feel the fae getting weaker. He gave his knife another good shove, feeling her blood leaking out over his hand, before he yanked the blade out, listening to its serrated edge tear through her skin, her muscle. Finally, he stood back up, spitting blood down, wiping it from his face with his sleeve. His chest heaved as he looked down at her. “Guess you’re not gonna keep that promise after all, are you,” he spat back, before driving his knife into the ground near her head. He didn’t want the trophy, nor the reminder. He stepped away, tempted, almost, to stay and watch her die. Watch the light drain from her eyes. But if anyone came along them, it would be bad news. He would return tomorrow to dispose of the body. Without another word, he turned and walked back into the brush.

He couldn’t get away. Mina had to kill him before he hurt Bex. She had to. She had to. “Come back,” she muttered. “Come back. Come back. Come back.” She attempted to sit up, groaning but pushing through the pain as her hands went to the bear trap around her ankle, and she attempted to pry it off. She had to get it off. She had to go after him. She couldn’t let him get to Bex. She was weak, too weak to pull it off. She needed to call someone. She needed to call Morgan, tell her to get help, tell her to make sure that Bex was safe. Bex had to be safe. Mina searched for her phone frantically. She found it, and she wanted to sob. She’d dropped it, and it was just out of her reach. There was no one to call. There was nothing to do but sit there and bleed out and hope that he didn’t get to Bex. Mine sat down and pulled her chest towards her knees, careful not to bump the bear trap too much. Not that it mattered. She was in so much pain her eyes were going spotty with it. She rested her head on her knees and put one hand over the wound in her side, attempting to stem the bleeding. She was hurt. She was dying. She wasn’t going to be able to get to Bex. That was Mina’s last coherent thought. She wasn’t going to be able to get to Bex. 

Bex ran. Her heart was beating in her throat. Frank was going after Mina. She held the phone tight in her hand, staring wide-eyed at the messages. It’s not me! She tried to shout, but he’d taken the card out. It’s not me! He’d left it there on purpose. He’d wanted her to see. He knew she’d come running. Or did he? She didn’t care. She didn’t care. He could come for her, she didn’t care. As long as he didn’t hurt Mina, she couldn’t let him hurt Mina. “MINA!” she screamed as she ran through the forest. Flashes of before played at the edges of her vision. Sometimes when she looked down, she wasn’t wearing shoes. Sometimes a fog that didn’t exist curled around her. Sometimes she was swallowing dirt and mud. It didn’t matter. None of it mattered.”MINA!” she shouted again, her voice raw, full of terror, of dread. She was sure this was the spot. Her shoes dug at the ground. She spun in a circle, looking up at the trees. “Mina!” she tried again. “Mina, please!” She twisted and burst through a patch of bushes. “Min--” her voice caught mid word. There, in the middle of the clearing. A body, curled up, so covered in red, she was barely recognizable at first. Bex felt her body fill with ice. She raced over, tripping over her own feet, the vines on the ground, the rocks. She fell over next to her and reached out to touch her, but paused. Was she breathing? “Mina,” she sputtered through tears, placing her hand on her forehead. It came away stick with blood. “Mina, please.” She looked down at the trap around her leg. She needed to get it off. She started prying at it. It wouldn’t budge. “C’mon,” she grunted, “COME ON!”

The tugging at her leg made Mina cry out, even if she tried hard not to. She bit down the sound as much as she could, trying not to be loud. She couldn’t be loud. She couldn’t. Her head felt foggy; she knew she’d lost a lot of blood, too much. She’d lost too much blood. Not bothering to lift her head, Mina moved her hands down to try and help pry off the thing around her leg, but she wasn’t sure-- Everything was so fuzzy. She couldn’t be loud. It hurt. Everything was wrong. There was a tug, the teeth of the trap briefly exiting her leg before they dug back in. “Stop!” she managed to gasp out. “Stop. Stop. Just-- second. I need a second.” She needed a second to catch her breath. She needed a second to remember how to breathe. Blinking blood out of her eyes, Mina finally looked down at the hands near hers, trying to pry the bear trap open, before following them up to see who was attached to them. “Bex,” she murmured, and it felt like there was a weight lifted off her shoulders. Bex was okay. Bex was alive. That was all that mattered. Nothing else mattered. And then everything came crashing back to her, and Mina strained to sit up, her eyes frantic. “No. No, no, no! Leave! He’s still--” She looked around as if expecting Frank to appear out of thin air. “Please, leave! Please, please, please. He’ll hurt you-- He’ll kill-- please, Bex, please.” She tugged weakly at Bex’s hands, trying to push her away, but Mina didn’t have much strength left. All she could do was beg the word repeated and slurring together over and over again. “Please. Please. Please.”

Mina started screaming, hands coming down to try and fold into the mix with Bex’s. She let go briefly when she told her to stop, hands shaking. She didn’t know what to do. She was useless. She wasn’t strong enough. She needed to be stronger. Ripping the knife out of the ground, she wedged it between the teeth, careful not to let it touch Mina, and then gripped the metal of the bear trap as Mina started begging her to leave. Her desperation pushed wild magic into her palms and she felt metal bend under her fingertips briefly. She squeezed and it crumpled and she tore the metal apart until Mina’s leg was free. Her hands burned. She didn’t care. “I’m not leaving,” she said, scooting back up towards Mina’s face. She brushed her hair away from her eyes. There was so much blood. “I don’t care if he comes back.” She would tear every bit of his mind out if she had to. Pocketing the knife, still slick with Mina’s blood, she shoved her hands under Mina’s shoulders and began to prod her to sit up. She was no medical expert, she couldn’t assess the injuries herself. She needed to get Mina back to town. It was such a far walk. They wouldn’t make it. Bex swallowed back tears. “C’mon, we have to go,” she muttered, lifting Mina’s arm around her shoulders. “We gotta stand up. Can you stand?” She wasn’t going to listen to her begging, even if it made her chest seize and her eyes water. “I’m here,” she repeated, “I’m here, I’ve got you. Y-you’re gonna be okay. I’ve got you.” Blood smeared across Bex’s side, but she didn’t care-- all she cared about was getting her back. Saving her. She couldn’t let her die. She wouldn’t. She would drain every last ounce of life from Frank and shove into Mina if she had to. She wouldn’t let her die.

