#that's debatable. might be us‚ might just be past baggage

[existencebringsonlypain]

why do you guys talk about tea theory as if it isn't... the clearly intended way for us to interpret the teas

[esoteric-mantra-stuff]

Adonis (A middling Icebound return)

CW: Just a lil bit of blood and talks of emotional baggage. It's nothing you haven't seen before if you've been keeping up with this series.

Heyyy, I really wasn't that sure if I wanted to make this chapter even longer. I'm sorry in advance if it drags a bit, but I did enjoy coming up with a lot of it. It's kinda hard to make Ranni sympathetic after what happened, but I tried to at least make her feelings on the matter clearer.

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

The stone crown weighs a lot less than you imagined it would. Of course, you’d fantasized about wearing one for most of your time here in the Lands Between. To move past the basics of glintstone sorcery and be recognized as a worthy sorcerer of the academy. What it would feel like to have a place like that to belong.

Not that the way you acquired the crown you’re wearing involved any recognition of your skill. Other than your ability to sneak behind a pair of unaware guys and steal their clothes, that is.

It had been Lobo’s idea to wear a disguise while entering the academy. Just kill a pair of sorcerers while inside and take their clothes. With the crowns covering the face and the barrier protecting the academy from intruders, there’s little to suspect about the two of you. Although, since the crowns were made for humans to wear, Lobo couldn’t move his muzzle while wearing his disguise. Thus, it seems like the job of doing the talking has fallen upon you once more. Your only hope is that no one approaches because you’re not good at lying.

The two of you slowly (To try and make Lobo’s walk less noticeable) wander the halls of the Raya Lucaria Academy. Trying your best to look like you belong. The other sorcerers pay you little mind as you pass behind them while their gazes are fixed upon their books. You pass through the debate parlor, killing a large red wolf in a deep slumber, and make a perilous jump onto a broken stairway that leads you further up into the bowels of this place. Rennala’s chamber should be at the end of this path, and more importantly, the rune of her amber egg should be there too. You aren’t sure how you’re supposed to get it without harming her, as you don’t think she will simply give it up, but Lobo insists it’s better to cross that bridge when you get there. Truth is, you have to wonder if his reason for wanting to see Rennala has to do with her being his paternal grandmother, not with the rune she holds. Honestly, you wish he would be more open about his motivations. It’s becoming a bad habit of his.

After a short trek up a flight of broken stairs, you reach a small garden where a Carian Knight confronts you. Seeing the lift behind him, you pull your weapons hidden under your robes and prepare to fight him off. Lobo summons Latenna at the edge of the garden while you distract the knight with your glintstone pebbles; then Lobo approaches the knight, feigning an attack with his sword, which the knight tries to block with his shield. At the last possible second, Lobo falls to the side of the knight’s shield and headbutts him without warning. The impact of the stone crown is enough to knock the knight on his ass, giving you time to charge Loretta’s Greatbow and aim a shot at him as he rolls away from the downward swing of Lobo’s sword. You fire, but the knight turns to block the shot, leaving his back open to the combined might of Lobo’s sword and Latenna’s bow. Before long, he was on the ground. You take the opportunity to rummage through the knight’s pockets. Latenna and Lobo silently judge you for stealing from a corpse, but you ignore them. It’s all finders keepers in this world, and this guy isn’t using these anymore anyway, right? You find a pair of curious flasks of red and blue liquid, which you keep, and men’s underwear, which you don’t. (It’s nice, but Lobo is too big to wear it. Not that he would ever agree to put on a stranger’s undergarments in the first place.)

With that little altercation out of the way, you toss your costumes into the hole under the lift before riding it to the queen’s chamber. “So, what’s the plan? Rennala isn’t just going to let us in like it’s nothing, you know?” You say to your companion as you stand before the imposing doors to Rennala’s chamber. Lobo shakes his head and pulls something long and thin out of his pack. Is that a branch? “I think you’ll find that I can be very persuasive.” He says, knocking on the large door. It takes a moment, enough for you to wonder if Lobo should knock again before the door opens just a smidge.

A young boy with curls innocently pops his head through from the dark. “Hello, may I-” before the kid can finish, Lobo drives the branch into the boy’s eye! “Lobo! What on earth?!” You scream in shock, but the quarter wolf shushes you and points to where the branch should be. Looking at the boy’s face, it was as if nothing had happened to him! The boy gets back up, seemingly not noticing that he was just assaulted. He looks a little bewildered but otherwise unharmed. After a few moments of staring at your companion with a wide-eyed and mesmerized expression, he resolves to resume his introductions.

“Good morning, honored guests. What might may your business be this fine afternoon?” Lobo bows his head and takes on an innocent tone of voice. “Good morning. We seek an audience with the queen. Is she available to talk?” The boy frowns a bit in concentration. It’s almost a little cute. “Umm, the queen is sleeping, and we were told by the princess to not let anyone inside.” Lobo pulls out his sword, the boy flinching at the possibility of violence. Your companion ignores the reaction and shows the boy the frost that covers his sword’s blade. “I come here at the princess’ behest. Please tell the queen we wish to see her.” The boy looks up at Lobo’s face and down at the blade. A bright smile forms, and he shakes his head excitedly. “Will do!” The boy runs back inside, disappearing into the dark.

“Hey, what was that about?” You ask once you’re sure the boy is gone. Lobo pulls another branch out of his pack and hands it to you. “Bewitching Branch.” He says as you turn the twig between your fingers. “It compels affection from whoever gets struck by it. I bought it from that surly merchant we found near the highway.” You stare at him, and he looks away sheepishly.  “Please don’t look at me so. I doubt that kid would have given us the time of day otherwise.” You huff, rubbing your eyes. “You could’ve at least told me. I thought you had killed that kid for no reason.” Lobo merely shrugs, still looking away from you. “I didn’t plan on using the branch at first. It just came to me once I realized forcing our way inside would go against my agreement with Ranni.” You cross your arms, giving him a pointed stare. “Still, try to let me in on stuff like this, would you? I can be of help too.” Lobo sighs, and his ears fall. “Alright, I’ll try to warn you next time, I promise. Still, your face is so wonderfully expressive that I think it would be hard for you to trick anyone.” You punch him in the shoulder for that one, but he just laughs and points at your face. “Ahaha. See? Just like that!”

Before you can reply, the kid returns and pushes the door open for you, beckoning you inside with his hand hidden under his robes. The musty smell of books and the dim lighting of the study gave the room a sorry sort of feel. In the center, the queen sat cradling her amber egg, seemingly unaware of her visitors. Looking her over, you wonder if wearing stupid-looking hats is a family tradition for royal nobles. The kid that guided you to the queen bids you farewell, saying something about how: “He never expected the Princess’ shadow to be so tiny and cute.” Which you don’t quite understand. Lobo pays him little mind, as his attention is solely on the queen. The queen speaks. She doesn’t open her eyes, nor does she lift her gaze. “Ah… thou… is it thine wish to be born anew? A sweeting fair and - oh.” It’s at that moment the queen’s gaze meets with Lobo’s. “My…” The queen mutters. Her hand slowly leaves the amber egg and lifts towards Lobo’s face. Your companion is weary of what the queen might do, but after some hesitation, he lets her cup his cheek. “Yes, thou’rt a sweeting fair and fine. Perfect just as thou art.” Lobo closes his eyes as the queen continues to pet him affectionately. You notice a short wag of his tail at the attention, but you stay quiet.