“Please, leave. Please. Please.” Mina kept repeating it, even though her words became choked as Bex started moving her, the wound in her shoulder that had been mostly cauterized by iron opening itself up as her shoulders were tugged on. “I care. I care. I care. I--” She groaned, cutting off her own words, but she managed to stand, even though it was hard, even though she didn’t want to. There was still a crossbow bolt in her “good” leg. She needed to pull it out. She looked down at it, the parts of her brain that were still functioning through the haze of pain and panic telling her what a bad idea that was, and it was an effort not to lean down and pull it out. The main reason she didn’t was because she couldn’t. It was already too much effort to keep herself standing, despite the fact that she was leaning against Bex, barely supporting her own weight. She was getting blood all over Bex. It was like her dream. She was getting blood all over Bex. “I don’ want him to hurt you. Please, go. I’ll--” She gagged against a lie that wouldn’t even come out. I’ll be fine. But she wouldn’t. She was dying. “I don’t want him to kill you. He’s going to try to kill you.”

Bex saw the bolt as they stood and she winced. She needed to take it out, but there would just be more blood. More blood. So much blood. She was trembling, shaking, not from exhaustion or effort. Fear gripped every muscle in her limbs. She had to swallow it down. If she didn’t move forward, Mina would die. “Just shut up!” Bex snapped. “Just stop. I’m not leaving you here to die. No matter what. Let him come.” Let him come. She would tear him to shreds. She moved Mina away from the bear traps, careful to not step on anything else. Lowered her down to sit against a tree before worrying her hands over the bolt in her leg. “I-- I have to pull this out,” they weren’t going to get far if they left it in. “It’s gonna--” she looked at Mina. Hurt stuck on her tongue. She looked like she was in so much pain. The picture burned itself into Bex’s eyes. She would never forget. Never forget. She yanked her jacket off and ripped the sleeve off with her teeth, before setting it under Mina’s leg. She’d taken basic first aid, she new she had to tie off the wound. Above it. “Ready? One, two--” she yanked, “--three.” Tossed the bolt aside and tied off the sleeve as tight as possible. Thunder rolled above them. Mina was slipping fast. She wasn’t going to be able to walk. Bex shuffled in front of her and pulled her arms over her shoulders. Reaching back around to let her sag against her back. “I’m gonna get you home, okay?” she said, and she wondered if it was a lie. “We gotta go now.” She swallowed her tears and her fears and her pain, and lifted Mina, grunting with effort. She would get her home safe. She would, she would, she would.

The bolt being removed from Mina’s leg was nothing compared to the pain in her side. She flinched, barely, feeling the Bex tie the jacket but little else. She leaned her face forward into Bex’s neck before jerking back, gasping. She stumbled, putting her legs down and managing to stand on shaky feet. “No, I can’t--” She put her hand over the wound in her side. The movement had caused it to bleed more, though it was coming out sluggishly. “I can’t.” She wasn’t going to make it home. There was simply no way. The rain might help, might offer some relief to her injuries, but there was no way that she could make it back to town with Bex carrying her, and there was certainly no way she’d make it all the way back to the East End. “Bex--” she stopped herself. Asking Bex to leave wasn’t going to work. She couldn’t do that. “I-- I’m not going to make-- I need water.” This wasn’t how she wanted Bex to find out, but there was no other option. She used the hand that wasn’t pressing into the wound on her side to turn Bex towards her, forcing her to look at her. “A lake. A stream. A pond.” She’d even take a puddle, at this point. “Just-- water. I’m not going-- I can’t. Make it home. But there should be water.”

“Stop moving! Stop!” Bex called out, reaching for Mina as she jerked away. She watched globs of blood pour from her side. Fuck. This was so bad. “Stop. Just--” but Mina cut her off. She wasn’t going to make it home. She wasn’t going to make it. Bex’s mind was combing through the thousands of ways she could try and argue, try and figure out how her stupid magic could help. Why couldn’t she stop the bleeding like Nell could? She wished Nell were here, she’d know what to do. She wished Morgan was here, she could help. But it was just Bex who was here. Just Bex. Thunder clapped again and this time drops of rain began to fall. Lightning lit up the sky. Bex flinched away from it and looked back at Mina as she spun her to face her. “Water?” Water. She could do that. Water. The pool. It made sense. Bex reached back out for her and tucked herself around Mina, helping to support her injured foot. It looked ready to fall off, she could see muscle and bone. Bex held back the wave of nausea and focused on Mina. “Just lean on me. I’ll find you water. I’ve got you.” And she started off. Water, water, she needed to find water. How the fuck was she supposed to find water? “Just stay with me, okay? I’ll keep talking. Focus on my voice.” She needed Mina to stay conscious, she couldn’t do this alone. She had to do this. She had to. “I’m sorry I got here too late. I tried. I came as fast as I could. But I’m here now. And I’m not leaving. What-- what do you wanna do when we get back? Maybe we could see a movie. We haven’t watched a movie in a while.” They were lies. She knew they were, but she wanted to give Mina something to fight for. Maybe she would fight to stay alive for her. Thunder rumbled again and rain poured through the trees above them. Bex felt her feet begin to slip on slick mud as the dirt beneath them soaked up the moisture. She would keep going. No matter what. She would keep going. 

“Water,” Mina murmured. It wouldn’t magically fix everything immediately, but it’d stop her from dying. It’d save her leg. Again. She leaned on Bex again, unable to stop herself from sagging against the younger girl, even if she tried to support some of her own weight. She was so tired. She was so tired. The pain in her side was dulling to a numbness, the heat and chill of where the blade pressed in fading much like she was. “I’m here,” she said, her voice quiet. “I’m here.” She closed her eyes, just for a moment. “Movie’d be nice. Whatever you want. I’m okay with whatever you want.” She couldn’t really hear what Bex was saying, all of it fading into gentle white noise. Soothing. Peaceful. She was dying. Maybe, if she died, Bex would save herself. “Tell Morgan I’m sorry, if you can,” she said. The last time she’d been close to death, Morgan had come for her. Mina didn’t think Morgan was going to be able to come this time. It was for the best. This was much worse. She was just sorry Bex had to see her like this. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry… sorry…” Her voice trailed off. Her thoughts trailed off. Mina couldn’t stop herself from becoming deadweight. 

“We could go back to the falls, too,” Bex said, trying not to let Mina’s dying voice get to her ears. She could hear it, she could feel it. With each step, Mina sagged more and more. Bex’s pace slowed as she strained against her weight. She’d never known Mina was so heavy-- or maybe she had. She’d always felt so light with her. Nothing had ever been heavy. They’d always been light together. “You can tell Morgan yourself, when we get back, okay? You can tell her yourself. Don’t apologize,” she said through tears. They washed down her face and mixed with the blood that had smeared onto her. “There’s nothing to apologize for.” Thunder continued to rattle the sky and Bex’s bones. Lightning was quickly becoming the only source of light. With each flash, she saw trees and more trees ahead of her. They needed to find water. How was she supposed to find water? She knew there was a river that ran through the park. She just had to find it. She could find it. She would find it. She had to keep going.

Suddenly, Bex stumbled. Mina’s weight toppled down with her and she tried her best to keep her from hitting the ground too hard. Bex did. She felt her wrist buckle and cried out. She didn’t care. “Mina?” She looked at the other girl. She was so pale. She’d never seen her so pale. A ghost of herself. Red and white. “Mina, wake up. Mina,” she begged, shaking her. “C’mon, wake up! I-- I can’t do this without you. I can’t do this without you! I need you! Mina!” But she didn’t budge, didn’t move. She needed to get her to water now. Bex’s desperation was growing. Gathering up all her strength, all her energy, all her everything, Bex pushed herself back up to stand, shuffling MIna onto her back fully and wrapping her arms around her legs. She could do this. Shoes wholly unfit for this trek dug into the ground as she pushed on forward, Mina slumped on her back. She wasn’t going to let her die. She let the magic she’d been taught guide itself into Mina-- it didn’t feel quite right, snaking its way down Bex’s legs like little strips of poison, but it was enough. It had to be enough. Thought light thoughts. Maybe it wasn’t the same as feather falling, but if Mina’s weight slumping against her was going to fall anyway, at least it would topple slower. She felt only marginally lighter, but it was enough for Bex to push forward. She tried to listen through the rain as it washed away blood that just kept coming. She couldn’t hear anything over the thunder shaking the sky and the forest. She was lost. Everything looked the same. Tears mixed with rainwater. “I can’t do this alone,” she said again, but she wasn’t sure who to. Mina was unconscious and there was no one else around. She had to keep going.

She was by herself. Alone, in the forest. Running again. Bex choked on her own breath, trying to fight through the nightmares that were clawing their way into her mind. Frank was still out here. He might even come back. He might already be looking for them. She couldn’t fight him like this, her magic wasn’t stable enough, she was struggling just to keep it on Mina. If he found them, they were both dead. She had to keep going. Just like before, she had to keep going.

It felt like hours, as the forest fought against her. But it couldn’t have been. She could still feel Mina’s steady heartbeat against her back. It was growing fainter. If she needed water, Bex could only hope and plead that the rain might be helping slow the process. Mina could heal fast. She couldn’t out heal this, though. Not even with the rain. Bex could feel it. She slipped and stumbled and fell and kept going. Over and over and over again. Her body was reaching its limit, but she just kept going. She had to keep going.

Her foot came down, but the earth beneath it slid away, and now they were falling. Bex cried out, trying to grab onto Mina to keep her from landing too hard,--but the hill pulled her down, pulled them down, and she was tumbling head over heels again. Down a hill, in a forest, running from a boy caught in a delusion. She wasn’t alone this time, even if she felt like she was. Her head smacked hard into the ground and she blacked out. She couldn’t keep going.

Her eyes fluttered open. Rain was the only thing she heard. Rain, a ringing in her ears. How long had she been out? “Mina…” she sputtered. The treetops came into view above her. They were spinning. She blinked but they kept going, rain drizzling onto her face as she tried to make the world slow down. She needed to get up. “Mina.” Pushed herself up, coated in mud and leaves and twigs and blood. Again. She looked around desperately, the world tilting left and right in a daze. “Mina?” Started feeling her way around, wiping mud from her eyes. “Mina!?” A soft groan pulled her attention. Twisted and-- there. Beneath a tree, laying face down. Bex rushed over to her on legs that only stayed up right for seconds at a time-- rolled her onto her back. She was still breathing, heart still beating. Bex bent over for a moment and let out a long sob. Hands curled into Mina’s bloody shirt. She couldn’t do it. She’d failed. Mina was going to die and she’d failed. She curled up on the ground next to her, holding her close. “I’m sorry,” she muttered, “I’m sorry, I couldn’t…” 

Her voice trailed off. The sound of rain echoed around them, through the leaves and the branches and the rocks. She heard the way it rustled like wind and the rushing of water. She heard the rushing of water. Through the rain battering trees, she heard the rush of water. Bex’s head shot up and she scanned the treeline. Lightning showed her it was thinning. She couldn’t give up yet. She wouldn’t. “C’mon,” she huffed, grabbing Mina again and dragging her towards it. “We’re almost there,” she grunted, her voice breaking at every syllable. “I found it, Mina. I found water. We’re here. We made it. Please, say we made it in time.” 

She broke the treeline and there it was. The river was spilling into a small lake, the sight a sanctuary. Bex dragged Mina over to the shore as fast as possible and waded all the way in with her, until she could fully submerge her. Red pooled at the surface where she held Mina under. “Tell me I made it in time!” she shouted, as she waited. “Please, Mina!” She sobbed. It didn’t show in the rain. Something was happening. Mina’s body was changing in her hands. 

Bex watched, silent. Only the thunder and rain made noise.

When Mina was little, she wasn’t allowed to be herself. She wasn’t allowed to shift, to look Fae. Not completely. Some of it she just couldn’t escape. Scales were hard to control, and they broke out against her skin like rashes when she was dehydrated, when she was excited, when she was scared. She’d always had trouble controlling that, accepting that, but things had gotten better the more she learned to be okay with what she was. In White Crest, things had gotten easier, things had gotten more in control. But she’d used that control to appear more human for as long as she could. She’d used that control to hide herself. 

The thing about nixies was that it wasn’t a glamour that made her scales look like skin. That was really her skin. Those were really her scales. Her appearance changed as she wanted it to, as she needed it to, and it was as useful as it was inconvenient at times. She used long sleeves to cover up her inhumanity just as much as she used them to cover up her scars, and it was fine. She was used to it. She shoved down so much of herself that she didn’t even know how to do certain things. She didn’t know how to shift the bones in her legs until they fused together, and she didn’t know how to feel comfortable with the fact that she wasn’t human. She’d never be human. However, she didn’t know how to be Fae, either, and it was to a point that she didn’t want to ask. She couldn’t be both. She couldn’t be either. 

But pain doesn’t care about what you know. Near death doesn’t care about what you remember. The body will fight to keep itself alive. The body will do what it must to make sure the heart beats. The moment she touched water, Mina began to change. Webbing formed between her fingers, her nails grew into claws, her teeth became sharp. Scales sprung up all over, covering her body. Her feet changed, the bones shifting, becoming longer, thinner, but the process was made uncomfortable by her mangled foot. Mina wasn’t quite awake, but she whined a bit in pain, the sound catching in her chest. She was breathing heavily through the gills in her neck, water and oxygen filtering in and out, and she barely managed to open her eyes, looking through the water above her to make eye contact with beautiful brown eyes before her own fluttered shut again. She was safe. She was in pain, but she wasn’t about to die. Her body had protected itself. She just didn’t know what the cost of that would be. 