—-----------------

You spend the afternoon keeping the queen company. Queen Rennala. as it turns out, is quite chatty once her attention gets pulled from rebirth and her amber egg. She loves to talk about her children, both her biological ones and the ones like the one you saw earlier. The queen would spin a tale about General Radahn and his love for his childhood steed or Praeter Rykard’s talent as a young sorcerer. When it came to the Princess, Rennala talked a little about the snow witch that taught her sorcery as a child, but mostly she told about Ranni’s childhood with her dear Shadow. You looked worryingly toward Lobo, knowing the topic of those two was still a touchy subject, but he merely stood (and later sat cross-legged) there cliff-faced, giving his full attention, only letting small grunts of approval or a quiet “I see.” The stories ranged from funny, like the time poor Blaidd got his tail stuck between the door and the doorframe, to heartwarming, like young Ranni’s first childhood illness and how her shadow wouldn’t leave her side while she was stuck in bed. The time Ranni attempted to learn to play the lute to horrendous results, the time Ranni would spend brushing Blaidd’s fur while he slept to not embarrass him, the hours Blaidd and Ranni would spend mastering the game of chess together, not once was the shadow able to win. The queen’s eyes sparkled as she recalled happier times, and her laugh of pure joy at the thought of her children was infectious. The amber egg was all but forgotten by the other people in the room, and you hadn’t the cruelty to bring it up again.

The only times the queen’s expression would falter was when the King Consort, Radagon, came up. It wasn’t surprising, considering their history, but Lobo still would often attempt to steer the conversation away from the topic whenever it came up. 

As much as it made you happy to help the queen, perhaps selfishly, it also saddened you. Did you have a mother who could tell such stories about you? Were your parents somewhere wondering where you’ve gone? Or was there no one who would know or care about you left? As disgusting as the feeling was, sometimes you felt that Lobo was lucky to know his parents were dead with certainty. Anything is better than not knowing. Listening to the queen speak with such joy also brought those feelings up. To think that even in this gloomy study, with her mind in a tenuous state, the queen could still do what you could not: take comfort in her memories. You couldn’t stand those feelings of jealousy any longer, so you excused yourself while your companion stayed behind with the queen. You were not being of any help anyway, so it was better this way.

Before you could leave, however, the queen beckoned you with one hand. “This is for thee, dear.” She placed a curious golden needle in your hand. “A small thing… but I know thou shall put it to good use.” You thanked her, but you didn’t really get it. What use would you even have for a needle anyway? Was she implying your clothes needed mending? Whatever the reason, you made your way outside, trying to keep the joyful sound of her voice launching into another story out of your mind.

—--------------------

It’s nighttime already, and the distant lights of the academy’s main building look almost beautiful at this time of day. Who would ever suspect the horrific things happening within its walls? You take the lift down into the garden you fought that knight in. To your surprise, a figure in a large white hat stares off into the night. You stare for a moment. Ranni seems so… miserable. It’s so different from the first time you met her. “I didn’t think you would still be around.” You say, surprising Ranni, who quickly turns around. “I’m sorry. It wasn’t my intention to sneak up on you. I was just surprised to see you.” You say apologetically. The witch, who regained her composure, shook her head. “T’is fine. I was merely lost in thought. I must be departing soon.” She bows, glowing as her body begins to dissolve, but before she can leave, you shout. “Wait!” Her body stops dissolving, at she tilts her head in confusion. “Is there a problem, Tarnished?” It’s just a hunch, but you have to make sure. “You were following us, weren’t you?” You say, trying not to sound accusatory. Ranni tilts her head, hiding her face behind the wide brim of her hat. “I followed, only to see what thou would do to the queen. Is there a problem with that?” You shake your head. That’s not the part that is bothering you. “No, but you were listening to the stories too, weren’t you? About Lobo’s father and you.” You might be barking up the wrong tree, but you’ve already committed to this. “Was that the reason you looked so sad before? Did the stories… upset you somehow?”

Now that it’s out in the open, the silence feels deafening. Ranni stays quiet, her face hidden from view by her hat. Wordlessly she turns around and faces the stars once more. Were it anyone else, they might have taken it as a sign to leave, but you know enough about people to recognize you hit the nail on the head. You don’t know if it’s the right thing to do, but you stand next to her. Ranni had hurt Lobo and his family, but she’d also lost a sibling she once held dear. If she’s willing to talk, you will hear her out.

It takes a long time, but after realizing that giving you the cold shoulder wouldn’t deter you from prying further, Ranni finally gives in. “Thou’rt observant… and persistent. Another twist of fate meant to vex me, perhaps. Fine, I shall share mine woes with thee.” You don’t quite understand what she means by “Another twist of fate.” but you motion her to share with your hand all the same. She lets out a long and tired sigh. As though the weight of the world rests on her tiny doll shoulders. “T’is hard to believe there was once a time when mine brother looked at me with affection in his eyes instead of ill-concealed contempt and misery. Just as I shed mine mortal flesh, so did I leave those memories behind, and yet here be mine brother’s murderer, digging up the past with such doggedness.” She wrings her hands together, and she brings her head down. “Blaidd was bound to mine will. His bond with me went beyond the boundaries of love. I thought of him as mine own brother, one who could stand by mine side as I walketh the dark path of the Empyrean. How could he have known that the one he was made to serve would grow to hate him so?” Her voice is cold, but beneath the frost, you can almost feel the pain Ranni is trying to hide. “Though I tried to pretend otherwise, I hated him, for he wouldst always be a tool of the fingers. He was never to abandon his oath to me, yet t’was this loyal nature that wouldst lead him to madness. I hated that he could never pursue his love for Aster’s mother. I could never allow him to do so, as mine fate would always pull them apart. I hated gazing upon him once the deed was done, for what was there to see but the misery I causeth him?  I forceth a life of continued misery upon him. In the end, I… I wanted him to perish, and so he did… T’is how I feel.” It’s far from violent, but for Ranni’s cold demeanor, this is quite an outburst. As silence falls between you again, you wonder whether there is anything you can do to help. You don’t know anything about what being an Empyrean is like, but something about their relationship is almost akin to an unwilling master and a slave. It was shocking to hear Ranni’s confession, but could she be faulted for these feelings?

“It pains me to hear about mine childhood. It was destined to end in tragedy one way or another.” Ranni lifts her head, attempting to view the stars through the clouds. “Blaidd… was mine affection for thee yet another falsehood created by the fingers? Was this hatred I felt there from the beginning? Thou must have hated me as well. How could thou not?” You shouldn’t, but you place a hand on Ranni’s shoulder. When she doesn’t push you away, you speak what’s been on your mind. “If… I may. I don’t think your love for your brother was fake. This hatred you feel… I think you know it isn’t really directed towards your brother, but rather towards this bond that was forced upon the both of you. If you didn’t care for your brother… well, I doubt we would be having this conversation.” You hope this isn’t stepping over some unspoken boundary, but Ranni still hasn’t moved your hand, so it might be alright.