As Mina’s body changed, Bex stayed still. She’d known, hadn’t she? That Mina wasn’t human. No one at home but herself had been human. Sometimes Bex didn’t even feel human. But not being human didn’t make someone less. Not to Bex, not to the people who mattered, the people who understood. She held tightly onto Mina the entire time. Scales rubbed against her bare arms. They felt smooth. Her hands and feet turned into webbed claws, fins. The water made sense now. Everything made sense now. Something was warring inside of Bex’s head., but it was beaten down by the desperation she’d been holding onto for the past horrifyingly long moments. She didn’t even know how long it had been. She let her own body sink into the water, floating. It felt nice. She pulled Mina into her chest and let her rest under the water. Thunder groaned in the sky again and lightning pierced through it, lighting the reflections of the surface, her own tired face, caked in mud. Bex looked up at the sky and wondered if it was crying for them. Had the rain given them the time they’d needed to get here? Was God looking down on them, on her? Was something else, something bigger? She didn’t know. She didn’t know anymore. 

Soon, the red was washed away. Bex lifted Mina slowly to examine the wounds. They were angry, red marks that made her just as angry and red. Frank had done this. She wanted him dead. But that wasn’t what she needed to focus on right now. They needed shelter. To wait out this storm. Wind was whipping up, warning her of the monsoon that was to follow. She’d lived here long enough to know. Mina had stopped bleeding enough for now, scales stitching skin back together to close her wounds. The gash in her side still looked so raw, but she could fix that later. Her eyes scanned the edges of the lake, their surroundings. There was a small dock on the other side and Bex waded around towards it, her limbs light in the water still screaming in protest against her movements. She had to keep going.

She reached it and hoisted herself up, holding Mina’s arm with one hand, before hooking both arms under hers and lifting her out as well. She was still covered in scales, claws, fins. If someone saw her like this, Bex was worried they might hurt her again. If Frank saw them, he would hurt them both. She looked back over her shoulder. A building. A house. The boat house. Bex laid Mina on the doc and stumbled towards the boat house, shoving the door open. She grabbed the jacket hanging on the hook-- it was old and moth eaten, but would do. Grabbed the first aid kit, the old safety blankets, a tarp, a lighter, and tossed it into one of the wooden boats, dragging it down the dock to where Mina lay. She pulled Mina in, grabbed the rope and started up towards the building farther back in the trees. It looked old and abandoned, but it would do. With the last of her energy, she dropped the boat off in front of the house and carried Mina inside, wincing and apologizing as her feet dragged on the ground. The only thing her mind would consider thinking about right now was getting Mina inside and safe. Just keep going. You’re almost there.

Once Mina was deposited on the couch, Bex went back out to the boat and grabbed the other supplies, shutting the door and dropping them in the middle of the room, before heading around the house to look for more supplies. More blankets, a towel, more gauze. Something to start a fire. She came back out into the main room and crouched next to the couch, and got to work.

Removed her tattered and bloody shirt and everything underneath, her torn pants and the tourniquet she’d put on her leg. Set to work wrapping each noticeable injury with the gauze. Her leg, her side, her shoulder. Her arms. There were burns she didn’t know how to deal with, but didn’t think she could, anyway. Wiped up the rest of the blood and water with the towel before she laid the old jacket over her bare top, and wrapped the blankets around her legs, tucking her in. Brushed her hair out of her face and put one more blanket on top to keep her warm. She was too tired to clean up the mess.

She had to clean herself up still. She stumbled back into the bathroom with some of the gauze and towel and washed mud and grime from her face, picking out pieces of twigs and rocks and other things. It sat in the sink drain. She wished there was running water, but sticking out the towel into the pouring rain worked well enough. She lifted her wet shirt off and winced, remembering the stitches in her side for the first time that entire day. They were torn. Slowly, she wrapped the bandages around her midsection, covering it up as her hands began to tremble again. Hung up her shirt to dry, a greater tremor in her arms. Exhaustion, this time. Maybe more. She didn’t have time to look at the rest of herself

And finally, finally, when she was all done with that, she shuffled back out into the living room. At first, she sat on the chair at the old table. Her eyes wouldn’t leave Mina. Eventually, she moved over to the floor and sat down next to the couch. She lifted one of Mina’s arms gently and took her hand and laid her head next to it. “I made it,” she murmured. She passed out soon after.

[squidbobby]

Shambles (The Rockiest Rock Bottom Ever), a squidbob fic, Chapter 1

Summary:  After the volcano disaster that wasn't, things are starting to get back to normal...except that Squidward's house has been destroyed by earthquakes and he's in shambles. Bikini Bottom's own hero, Spongebob Squarepants, offers to take Squidward into his home until other arrangements can be made, and Squidward doesn't exactly have many options. Feelings ensue.

Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Trauma, Living Together, Sharing a Bed, Post-Canon

This work is also available on my Ao3.

I welcome prompts for most ships!

It was a wonder how much of Bikini Bottom had stayed intact after the disaster that sort of wasn’t. Really, with the odds they had been given, the whole place should’ve become a seafood buffet by now. He shouldn’t have been surprised, then, that his place was destroyed. The pineapple was one thing. Round and organic, it had no trouble staying in one piece throughout the quakes, though apparently not everything inside was so lucky, if Spongebob’s unusually somber trash drop-off meant anything. Patrick’s home was rock, same as Squidward’s, but it was low to the ground and dome-shaped, and his entire living space was made out of sand, anyway.

Squidward’s home was not so lucky. He had tried to listen to Sandy through the fog, something about the building being too brittle to withstand seismic activity? Either way, his home--his former home, that is--lay in shambles around him. A few locals including his neighbors had volunteered to help Squidward sift through the rubble, and were now shuffling around in pairs, sorting things into variously marked piles and murmuring sympathetically to each other. Squidward glanced around, dazed, doing little and feeling useless. Occasionally someone had held an object up to him for appraisal, and his positive or negative grunts would determine which pile it went into.

About an hour into the search, a distinctly Spongebob-y series of noises came from behind Squidward. A grunt, a crash, a gasp, and a hurried shush. Even in his state, Squidward knew when to be suspicious. He whipped around to find Spongebob and Patrick grinning fearfully and hiding something behind their backs. Behind them was a toppled-over piece of rock wall that had been covering a significant little area and which nobody had worked up the motivation to move until, apparently, Patrick’s brawn and lack of brain had successfully coordinated. Squidward started towards them.