You don’t move, just letting the night pass you by. The wind blows, and you feel a slight chill. Ranni seems unfazed by the cold. She slowly turns to look at you as you remove your hand. The ghost of a smile adorns both her doll and ethereal features. “Fair Tarnished…I thank thee for lending an ear to mine woes. Though we may not be allies, I applaudeth thy willingness to help another.” You rub the back of your head, feeling a little embarrassed. “It’s nothing. I’m a bit used to it by now.” The witch tilts her head in curiosity. “Is that so? Perhaps its thine face compels others to talk.” You don’t really know if that’s supposed to be a compliment. “Um… thank you?” Ranni hums, before her gaze drifts to your hand and something catches her eye. “What is that golden item thou holdeth?” You look down at the needle in your hand. The gold sheen is still visible despite the lack of light. You hand it over for her to see. “The queen gave it to me, I don’t know what it’s for, though.” The witch turns it over, inspecting it from every angle. She remains silent for a moment, deep in concentration, before addressing you once more. “Tarnished… wouldst thou lend this needle to me? I believe I might find it’s true purpose.”

You weren’t expecting Ranni to take such interest in the needle. If it wasn’t something important, you doubt she would give it the time of day. You gaze up the lift and to Rennala’s study. Would Lobo approve of letting Ranni keep the needle? He may have handed the Fingerslayer Blade to her, but he had an idea of what it could do, unlike the needle. Looking back at her, you saw her twiddling with it once more. “Well…” She lifts her gaze, and you decide that if Ranni trusted you with her feelings, it’s only fair you trust her back. “... Alright. You can keep it.” The witch gives a short yet polite bow, storing the needle away in her robe. “I thank thee… I will repay thine kindness with information.” Now that peaks your interest, information about what? The witch pulls a small map of the lands between from her robe (How many pockets does that thing have?) and points to a spot in northern Caleid. “Hath thou ever cometh across a peculiar root when exploring catacombs that hath been defiled by Those who live in death?” You nod, the Deathtouched Catacombs had one such root hidden away behind a locked door. The smell of the thing was unbearable, but Lobo took it just in case. Ranni taps the spot on the map once again. “In this location lieth the Beastial Sanctum, and within it, Gurranq the Beast Clergyman. Feed thy root to him, and he shall reward thee.” A clergyman, that feeds on a gross root? It’s worth checking out you suppose.

You want to thank Ranni for the information, but the moment you open your mouth, the lift makes a loud sound as it rises. You turn for just a moment, but by the time Lobo comes down, Ranni is gone. Figures she wouldn’t want to be seen by your companion. Lobo walks over to you, a worried look in his face. “I… I came to check up on you… because you seemed upset before.” You shook your head, but that didn’t erased the worried look in his face. “I’m fine. I just want to go home.” Lobo looks around, it’s just the two of you and the rotting corpse of that knight. In that whispery tone of his, he asked. “Did something happen?” You grab his hand and pull him in for a tight hug. “I’ll explain it to you later, alright? Right now, I just want to go home… with you.”

[li76rr]

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[destinysbounty]

iirc the only moments where we definitively see Wu use his powers are when he conjured his elemental dragon in season 5, arguably the scenes where he's wielding the scroll of forbidden spinjitzu, and in the core shorts when he creates that whole illusory reality for the ninja to adventure in. And since Core doesn't take place until after season 13, for the large majority of the series we don't see much of his powers at all. To this day we're still not entirely sure what he's capable of. They say he has the element of creation, but we very rarely see him actually, well, create something.

And sure, maybe he simply chooses not to use his powers. But idk, did you see how devastated he was after Zane's death/s? After Morro's death? say what you will about Wu, but i don't think he'd just sit on his hands and allow those things to happen if he had the power to at least try and stop it.

But, see, we had a similar situation with Garmadon. We never knew what power he possessed or what he was truly capable of until the very end of season 8, when he fulfilled his true potential. Maybe the same could be said for Wu. Maybe he hasn't fulfilled his true potential either.

I mean, considering all the things he's been through and done in the last few thousand years, it seems reasonable that he's got baggage. We could sit and debate for years about what's the thing that may or may not be holding him back.

And as for why we're able to see limited use of his powers even though he hasn't reached his true potential...well in season 5 Nya demonstrated that it's possible to use your elemental power without having reached your potential (she was using her water powers to blast ghosts all through the finale, even before she went full wave machine on the preeminent). And Lloyd again in season 2 - we see him use his powers, but he didn't really fulfill his ~potential~ until his battle against the Overlord. When you have the element you CAN use it, but until you unlock your true potential your abilities will be very limited. Which is what I think we're seeing here with Wu.

So idk. Maybe that's why Wu never uses his powers, even in situations that might really benefit from them. Because Wu can't. Because Wu still has something in his past that's holding him back. Possibly several somethings. Idk just a thought.

[jangofctts]

Are You in Or Out?

Rated: Explicit 

Word count: 11.5K yall I am SORRY

Warnings: good lord y'all here we GO-- smut, explicit language, violence and mentions of blood and gore, injuries, unprotected sex (don't be a dick, wrap that stick!), oral (m&f receiving), blindfolding, vaginal and anal fingering, vaginal and anal sex, double penetration, spit is used as lube but for the love of GOD doNT DO THAT, there are some dom vibes on Paz’s end    

Summary: The job you’re on takes a turn for the worst--Paz comes to your rescue and you're brought to the Covert. There you meet Din Djarin. though during a good natured sparring session, you’re suddenly stuck between an age old rivalry that spirals out of hand. Hopefully an agreement can be met. 

a/n: hey...how y’all doin....SO lemme explain you smthn. I said helmets must be OfF--giv me them LIPS BABEY so this is a slight AU in which mandos can see other mandos’ faces. ya get me? I also tHot that it would be nice and fun to set the timeline 5-6 years BEFORE the plot of the Mandalorian so we gots a younger din here. anyway, as always enjoy and I hope you like!!

Mistakes, mistakes, mistakes—

Some as little as burning your finger on the nozzle of a smoking blaster or tripping over your own shoelaces. Simple things. Mindless things. 

Nothing that could ever compare to the catastrophic decision of picking up bounty hunting as a reliable source of income. 

The little ones were easy—tax evaders and deserters of the Empire—most who’d yield and gladly follow without complaint just at the sight of your blaster pointed between their eyes. And the gag of it is—most of the time you never bothered to load the damn thing. 

Reckless.

An invitation for disaster. 

But skirting that precarious edge, one little slip up away from plunging head first into inevitable trouble is better than Bracca. Stars—anything is better than Bracca. There’s no glory in bounty hunting but there’s even less in ship scrapping. Abysmal pay in exchange for risking your life on rain slicked metal with only the Ibdis Maw to break your fall.  

The guild you work for is considerate—scratch that. Greef Karga is considerate. Sure the flirting is a touch unbearable but it saves your ass in the long run. All easy money bounties set aside for you in exchange for a cheap drink, hollow laughs and sugar sweet smiles. 

It’s enough credits to get by—more than plenty to rent a room and charter a ship. 

But there’s only so many bounties to capture within the limits of the guild and oh so many people the empty blaster trick works on. And so the credits begin to thin; it gets too expensive to buy off a pilot and the debate over buying food or being able to pay for your room becomes more frequent than the scraprats that skitter inside the walls.  

It’s suicide to snag a higher paying bounty because....well—these bounties shoot back. 

Whatever.

 Might as well die trying. Who knows, maybe you could score big time if you manage to pull this off. 

Maybe. 

                                                       -=-=-=-

You’re not sure who’s more surprised—Karga when you asked for the bounty or yourself when he actually gave it to you. 

“Are you sure, kid? This could—“

“End in a fiery shitshow? Yeah—I figured that,” you sigh, swirling your drink with a little complimentary toothpick. “But I need the money.” 

“Hah! You’ve got guts, girl.” He flashes you a smile and smooths down his mustache with his thumb and forefinger. “Tell you what. The last assignment was just taken but I’m sure if you run you could catch him. Work somethin’ out.”

Jumping from your seat, you throw on your coat and toss a couple credits onto the table to cover the drink. “What’s he look like?” 

“Big fellow—Mandalorian. You’ll know when you see him.”

You shout your thanks over your shoulder and hightail outta there. The landing docks aren’t far, you can see them from here. It’s finding the guy that could pose a problem.

If he hasn’t already left, you bitterly think. 

However, it seems the universe is on your side today. Karga was right. He is big. Stands out like a sore thumb against his ship that glitters dully in the overcast sky. Kinda like an oversized blueberry. A yellow and blue blueberry….not important—

“Hey! Hey, you!” You’re so close, just a couple yards away. You swear and hurry up your pace as he steps onto the loading ramp. “Big guy! Large...blue man?”

You trip over your own feet as he turns his head. Fuck—

No way are you gonna be able to bargain with this guy. Built like a fucking AT-AT and probably just as stubborn. After all, no one would ever be dumb enough to come between a Mandalorian and their quarry. You grimace, and suck in a breath—

Before a word even leaves your mouth he interrupts with a steady, unwavering;

“No.”

Your brows furrow. “I didn’t even say anything!”

“I know what you were going to ask,” he huffs, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “I work alone.”

Ok, then. You didn’t want to resort to begging, but you’re kinda running out of options here. You take a steadying breath and plant yourself at the bottom of the ramp. “C’mon man. Look—I’ll let you take seventy percent of the cut and I can—“

“You’ll let me?” He repeats, the staticky tone of his voice dropping into an edge more cutting than broken transparisteel. The metal platting on the ramp vibrates from the weight of his step to move closer; Stars it takes every fucking inch of willpower to hold your ground. “You’re lucky if I let you leave with your life. Get lost.” 

Fuckfuckfuck—you should listen. You wanna fucking run for the hills and never look back in case he comes looking to purge your name from the kriffing galaxy. You clench your jaw and steel your nerves. Too bad—you’ve dug your heels so far into this empire of dirt and false bravado that your only way out is continuing to poke the sleeping bear until he snaps your spine or caves.

You have to crane your neck to glare into that dark strip of his vizor, seeing as he’s invited himself into your personal space. “No.”  

“No?” He mocks, now toe to toe with your scuffed up boots. 

Your teeth clench, a scalding flush burning through your cheeks and all the way down to your chest. He’s toying with you—finding amusement in your stubbornness and apparent lack of braincells for challenging him. “You don’t scare me.” 

The man hums, a deep purr that rumbles through his entire ribcage as he raises his gloved hand. You curse yourself for flinching because surely he’s about to crush your skull like a fucking grape, but no. All he does is fix your rumbled collar then pat your cheek.     

“I don’t need the extra baggage.”

“I’m not baggage,” you sneer, slapping his hand away. “I can handle myself.” 

“With an empty blaster?” He points out, tipping his head to the side. “Your parlor tricks won’t do you any good on this job.”

“I’m a good shot!” You sputter, placing your hands over you hips and mustering up your best glare. “W-when I have ammo…” 

“Right.”

Meeting Paz Vizsla, could have gone far better, to put it into the most simplest of words. Jagged and hard to settle into a routine around each other for the journey to Nar Shaddaa in a tiny, old, and cramped freighter ship. Most cycles you have to wedge yourself beside a cargo crate to sleep. In addition to that, how it’s able to break through the atmosphere let alone fly is beyond you—an entire mystery on its own.       

At least you’re able to sit in the spare seat inside the cockpit—one of the only places available to stretch your legs. The only problem is that it’s also where Paz Vizsla likes to lurk (well, not lurk—it’s his ship and it’s where he can comfortably fit but—to each their own). 

There’s a net of tension still woven between you—each interaction like tiptoeing over eggshells. Though, like all things, it becomes simpler. There’s not exactly any ongoing conversations—you don’t want to pry into a life you know nothing about—it’s not your business despite the cumulation of questions that linger in the back of your mind. You know when to take a hint—not every person is willing to indulge you about their livelihood, and surely not something as secretive and well guarded as the Mandalore.  

Familiarity is what you want to call it. Comfortable with each other’s presence with small talk speckled in throughout the never-ending vastness of hyperspace. Compared to the infinite turmoil in your life, slippery footholds and uncertainty—Paz Vizsla is steady. In a way— predictable and safe in the confines of this ship.       

You’d even go as far as to label him kind, a friend maybe—if you look past the grumpiness and rather poor taste in corny jokes. You know it’s stupid, no doubt stemming from the deep ache of loneliness that comes hand in hand with staking it out on your own in the galaxy; but you can’t help but wish that this could be a new normal. Not some once in a lifetime thing where you both part ways, fade into the recesses of memory and leave it at that. 

If things go well—and rarely do they on a job—maybe you’d pluck up enough courage to ask him if you could stay. There’s no harm in it…right?

                                                 -=-=-=-

Well—the cynical part of you was right.

It did end up in a fiery shit show. 

Turns out the stupid quarry you’d been tracking excelled in long range weaponry. A former marksman for the Empire to be exact. Guess that tidbit of information wasn’t pertinent. A need to know sorta thing, if you will. 

You feel the molten bolt of plasma connect with your side before your ears pick up the sound of a weapon firing, like a crack of lighting in the empty alleyway. And before your body even connects with the duracrete, Paz is returning fire. A brilliant neon red against the hazy blur of shadowy buildings.  

Kinda weird how knocking the back of your head hurts worse than the literal blaster wound burned into your side. Shock maybe. Or the heat from the plasma cauterized each veins and artery it tore through and ate away at flesh and nerves. Hm…          

You’re sprawled in a wet pool of something—either your own blood or a puddle of stagnant gutter water and damn—you’re wearing your favorite shirt.

It doesn’t matter at this point…

You’re choking on your own air from the big ass hole blasted into your diaphragm, so to say things are looking grim is an understatement.  

Nar Shaddaa isn’t your first choice to kick the can on, but hey—not everyone gets the luxury of dying on Naboo. And just as you’re ready to slip away into that sweet, sweet abyss, it seems your fellow armored friend has other plans. 

The beskar is freezing against your cheek after he deadlifts you off the duracrete—you remember that plain as day. That and the hushed rumble of Paz’s voice insisting you save your dwindling supply of air instead of apologizing to him—or ordering you to stay alive for kriff’s sake. It’s impossible to argue with Paz—like trying to bite through durasteel, and while those beckoning tendrils of eternal slumber are mighty tempting, you cling to your life with all the strength you have left. After all, inconveniencing someone with a corpse is such a party foul to the highest degree.    

The rest is muddled—like dredging up silt and clay in a murky river that just leaves you with a pounding headache between your eyes. It’s a terrible mess of pain and bouts of temporary consciousness, mistaken with fever dreams and yup—more pain. The only consistent is Paz—hovering nearby or settled beside you—through thick and thin as you heal. 