“Alright, what is it?” he asked with a sigh. “Can’t be any worse than anything else we’ve found so far.”

Spongebob and Patrick exchanged remorseful glances before Spongebob pulled his hands out from behind his back and showed Squidward what they had found.

“Oh…” came out of Squidward as he lowered himself shakily onto what was left of the sofa. So they had finally gotten to the ruins of his art room. He’d known, distantly, that that was coming eventually. It was a different thing entirely to see Spongebob, the picture of empathy, gingerly holding up the splintered pieces of his clarinet while looking at him as if he was going to splinter, himself, at any moment.

And splinter he did. For the first time since the volcano didn’t erupt, tears welled up in Squidward’s eyes.

“I-I, uh…” Squidward began shakily. He barely had time to take another breath before a sob escaped him and his face crumpled as he covered it with his hands. Squidward suddenly felt like everything was caving in on him. First the trauma of the almost disaster, then the shock of coming home to being homeless, and now the humiliation of losing control of himself over a stupid piece of wood in front of a dozen people. He curled in on himself on the sofa and wrapped his arms around each other. All the rock bottoms he thought he had fallen into in his life didn’t compare to this, the rockiest rock bottom ever. His breath hitched when he felt a dip next to him on the sofa, but he didn’t pull his hands away from his face lest the dip’s creator see his face, which was sure to be puffy and red by now.

A small hand tentatively touched Squidward’s shoulder, and he hunched further inward until a soft voice spoke up.

“It’s okay,” Spongebob murmured. “They’re gone.”

Squidward carefully peeked over his fingers and realized that Spongebob was telling the truth. Whether the volunteers had left of their own volition because they were uncomfortable with Squidward’s outburst or had been shooed away by Spongebob and/or Patrick, the two of them were now alone on Conch Street. He considered retreating back behind his hands anyway, but this was Spongebob. The little guy had seen Squidward at all of his worst times, him being the cause of most of his worst times notwithstanding. Squidward lowered his hands, sniffed, and faced forward, gathering up what dignity he could. He could see Spongebob in his peripheral vision, his face open and vulnerable as always. Suddenly he felt a wad of tissues being pressed into his hand, and Squidward smiled despite himself, but it was a sad smile.

“I don’t know what to do now.” Squidward said to nobody in particular. Now that the sobs had died down, he felt hollow again, but this time with a headache.

“What do you mean?” asked Spongebob. His head was cocked like a quizzical child’s.

Squidward huffed. “I mean, I don’t know what I’m supposed to do now. My mother offered to let me live with her, but that’s hours away and my job is here. There’s nothing left to rebuild my house with, and I don’t have the money or credit for a new place. I’m gonna have to move back home and lose my job and live in my mother’s basement like the loser I am, and--”

Spongebob’s hand tightened where it was on Squidward’s shoulder.

“What do you mean you have nowhere to go? My house is right there!” He gestured next door, where the pineapple stood unfazed by the earthquakes.

At this, Squidward turned to look at Spongebob’s face straight on. His mouth was quirked into a smile, and his eyes were the kind of wide-eyed enthusiastic empathetic eyes that Squidward had seen in him when they’d passed abandoned baby snails in a box or flowers that needed watering. Well, Squidward guessed he was not that different from an abandoned baby snail these days.

“I don’t know, Spongebob…” Squidward started. They’d roomed together for short periods of time before for one reason or another, and it never ended very well.

“Shush,” Spongebob said, headstrong. “I won’t hear any protest on this. I want to help, and this way you can keep your job and we can walk to work together. Oh, it’ll be like a sleepover!”

As Spongebob began talking about matching pajamas and his eyes began to sparkle, Squidward wondered whether it would really be so bad to stay with his neighbor for a while. Besides, what other options did he have? He shuddered to think of what staying with Patrick or Krabs would be like, and he wasn’t exactly jumping at the chance to go home and listen to his mother cry “I told you so” every other minute as if it was his fault that he had barely escaped death and his house hadn’t. Squidward sighed inwardly.

“Okay, Spongebob, but just until I find somewhere cheap to stay.”

“Yay!!!” Spongebob released Squidward’s shoulder and ran into the pineapple. Squidward looked around, confused, until Spongebob burst back out with a handful of what looked like empty bags.

“Here,” Spongebob said, handing Squidward a large duffle bag. “Pack up everything that’s in the ‘not completely destroyed’ piles and we’ll get you moved in and go shopping for some essentials!”

So this was really happening. Squidward stood up from the sofa and quietly began putting blankets and clothes from one pile into Spongebob’s bag as Spongebob hummed merrily and collected his own pile into a reusable grocery bag with smiley faces all over it. Squidward watched him and snorted out a quiet, disbelieving laugh. How many times had he been cruel to the little guy, only for Spongebob to come right back the next day, smiling as brightly as ever? And how many times had Spongebob gone to great lengths just to help him, or simply make him smile? For a moment, Squidward looked at him and saw the hero of Bikini Bottom, the kid who helped his friends stop a natural disaster in its tracks and save an entire city. He didn’t seem like so much of a kid these days.

“Woo, let’s go buddy!” Squidward was shaken from his revelry by a shout, and he looked up to see that all the remaining piles, including the rest of the one he was working on, had been packed and left in a pile of overstuffed bags decorated with varying levels of whimsy. Spongebob grabbed his arm and led him to Squidward’s boatmobile, which had been spared. “Best friends’ shopping trip!”

[greekbros]

"greek-Bros: The Return of an Old Enemy"

Chapter 12: Matters to Attend To

After a rough night of sleeping in the tough dirt with roughly 15 or so big cats, Dionysus prepares to leave for Olypmus. He was waiting for Apollo to pick him up, feeling as if he'd been gently shoved into a small box to sleep in while dogpiled by his own pet big cats. He drinks in the scenery of the morning, wondering what the day shall bring. Feeling the top of his head feeling a little bit warmer, he looks up to find Apollo riding above. "Ah there you are!", he shouts to his brother in the sky. Along with the ball of fire trailing behind Apollo's chariot, it's golden embellishments shined bright enough to create a blinding glare, leaving Dionysus to shield his eyes for a short second.

Riding down to Dionysus's position, Apollo waved back, "Good morning. How was your night?", he asked softly. Apollo also looked a little sleep depraved as well, after Dionysus's afternoon celebration, he had his own issues to deal with. Apparently, there had been issues around the coastal areas around mainland Greece that weren't related to wolves....but a bizzare influx of dolphins harassing the locals.