There’s no solid reason your brain can conjure as to why he brought you to the Covert—it’d have been easier to just dump you at the nearest hospital and be done with it. You’re not his responsibility and you’re too afraid to ask what it means. Too many possibilities—too many answers you aren’t in the mood to face or untwist.     

And so you leave it be, set aside for another time—which brings you to the present day…        

You’re splayed over your little makeshift cot, feet propped up on a spare pillow as you scour through a cheesy Coruscanti gossip magazine. It’s years old—the only piece of entertainment you could find other than a weapon in the Covert. And seeing as a massive hole had been blasted through your ribcage, picking up the clever art of throwing vibroblades or shooting targets to pass the time was out of the question.   

Even if you’d rather fall into a Sarlaac pit than stare at the wall for hours on end yet again—it hasn’t been all that bad. It’d taken weeks before you regained enough strength to sit up on your own, let alone walk—and walking is putting it lightly. It was more of a stiff legged shuffle better suited on a two hundred year old woman seconds from disintegrating into dust at the mere hint of a breeze.  

Not to mention—your right lung was all but shredded. Ripped apart from the plasma bolt and miraculously reconstructed by a more than questionable bacta tank, hopeful thoughts and well wishes. To this very day you still sound like a broken air filter. 

Eh.    

Could be worse. 

At least you aren’t dead. 

Just another setback that adds on the growing pile of reasons why never to leave the Covert. Free food, free board and mild entertainment to top it off. Paz had stayed at your bedside for the most part while you recovered—stuck with babysitting your sorry ass until you regained a bit of mobility. The times Paz hadn’t been at your side to stave off the boredom, it was up to you to find your own fun. 

Snooping is what Paz had labeled it—but you saw it more as an adventure. You met Din Djarin exploring (lost is what you actually were) in the dimly lit underbelly of Nevarro, after all. Yes, you may have scared the ever loving shit out of the poor guy and yes, he may have singed off your brows with a five foot jet of fucking fire—but hey. No one got hurt.        

And you made a new friend. Sorta…Din is difficult to read, subtler in his soft spoken words and quiet demeanor. A bit like a skittish loth-cat at the start, but nowadays it’s not uncommon to find him lounging in the same space as you or hovering over your shoulder, awfully curious in whatever it is you choose to do. Like Paz, Din isn’t overly fond of sharing much information about himself but he never complains after you regale tales of your own vastly fascinating past. He seems interested enough—tilts his head a tick to the right when you speak to indicate that yes, he’s listening despite the unforgiving dark line of his visor.      

There are others in the Covert too—some so elusive you have a hard time believing they exist. Shadows of what they once were before the rise of the Empire. And so, you count yourself lucky that you’d been introduced to two others—Aeris Fenn, a young man nearly as tall as a Wookie, and a woman named Ives Arrey; her armor a flashy green—damn near florescent in the light. 

They’re nice enough company. Aeris is a chatterbox, his wit sharper than a blade but lacking in any forethought before he speaks. Ives is the far opposite—rolls each sentence in her mouth before she voices it, but in no way is she angelic. Maker—you’d bet your entire left asscheek she’s behind each bad decision and silly shenanigans Aeris sticks his nose into. He never learns—not after a harsh chiding or cuff around the helmet from Paz or the Armorer could dampen is childlike enthusiasm or steer him away from repeating the same mistake over and over.  

Though if you read one more kriffing sentence of this garbage magazine you’re about to invite chaos himself to entertain you. Good thing too because just as you sit up to find the red armored Mandalorian—Paz rounds the corner and steps into your little broom closet that hardly passes for a room. 

“Paz!” You greet, tossing the magazine over your shoulder. “Please tell me we’ll be doing something interesting or else I might start ripping my hair out. Or maybe commit a heinous crime—haven't decided yet.”      

Paz grunts and shakes his head. “You’ll be doing neither. But today we’ll be sparing—hopefully that will curve your boredom.”

You scrunch up your face. “Sparring? Er, no thanks—I choose life.” 

“You breathe funny since your injury,” he says, jabbing a finger between your ribs. “And all you’ve been doing lately is laying around.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you sneer, tucking your arms over your chest. “Didn’t realize I was supposed to be running laps with half a lung.”

“It’s like stretching a muscle, you need to gain your strength back.” He retorts. “This will be good for you.” 

You groan and flop back into bed. “I don’t wanna. I was pretty much dead like three cycles ago—cut me some slack, man.”

There’s a brief silence as if he’s mulling over your words, but he’s stubborn. You crane your head to look at him as he says your name with a deep sigh attached to it.   

“Truthfully, I’m surprised you’ve survived this long.” He says it quietly, fragile even, like he’s still expecting you to tip over and die on the spot. You very well might.  

You huff. “Wow. Thanks, Paz.” 

You feel his heavy stare through the helmet. “What happened to you that night was a mistake. It wasn’t preventable but the least I can do is teach you basic selfdefense.”  

You gripe out your complaints but you know you’ve been beat—and well, a bit of your agreement is based on guilt. 

Damn it.  

                                                     -=-=-=-

It’s weird to see Paz without his heavy duty gear—like seeing him naked or a crab without a shell. The only piece he continues to wear is his helmet and padded gloves and under clothes, but it’s still weird. Strange enough that it shocks you tongue into remaining still instead of bitching about this. 

He leads you to a wing of the Covert you’ve yet to discover and ushers you through the doorway. The floor is padded, a bit smaller than you expected and already occupied by none other than Aeris Fenn. 

It’s a whole other kriffing shock to the head seeing him without the plates and layers of fabric and beskar too. The armor makes him bulkier—fuller and much more intimidating. Now, with only his black underclothes on, Aeris could be the spitting image of a sentient tree. Willowy limbs that stick out like branches as he stretches on the padded mat. He lazily swings his head around as you greet him, his face still covered by the black beskar painted with streaks of red. 

“So you choose sparring over knife throwing?” Aeris snorts. “And to think I thought of you as a friend.” 

“You think I chose to be here?” You say, grumpy and still upset at the choice of activity. Really, a brisk walk around the Covert would’ve been fine.

Aeris shrugs. “Ah, and I see you’ve roped in my favorite vod. Tch, he uses his fists instead of his words to teach. I wish you luck—you’ll need it.”      

You open your mouth to retort but Paz beats you to it. 

“Leave.” 

“I’ve just arrived, actually,” Aeris scoffs, folding his torso over his other leg to stretch. “Perhaps you could reschedule. After all—our guest is quite free most days.” 

Welp—you’re perfectly fine with that. Problem solved. 

You spin on your heel and make a break for it but Paz snatches your wrist and pulls you back to his side. “Aeris.”  

“Paz,” Aeris mocks, tipping his helmet to the side. 

Paz exhales, a long, tired sound and grovels out another plea in clipped Mando’a. Aeris languidly stands and brushes off imaginary dust from the front of his pants. “Sorry, what was that? I don’t understand your accent.” 

“Boy—“

“No, no, it’s alright.” Aeris sighs, waving his hand in a mopey display as if he were told that his birthday party were canceled for the fifth year in a row. “I’d have trouble speaking too if my enormously thick head were cooped up in that little bucket of yours all day.”  

You wince. 

In the time you’ve known Paz Vizsla, he’s never been one to launch into rash decisions fueled by anger—he lets it simmer and build like an oncoming storm over the ocean. Devastating once it reaches land.

Aeris bobs his head and inspects his black leather glove, picking at a loose thread on the inseam over the thumb. He clicks his tongue. “Or'dinii—you’re going to kill her.”  

Your offended scoff is ignored as Paz steps forward; jutting his chin up to even out the few inches Aeris holds over the man. “You still haven’t learned to shut your mouth, boy.” 

The tension surges and crackles like a volt of electricity through the air—unresolved and ready to ignite with the sparking embers of Paz’s growing irritation. It’s not a fight Aeris Fenn will win. He’s volatile and hotheaded—but his expertise is in long range weaponry. Precise, deadly and swift—not whatever this little pissing match is heading towards.    

Aeris clicks his tongue as Paz digs a fist into the black fabric of his shirt. Paz yanks him forward, the metallic clink of their helmets colliding an unpleasant scrape that pierces your eardrums. Aeris snarls out sharpened words in Mando’a as his willowy fingers shoot up to curl beneath the lip of Paz’s helmet. 

In the blink of an eye, Paz lifts Aeris up by his collar and launches him across the room like he weighs nothing more than a couple of down pillows. His helmet meets the wall with a resounding clank, chipping some of the red paint outlining the visor. Ouch. 

Like a kicked dog, Aeris clambers to his feet, still dazed and swaying and for a fearful second you think he’ll retaliate. But with whatever braincells he happens to possess today—he instead spits out a venomous curse that even yourself would hesitate to repeat. He leaves without another word, bristling with rage. 

Your flash Paz a questioning stare. “The hell was that about?” 

Paz waves it away with an irritated grunt. “His heart is in the right place but he is young. Aeris doesn’t understand his place in the Covert yet and I doubt he will for years to come.” 

You frown. “Poor guy…” 

Paz mutters something under his breath. “Enough distractions. We’ve wasted enough time already.”

“Y’know…I think that’s enough excitement for today. I think I’ll be going now—“ Your last ditch attempt at weaseling out of this is quickly thwarted the moment you turn your back.  

You wheeze as the heel of Paz’s palm shoves into your shoulder blade, the force of it sending you stumbling to the ground. “Paz—“

“Go on. Hit me,” he orders. You squeak, narrowly avoiding the well aimed kick that skims the top of your scalp. 

You scramble to your feet, skirting out of range of the oncoming right hook. “So you attack me instead?” 

“How do you expect to catch quarries who are bigger than you?” He presses. You hiss as the points of his knuckles dig into the meat of your shoulder. 

You dance out of reach and rub your arm, a dull throb flaring up in the muscle. “I dunno—electrocute them?”

“Not if they take you by surprise.” 

You screech as his knuckles skim your cheek. Adrenaline pierces you veins and you wildly throw a flaky punch that wouldn’t even impress a toddler. He catches your fist with ease, his entire hand dwarfing your clenched fingers. “You can do better than that.” 

You snarl and struggle to rip your hand back. “I’m a scrapper. I don’t fight.”

“No,” he retorts. You fall onto your ass as he abruptly lets go of your hand. “You’re a bounty hunter.” 

You roll your eyes. “Hardly—why can’t I just stay here?”

Although there’s nothing to see with that swatch of black covering his eyes, you can certainly feel the look he’s giving you. A deep sigh hisses through the vocoder. “You can stay here—“

A triumphant smile splits across your face—

“—but not without contributing where it’s due.”

You puff up your cheeks and let out a dismayed stream of air. “Booo—lame.”

He sighs again and helps you off the floor. “Even if you leave the Guild, what I’m teaching you is helpful.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you say. “I’ll give you a call after I use your invaluable skills to beat up some thug.”

Paz ignores your comment and turns on his heel. “Let’s go through it again. This time use your front two knuckles instead of your whole fist.”

As your eyes land over the stretch of tight fighting fabric over his back an idea pops into your head. It’s a petty move but getting a punch in is fruitless—like trying to beat up a brick wall. You don’t fancy a broken hand and your knuckles are already bruised and swollen to the point where it’s hard to bend them. 

And so, without any forethought and with a running head start, you launch yourself onto him, your arms coiling around his neck. It does the job—takes him by surprise and makes him tip to the right. 

Aha! Yes!

Your reign of victory is short lived, however—

He latches onto your forearms strung around his neck and yanks. And much in the same way he threw Aeris like a sack of potatoes—you’re no different. For a short stretch of time that feels kriffing endless; you soar through the air, your directional whereabouts violently ripped out beneath you and equally nauseating in the same breath. 

Why you ever agreed to this—you don’t know.   

Your shoulder blade connects with the mat first, leaving behind a dull sting as you roll and tumble with uncontrollable momentum. Oh, yeah—you’ll feel that in the morning. 

Groaning, you thank the Maker that your body eventually settles into a miserable little pile of limbs and pain. But, it seems whatever higher power that lingers in the edges of the galaxy hasn’t decided to put you out of your misery just yet. 

A bulky shadow blocks out the dim lighting overhead, and for a brief anxiety ridden moment you’re afraid it’s Paz. You roll onto your back with a pathetic groan, a beg for mercy on the tip of your tongue—but as your eyes flutter open they’re met with an entirely different man. 

Din Djarin looms over you, his head cocked to the side as you blink in dumbfounded bewilderment. Ah, hell— 

You swallow, a furious heat bitting at your cheeks. “Uh…fine weather we’re having…”

“We’re inside,” he states with a brief glance up to the ceiling. 

You purse your lips. “Huh.”

With a pensive hum he offers his hand, you sigh and roll over, accepting his gloved hand. He hoists you up easily and adjusts your rumpled collar. “You ok?”

“Pfft, yeah,” you groan, rubbing your throbbing shoulder. “Never better.”

The low grumble of your name is a cross between disbelief and irritation. Din jerks his head, his attention zeroing in on Paz. “Are you trying to kill her?” 

“She isn’t made of glass.” 

“She is still recovering—“

Normally you’d intervene, but their bickering is tiring and it gives you the excuse to lie down. By the time one of them caves you’ve counted exactly one hundred and twelve weird ceiling stains. They should get that checked out.  

“Very well,” Paz snarls, cutting through your wandering thoughts. “You teach her.” 

Din scoffs, his shoulders drawn tight as he stomps over to your splayed out self. “Get up.”

“Geez, fine,” you grumble, not in the mood to test his patience further. “Since you asked so nicely.”

Later he’ll no doubt apologize but right now? He has to prove a point. Din cuts right to it, moves in close to place your clenched fists in the right stance and nudges at your feet until they’re a bit wider than hip distance. 

“You have to get in close with a bigger opponent,” he says, stepping into your space until your fists are close enough to touch his chest. “We don’t have much range here—easier to break our guard too.” 

“Right. And how would you suggest I do that?”

“You’re always beating me at cards.” Din says, tipping his head to the side. “You have a clever mind. Use it.” 

“But I always cheat.” You point out, dropping your guard to swat at a stray hair.   

He catches your wrists and returns them to where they ought to be. “Quick enough to get away with it.” 

You make a noise of uncertainty but do as you're told. Din takes a couple steps back and with a rough order you begin. 