Dionysus yawned loudly, streched his arms and gave his back a good crack, "let's just say it's easier to imagine sleeping with big soft animals than it is to actually put into practice.". He groggiingly climbed onto Apollo's chariot. ".....so is there any seatbelts on this thing?", he joked.

Apollo shook his head and snaps the reins, off they went to Olypmus. "Well, hang on then, time is of the essence.", he chuckled. He snapped the reins and off to the clouds above the two went, the clouds at first felt like cool mist but slowly thickens into a softer fluff that opens to a sea of soft white and blue. Off in the distance, Olypmus stood proudly like an island.

Meanwhile, Zeus had returned to Olympus with the growing concerns that had become prevalent throughout the Mediterranean; the wolf attacks. Pacing back and forth, Zeus was pondering what to do about such an issue. "Wolves of all things", he though. Did he need to talk to the other gods about this? Was Hades responsible for this, inspite of his lack of evidence that Hades has yet to be responsible for any surface issues. He hadn't the foggiest idea what is causing it. "oooooh....where is that girl....I know she's the greatest huntress in all of Olypmus but she shouldn't be taking this long.....and Athena....my goodness with all her wisdom and intelligence....a little empathy wouldn't hurt once and a while.", grumbling on while rubbing his forehead, oddly enough even mentioned Athena's name gives him a mild headache. Inspite of this, Zeus still worries for all his daughters.

Hermes could only watch as he was growing more entertained by the hole in the floor Zeus had created. Hera was more disgruntled at Zeus because now the nice marble floor now have sizable divot. "..... Zeus can you PLEASE just sit down. You're not the only one here with a headache, how am I going to find a stonemason at this time in the morning?", she groaned. Spectating the whole issue, she really had become curious as to how Zeus could be blaimed for this, maybe its so bad that he would be banished and she would be made Ruler of the Sky, but she doubts that.

"I understand my dear, but there are more important matters on our plate.", as Zeus says this the sound of Apollo's chariot. "Oh thank goodness.". Zeus hoped with Apollo and Dionysus now present, there would be a few more heads working together. "Ah good morning boys.", Zeus urgently greeted them.

Dionysus slid down the marble floor for a dramatic entrance, while Apollo calmly walked in. "Good morning father, good morning Hera you look absolutely radiant today", Apollo greeted back. The two placed themselves on their designated thrones.

Hera wasn't too flattered but she appreciates the greeting with a head nod. "Morning... Apollo. So what has your father done this time?....". She has been watching over both Olympus and the earth while Zeus had been flying around. Tapping her perfectly sharpened nails on the arm of her gold and marble throne. "Well?", she inquired again.

With the rough sound of clearing his throat, Zeus interjects to answer for Apollo. "Well Hera, it seems we have a pest control problem, 'wolves'...........'wolves' have been seen doing such strange things .....but others say it's really not wolves. If memory serves me, we did not create wolves to act like this......boys, have any of you found any new information?", Zeus inquired.

Dionysus and Apollo looked at each other, remembering the day before and what had transpired during the Dionysian Games. Dionysus glances away, trying to deter any responsibility in being the first to tell anyone, Apollo is given the unceremonious task of explaining what had happened on Delphi. "Well.....let's just say, while Dionysus was having a...day time event, it seems that there was some semblance of a sighting. No one was harmed thankfully....", as he finished he looked at Dionysus, hoping he was going to going to fill in any details.

Dionysus, pretended that he wasn't paying attention. Apollo continued to stare at him until he took a coin from his pocket and aggressively flicked at Dionysus. The coin hit Dionysus's head with an audible tunk as it bounced off, "Ow! Fuck man what the hell?!", Dionysus rubbed the currently forming lump. He looked around as he saw Hera, Zeus and Hermes were looking at him, clearly knowing he knew more than he was willing to share. "Ugh....yeah....someone saw a dog thing? Yeah but as Apollo said, no harm no foul...", he hoped his flimsy confirmation would suffice.

Zeus obviously took this as a sign something was wrong and that these creatures were indeed becoming more and more brazen but he wasn't going to pry Dionysus anymore for obvious reasons. He was still wondering where Artemis and Athena were, probably assisting mortals or actively finding more information.

Zeus than turned to Hermes, usually his energetic messenger was more talkative, yet right now he was rather quite. "Hermes....is there anything you would like to share? Any news that would ....at the very least help us... Artemis told me you witnessed one of these creatures yourself?", Zeus asked. He could see Hermes looked a little anxious, in fact Hermes hadn't taken his encounter very well since he first saw it. "My boy, do you have something to say?", Zeus again asked.

The wings on his hat emoted his sudden alertness much like how a dog would, he was mentally elsewhere but quickly came back to planet Earth to put it 'mortally'. "Oh well.....it wasn't too bad.... Artemis shot it in the mouth...hehehe, but....I'm more use to things staying dead.", he rubbed the back of neck, "The creature came back to life shortly after she killed it. I've never seen something like that in my life.", Hermes responded somberly. He felt silly being scared of something that wouldn't be out of place in the Underworld, but he knew that it wasn't something he had experienced in its controlled chaotic environment. "Outside of that, it seems they're very sturdy and very fast.", he continued.

Off in the hall, Artemis and Athena had finally arrived, although both were empty handed, Athena had come with her pride humbly swallowed. The two sisters entered the throne room unannounced as to not disturb Hermes's story.

Dionysus went from playing with his curly locks to glancing past Zeus and seeing Artemis and Athena. "Oh cool, you're here!", he exclaimed with a smile. Artimes waved back, but Athena stayed stone faced.

"Ah there you two are! Where have you two been?", Zeus bellowed.

Artimes walked towards her barely used throne next to Apollo, slumped onto her seat, surprisingly exhausting. It was obvious Artemis had been doing most of the leg work of investigating what has been happening, meanwhile her brothers decided to have fun with their fake Olympics. ".......ugggh....", she groaned and turned to Apollo, "so....did you look over Delos like I asked?"

He had been so occupied with Dionysus that he had COMPLETELY forgotten to check if the island of Delos was untouched. Apollo struggle for a few seconds, as he was about to say something.

"You didn't fucking check didn't you?", Artemis interrupted. Lucky for her, she had checked Delos and the island was currently at the bottom of her list worries.

Apollo couldn't help but give an embarrassed half smile and immediately points to Dionysus and whispers, "this is your fault". Dionysus of course couldn't help but give an identical smile.

Athena stood in front of Zeus, "Father....I believe I owe you an apology for doubting your judgement....it seems.... Athens has come under a terrible affliction....the city has been relying on outside trade these past few days because the farmlands have been savagely ravaged by unknown forces. On top of all that......Theseus hasn't helped much politically, considering he is off on some pointless quest with the rest of his demi-brethren, the state executives have been scrambling for answers to the myriad of metropolitan issues. Disappearing blacksmiths, sightings of creatures in the night and hordes of food, metal, and wood supplies have disappeared over night. I seek your your guidance, for this is genuinely a force I have never experienced.", she was at a loss for words with her situation. Athens has had many terrible lows in its long history, but nothing of this supernatural sort.

He looked at his children, he shook his head. "Your apologies are always accepted my dear Athena. Laps of judgment always happen.", Zeus said with a smile.

She held her head up high, "If I may ask. Is there explanation to.our plights?".

Dionysus stretched his legs a little, "it's wolves I think....but they're kinda funky. Hermes says that THESE wolves can get hit with arrows and like...not die....it's kind of weird. Oh and apparently they like destroying food tents.", he interjected.

Hermes turned to Dionysus, "This thing wasn't a wolf! I know a wolf when I see it, this thing had hands! And it stood on two legs and was fast on them!", he corrected Dionysus was short burst of annoyance.

Obviously, Hera was about to toss herself from the top of Mt. Olypmus from all the sweetness of Zeus's love for his children, the destruction of anyone's food tent or anything, she couldn't care less about it. ".....Can we go on?", she strained. "Frankly Zeus, I just want to know what does all of this has to do with you.", She paused as she was just speaking at suddenly thought had dawned on her. ".... Zeus.......this "wolf" business doesn't have anything to do with Lycaon does it?....You DID say the problem was taken care of....right?", Hera spoke with a tone of ripe displeasure.

Zeus couldn't deny it any longer. An unnatural wolf, Athens in social chaos and the constant bickering between his children had to stop. "Children........it's time I told you the whole story....do you remember when I've told some of you the story of how I defeated the most evil man in the world?", he asked.

The other gods became curious, what did an old bedtime story that their own father had to do with all of this? Hera let out a long and disappointed sigh, it really did have something to do with him, but she had secretly hoped he wasn't responsible for it.

He continued, "Many decades ago, it should be a century or so....if memories serves me correctly....I was invited to a feast in Arcadia by King Lycaon himself. In the story, I told that I defeated him by turning him into a wolf and destroyed his desperately sons for serving me a feast made from the flesh of man..... however.....I may have left out a few.... important details....I did turn him into a wolf....but I left a small semblance of humanity in him so that he may suffer ridicule and hatred for the remainder of his life......that...may have been the greatest regret....I should have ended him when I had the chance.... however, I cannot contest for how he has managed to live for so long....but I do fear it maybe my power is what helped with his longevity.....I doubt he's alone too....", he solemnly ended his story.

The five Olympic offspring sat there in disbelief, the rumors were true and their own father had direct responsibility over the situation. Hera in the meantime, felt a little sorry for Zeus, if she was responsible for such a blunder she would no doubt feel an eating guilt in her heart. "Zeus, listen, what's in the past is done....you fucked up and honestly that's no surprise.....", she put it bluntly.

He turned around unamused but not surprised that his wife would take a swing at his ego, yet all he could do is agree. "Now..... children, we must spread ourselves around and look high and low for Lycaon...no matter the cost.", he declared.

A low crashing noise could be heard from halls, alarming everyone in the throne room. The boys screamed, Artemis was too tired to care and Athena raised her shield and spear ready to defend everyone in the room. Zeus and Hera were worried but there was a likely suspect on their minds. "Ares!", the two said in unison. If anyone would regularly break urns and vases in Olypmus, it was Ares. Whom oddly enough did not come to the meeting. Apollo, Dionysus, Hermes and Athena were the first to charge towards the noise while Artemis had no intentions of moving for the moment.

In another room, Ares was trying to help Ajax use armor and play with a wooden sword for the first time. Turns out, after a few hours of roughhousing with his own war hounds, Ares realized Ajax could use his paws to hold things. So one silly thing led to another, and Alex accidentally broke a vase. "Nice swing Ajax, you'll lead your own army in no time!", Ares chuckled with enthusiasm. Ajax wagged his tail and adjusted his ill-fitting helmet. "You know what, I'm hungry. Come on Ajax, let's go get something to eat", he gestured to Ajax to follow him to the kitchen. The pup's tailed wagged even more enthusiastically, he gently removed his helmet, placed his shield and sword down and followed his new devine friend.

As the two miscreants went to the kitchen, the rest of the Olympians just missed them by a few seconds. Apollo and Athena were armed and ready while Hermes and Dionysus were reluctant to have followed them.

Apollo and Athena both look at the obvious mess of broken urns and damaged marble along with the instruments of the crime. "Hm...It definitely looks like Ares may have been here....but what would he want with set of juvenile training armor?", Athena questioned.

"Hmmm....maybe he's taken up another Amazonian student?.... after all it's not like he's done it before.", Apollo speculated.

"Well I'm not cleaning up after his kids again.", Dionysus groaned brushing away a piece of broken pottery with his foot.

Hermes looked around and started to hear more clattering coming from the kitchen. "I think we'll get our answer shortly.", he pointed to the direction of what at this point sounded like a dog playing with its food.

The four than slowly cornered the entrance way to the kitchen, Apollo and Athena on opposite sides of the door. Dionysus, summons his thyrsos, to protect himself and Hermes who's just behind him. Athena motioned to Apollo to get ready to bust into the kitchen, he agreed with a stern nod.

Zeus and Hera have just arrived, spectating the mess of a hallway and had just about enough this. "OH FOR GOODNESS SAKE.", Zeus bellowed and opened the kitchen door to fine Ares mid bite into some meat and Ajex sitting on the counter, peacefully chewing on lamb chop.

It was a standstill for the ages.

"Son.....what is that?", Zeus asked calmly and sternly.

"Lamb chops.", Ares replied.

"....no.......I mean....what...is....that?.", Zeus pointed at Ajex.

Ares hadn't thought so quickly in his life and drew out his sword and pulled Ajex closer to him. In a deadpan tone and a blank stare, "Take one more step Dad I will wreck everything.". Ajex obviously was completely clueless and just innocently looked at everyone.

Everyone from Zeus and his children all armed themselves. "ARES I NEED TO YOU STEP AWAY FRO. THAT ABOMINATION.", Zeus commanded him.

Athena raised her spear, "Ares you dimwitted buffoon! That creature's kind has cost us all dearly!", she hissed at him

Ares still expressionless knew he wasn't going to let his family hard a single fur on Ajex's head.