He’s faster than Paz—bats at your guard in quick bursts and steps away when you attempt to hit back. It’s a dance almost—somehow elegant in its brutality of bruises and flashes of pain as you move around one another. Compared to Din, Paz is almost clumsy but unpredictable. Din—despite the rapidness of his attacks and evasiveness, becomes predictable.

He steps to to left—you follow. He rocks onto his toes to jab his fist forward and that’s where you find a break. Punching Din’s helmet won’t do you any good but catching the juncture of his shoulder with your elbow is completely feasible. Too bad that you’re not the only one with a clever mind.        

Din uses the momentum of your attack to catapult you to the ground—his own body rolling with you in order to capture you in a headlock of sorts. This sucks. After this you’ll never be setting foot in this Maker forsaken room again. 

Din tightens his elbow that’s looped around your throat as you squirm and flail, trapped against his chest. He grunts as your elbow digs into his ribs but holds steady and snakes his free arm across your front, pinning your limbs to your body in an unbreakable vice. All mobility is cut off as his knee pushes between your thighs, locking your leg out into an uncomfortable and frankly quite awkward angle. 

Inhaling a shaky breath, you arch as the crown of his helmet skims along the curve of your throat; the bite of beskar frigid and startling against your flushed skin. You can see his visor out of the corner of your eye; glittering and dark like the polished obsidian on Black Spire and endless like the greedy maw of a black hole. 

Your breath hitches as he shifts and curls his head closer to your ear. His voice rumbles low and deep through his chest and vibrates against the delicate cartilage. “Yield.” 

However much your pride wrestles with the sensible part of your brain, it’s all for naught as you jerk your head in defeat.  

In retrospect you should’ve said something—used your voice or made some kinda sound because suddenly Din’s forearm digs alarmingly hard into your windpipe. He read the stuttered jerk of your head as another pitiful act of defiance but no. Nope. 

Here you are—asphyxiating.   

Not exactly what you had in mind, being strangled by a Mandalorian and all—but a chokehold where you could very well die was not it. 

Fuzzy darkness begins to shade the corners of your vision, lightheadedness and a curious warmth that prickles down your spine settling low in your belly. A raspy gasp manages to slip through your blocked off airway, and stars why does this feel good?   

“Din—”

Paz’s sharp bark is distant above the ringing in your ears and it all stops.

You gulp in air that burns your throat like refined fire whiskey—hunched over the mat as a large palm rubs soothing circles over your upper back. You cough and roll over, sounding like a dying animal run over by a speeder then hit with a spiked club to polish it off. 

You’re quickly herded into Paz’s arms and pulled into his lap. Still wheezing and attempting to recover lost oxygen, whatever Din is trying to say translates into an indiscernible hum against the ringing in your ears.  

“I’m fine,” you mutter, though neither of them care to listen. Like bristling wolves, snapping at each other’s heels.  

“Apologize to her,” there’s not so much as a centimeter of room to argue. “Now.”           

It’s nice of Paz you suppose—defending your honor and what not, but you’re not a vengeful person. It was an honest mistake and you want to explain that so Din quits looking like a kicked puppy, yet the sudden touch over your ankle stops you. All the times Din has initiated contact it’d been a friendly pat to your shoulder or ruffling you hair, and while touching your ankle isn’t exactly scandalous it’s certainly an odd place to put your hand on. 

Your fingers clutch Paz’s shirt as you eye the man lingering at the bottom of your feet, his gloved thumb unconsciously rubbing patterns into the exposed skin between your boot and your pant leg. “Cyare—I’m sorry.” 

You blink and lick your lips. Interesting. “I-I don’t know what that word means.”

His hand inches higher, resting on the swell of your calf. “Sweetheart…darling…loved one—“ 

There’s a shift—a dark undercurrent that none of you should be dipping your toes into. There’s a million and one things to say or do to sever this at the root, but are you going to? Nah. 

Din’s thumb now rests over your knee, goosebumps following in his wake. “Should I keep going?” 

It too hot—stuffy with both of their heavy stares locked on your flushed face. You squirm and glance up at Paz who only offers an impassive stare. Great.   

“I can make it up to you,” Din continues, his hand stationary—a warm weight even through the fabric of your pants. “If you let me.” 

Your mouth feels drier than the desert on Jakku. This…nothing good could come out of what Din is hinting at. This is uncharted territory—launching yourself into the great unknown without any idea of what’ll fester and grow if you agree. 

It’s not like it hasn’t crossed your mind—it’s just…it’s never been both of them at the same time. These men are short-tempered, an open flame to jet fuel with deeply seated ire woven into the very fabric of their beings. You’ve barely scratched the surface on the inner workings of their mutual hostility, but you’re bright enough to question if this will make it worse. Tinder and brittle twigs feeding and enabling the hungry flames of rivalry to spiral and consume with chaotic brilliance of a dying star—

But, oh—

Isn’t it worth taking the risk? 

You suck in a grounding breath and slowly extend your leg that Din touches, gingerly skimming the toe of your shoe along the inseam of his inner thigh. “H-how would you…make it up to me?”

Din preens at your answer and shuffles closer, lifting your legs so that they rest in his lap. Devotion drips off his words like a fine liquor as he toys with the laces on your boots. “Anything—say it and it’s yours.”    

Sparks of molten heat race down your spine and metastasize in your lower belly, spreading through each vein and artery like a some sort of invasive ivy. You spare a look up at Paz as he shifts.      

“Go ahead, girl,” Paz assures. “Answer him.” 

It’s an unspoken, buzzing sort of thing like the static air before a storm, crackling and surging with pent up energy. You all know the implications of what’s to come—but it’s your words, quiet and steady that irons that nail into your coffin.

“Take me like you mean it.” 

The next few moments pass in a dizzying blur, a mess of anticipation as your shoes are yanked off, your pants following soon after and tossed into some unknown corner of the room. Paz helps you out of your shirt, a shiver wracking through your body from the chill, leaving you bare save for your underthings. Yet the warmth that seeps through his shirt and his hands that linger over your ribcage do a lovely job at making up for the cold.

Din shuffles closer and brings his fingers up to cup the side of your face, lowering his head to rest the crown of his helmet on your forehead. “Wanna touch you.” 

Your breath hitches as Paz’s hands sweep up your torso, cupping and kneading your breasts. “Y-you already are touching me, Din." 

Paz snorts as the rough leather of his gloves scrape over your skin and unhook your bindings. You hardly hear Din over your own whine as Paz rolls your hardened nipples between a forefinger and thumb. 

“I want to feel you—without the gloves,” Din clarifies, fighting to keep your attention on him. “Will you let me?”  

Maker that shouldn’t even be a question. You moan out your approval, delighted that both of them decide to slip off the padded fabric. Din touches your bare thigh the same moment Paz returns his hands to your tits and it’s exhilarating. The rasp of their bare palms against your flesh is addicting—something so foreign and warm compared to their usual armor and thick layered clothing. 

You arch into Paz’s hand as it curls around the base of your throat, a tentative pressure but still heavy. “You’d let us do anything, wouldn’t you? Needy little thing.”

“Yes,” you croak, already debauched and falling apart at the seams. “Anything.”