The Olympians were all shouting and tried coaxing Ares to give the wolf pup but the god of war wouldn't budge.

Hera, finally pushing Apollo and Dionysus aside, "ARES! What is going on?! And why is that thing on the counter! You have no idea where it's been and I thought I told you no snacking before meals!", Hera shouted with a wag of her finger.

"Oh I gave him a bath before we started training.", Ares replayed.

"TRAINING?!?", everyone shouted in unison.

Zeus's voiced boomed, "YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT THAT CREATURE IS CAPABLE OF!".

"FUCKYOUDADYOUCANTTELLMEWHATTODO!", Ares defiantly shouted back.

As the quarreling between the gods continued, Hermes at was fearful at seeing this kind of creature again until he started to get a closer look. "Wait a minute..... isn't this the dog with tattered clothes your thespian friend told you?", he turned to Dionysus.

As if a candle was suddenly lit, Dionysus than remembered the joust. "Hey it's that dog thing that cost you the joust you know the one you lost and got very very VERY humiliated in?!", he hoped reminding Ares about his loss would make him relinquish Ajex due to anger.

"Oh really? Well ok than accidents happen I guess. I guess little Ajex here had places to go. Ain't that right buddy", Ares said with a smile basically forgiving Ajex for costing him the joust. Ajex let out a little yip with glee.

"Damnit. I thought that would do it. Sorry guys I tried.", Dionysus shrugged.

Hera was distraught and disappointed, "Oh my gods you've named it too. Now we'll never get rid of it.", she said breathlessly.

"Come on mom, it's just a dog. I mean sure he's really misshapen for a dog but he's managing pretty well with me.", Ares still had no idea that what he was holding close to him....was more closely related to a cursed human.

"Son....that is no hound....that....is what I had turned Lycaon many years ago....I turned him into a part wolf monstrosity for the purpose of punishment! That right there!.....could be his very offspring! Or worse!....an innocent child who was transformed into wolf.", Zeus gravely explained.

Ares looked at Ajex, "....oh...so that's why he has thumbs.".

The rest of his siblings couldn't believe that Ares had just realized this and collectively groaned. Zeus could only nod in minor disappointment while Hera shook her head.

Hermes on the other hand stepped a little closer to Ares and Ajex. "....Well....thus one DEFINITELY isn't the same kind of beast me and Artimes saw.", he than started to feel extremely silly for being so afraid of this small and somewhat cute looking creature.

"That's because it's a wolf cub!", Artimes had finally caught up with everyone. "I mean seriously, you guys got worked up over a pup? I mean seriously it still teething.", She pointed at Ajex who was still chewing on a lamb bone.

Ares looked at Ajex, "you mean like how babies do?....cool. That explains why he bit me when we first met.", he fondly remembered.

Zeus went pale. "Son....did....did ugh...Ajex you called him? ....well....did he draw blood when he bit you?", he deathly asked.

Ares looked at his arm and saw no marks, then he looked everywhere else that Ajex had teethed on and still no marks. "Nope. Little guys' gonna have to grown into his big teeth later.", he knew that dogs had their own set of baby teeth much like humans did, so considering Ajex's lineage, there was a good chance he still had many of his baby teeth.

A deep sigh of relief was let out by Zeus.

Apollo than asked, "Father, why is it such an issue that it bit Ares, it's not like as if gods could die of an infection....even so I can fix it.".

Zeus shook his head, "Because I've seen what happens with mortals who survive an attack from these monsters....they become them.", the others became visibly worried, expect for Ares and Hermes. Hermes of course could always outrun them and Ares simply assumed he was impervious to injury.

Ares than realized if he hadn't been so physically hard to chew on he would be a half-wolf half-war god. "WAIT A MINUTE I COULD HAVE BEEN A WOLF WAR GOD THAT SOUNDS EPIC AS FUCK!", He shouted.

Apollo, Athena, Artimes and Dionysus looked at each other in clear worry, the idea of a beastly war god even more so vicious than what he currently is now is a far more unfathomably terrifying idea.

Hermes was still looking at Ajex with mild curiosity. Suddenly Ajex looked at him a tilted his head with equal curiosity. A sudden urge to do something Hermes wanted to do when discovered he could perform a neat little trick. He than raised the wings on his hat upwards in an alert position. Ajex's ears did the same thing. Than Hermes switched to a 3 o'clock position, Ajex than followed through and mimicked with his ears.

The rest of the gods looked at this strange display and went silent, surely something important was happening.

Ares however was starting to get jealous, "dude da fuk can you stop that's super fucking weird.", he asked but Hermes continued with different wing positions as if he was giving signals. Ajex was oddly enough having fun with this activity and let out a yip.

"I can't believe it.... we're completely in sync! You know what this means?", Hermes exclaimed at his wings alternated with Ajex's ears. "This could be like a secret handshake or something."

His brothers were obviously was confused, "Ugh...is this going to help us? I mean it's a cool trick but how is this going to solve anything?", Dionysus asked.

Hermes chuckled a little and replied, "oh no there absolutly nothing useful about this it's just fun to see if another animal would do it.". Another collective groan from everyone could be heard.

Athena rested her spear, "This has been a waste of time! All that's happened was the discovery of this creature infiltrating our ranks through Ares's pure ignorance and we still have no clue where to find these b-", she suddenly stopped mid sentence and looked at Ajex and started to formulate an idea "....... surely....this...Ajax has a family...I mean for such a young pup, he has to be missing his parents...", She glanced at Ares whom was still keeping Ajex close. He didn't want to part with him.

Zeus knew what Athena had been implying, he agreed with this plan but he didn't want to lose anymore of Ares's trust. "Athena, as much as that sounds like a wonderous strategy, I believe we can achieve our goal in finding Lycaon.... without harming the young creature.", Zeus walked up to Ajex, no matter if this creature had fangs, claws and fur, it was still in a sense a child.

Scoffing at Athena's attempt to gain her favors by being "tactful", she couldn't help but sense Athena was simply trying to be a little bit insensitive to Ares considering the two have had it against each other for years. "Or....I can just track down trail where me and Hermes found the first wolf. I mean, if I remember correctly there IS a complex cave system in Mount Parnassus.", she concluded.

Ares was relieved.

Zeus had than remembered what Athena had mentioned about Theseus and the rest of his half-born children. "By jove I've got it. BOYS! You're off to find Lycaon.", he announced.

Apollo, Dionysus, Hermes and Ares all looked at Zeus in mild disbelief. "Wait what?", they all murmured in unison.