You’re all too happy to fade away in the embrace of the larger man but the other participant is far from letting that slide. Din grabs your hand, guiding it towards the front of his trousers, the drawstrings already loose and easy to pull aside. He groans and twitches as your fingertips flirt along his navel, then curl over the waistband, tugging his pants the rest of the way down to pool around his knees. 

You reach for the already impressive outline of his cock pressing against his boxers, but Paz cupping your cunt through your underwear just before you touch Din is distracting. You gasp and arch as Paz digs the heel of his palm against your clit, electrifying ecstasy zipping down your spine with each touch. 

There’s a twinge of guilt after Din huffs and drags your limp wrist back to his cock, this time encouraging you to palm him by guiding your actions with his own hand until you lazily oblige. Din’s quiet grunts, gravely against the vocoder do nothing but throw more jet fuel to the fire inside your belly. The growing urge to actually touch him gnaws and corrodes the forefront of your brain. With a firm yank his boxers are quick to join his trousers and Maker—

Fuck—

Will he even fit?

Din is thick, rosy brown and flushed at the tip and beginning to curl towards his bellybutton. A bead of liquid shines at the tip, dribbling down the underside as he wraps his fist around the base of his length. He gives himself a languid stroke before he, once again, reminds your hand of what it’s supposed to be doing. Din is searing in your palm, molten and stiffening to hardened steel in your grip.   

“You look so fuckin’ pretty like this,” Din hisses as his head rolls back onto his shoulders. “S-so pretty holding my cock.”

Your desperation tears at your insides, insatiable and Maker— you wanna taste him. You want to hear every little stuttered moan and feel each twitch of his hips as he claims your mouth as his own.    

But before you’re able to ask Din if he’d be willing to fuck your throat, Paz grips your knee and slings your leg over his thigh, murmuring praise as he peels off your underwear. Paz’s hand snakes down to your pussy and runs two thick fingers through your already slick cunt, then delicately parts your folds. 

It’s like a fucking bomb going off as his thumb grazes over your swollen clit. His forearm locks tight around your waist, keeping you in place as you arch and tremble. Paz is feather light and teasing, as he strokes over the little bundle of nerves in a painstakingly slow rhythm. 

“Paz—“ 

He nudges your cheek with his helmet and chuckles. “You’re so sensitive, vaar’ika. Such lovely noises too.”  

Paz trades in his light touches for using his two fingers instead. They form a relaxed ‘v’ shape, trapping your clit in between the digits as he massages in a steady up and down motion. You cry out, every nerve shocked and flooded with saccharine pleasure, shoving you so treacherously close to that precarious edge of release.      

You have no fucking chance as a different set of fingers, leaner in length but just as bulky, carefully prod at your entrance. Din’s pointer finger slides into your cunt, quickly adding a second as your core clenches and stretches for him. The dual sensations over your clit and Din’s fingers steadily pumping and curling inside you send you hurling into that dazzling white-hot pleasure.     

Throwing your head back, you cry out—a jumbled mess of their names or just nonsense— pleasure crackling out from your core and all the way down your legs. Your cunt tightens like a vice around Din’s digits, your legs twitching as your high dips into prickly overstimulation. You whine, and swat at Paz’s hand, Din pulling out his own fingers a moment later and wiping your wetness on the inside of your thigh. 

Your head rests in the crook of Paz’s shoulder as your breath fans across the side of his helmet, fogging up the metal where the blue paint is chipped and scraped away. The shirt he wears smells a bit like sweat but the underlying scent of him is comforting—worn leather and something crisp, like fresh laundry. You don’t mean for the words to slip out—

You know better than that, but everything feels muddled and silly and, and, and—

“I wish I could kiss you.”  

It’s like dousing ice cold water on a pile of smoldering coals. A silence, petrifying and like the inhale before jumping off a cliff and into a rocky sea, ensues. Stupid, stupid, stupid—  

Paz shatters the fragile suspense with a rich laugh that burns away all the icy worry making itself a home in your ribcage. He moves his arm up, his fingers gripping your jaw to fix your gaze onto the other Mandalorian. “You want his mouth on you too?”  

You whimper and nod, but it isn’t enough. 

“Use your voice vaar’ika,” Paz hums, pressing the crown of his helmet against your cheek. “Tell us want you want.” 

“I-fuck—” Paz’s fingertips sneak up your torso, rough callous catching deliciously on your skin. “I wan’t your mouth on me. B-both of you.” 

Paz chuckles and releases his hold on your chin. “You’ll have to be blindfolded, sweet girl.”

Din scoffs, a harsh crackle through the vocoder. “Like she’d want to see your face anyway.”

“Please,” you mewl, turning your head to curl into Paz’s neck. It’s not ideal, but it’s a sacrifice you’re willing to make. “I don’t care. I need—“

“Patience, little one,” Paz purrs, rubbing up and down your bare sides in a soothing manner. All it does is stoke the flames. “You’ll get what you want.” 

Paz shifts, reaching for your abandoned shirt and stars—

You can feel his cock, firmer then tempered durasteel and poking into your lower back. Oh, hell—these men are going to ruin you. 

You’re nudged forward, your vision going dark once your shirt is securely tied around your head. The knot traps a few hairs that pull sharp against your scalp but the measly pain is worth it. Oh so worth it.  

“Is it too tight?” You hear Din ask, concern lacing his gravely vocals. 

You wave your hand in dismissal. “S’fine.”

“Cant see anything either, right?” 

You squirm, your patience spreading thin. “Din, please.”

“Fine.” There’s no bite to his tone and under different circumstances you’d have more composure. Acknowledge that they’re putting their religion, their whole being into your hands—a fragile trust that could so easily be shattered. 

Your ears pick up their subtle movements, their helmets landing onto the thin mat with soft thunks. With bated breath you wait for them to jump into action, seize every spare moment to taste your skin and breathe the same air. But—

“You need a haircut, vod.”

“And you need to shave.” Retorts Din with bitter indignation. 

“It’s hardly even stubble.” He chortles. You giggle and twist away as he scrapes his prickly cheek up and down your neck. “Besides—she likes it.” 

There’s another lull, and with the blindfold everything is amplified—the quick and quiet breathing of Din on your right and the slide of fabric against skin as Paz shifts. Your attention is captured by Din’s bare palm, warm and calloused like weathered leather left out in the afternoon sun. He caresses the outside of your thigh in smooth, longing strokes, enraptured by the softness of your skin. You whimper and let your leg fall open, exposing more of your thigh for his curious exploration. 

The sudden touch on your cheek is jarring. You know Paz is there—it’s not an easy thing to forget the solid chest you’re leaning against but it’s hard to focus. Difficult to settle on one thought before it slips away like grains of sand between a clenched fist. Paz’s touch is heavier than Din’s, ambitious and greedy but…mindful. Even as his fingers spread along your jaw and drag you into a deep, mouthwatering kiss. It’s…stars—   

There’s nothing that can describe this. No word that could ever hold a candle up to the way his lips, plush and soft, move against yours. His nose brushes against your cheek as he tilts his head and deepens the kiss, his warm tongue sliding against the seam of your bottom lip. 

You whine and bury your hand into his hair as Paz groans, a low rumble in his throat. You wonder what color it is, but carding your fingers through the curls atop his head suffices for now.

Your curiosity is abruptly ended as Din’s hand snakes around your forearm. You’re forcibly yanked away, only to be met with another pair of lips. Din murmurs an apology at the sting of his teeth bumping into your upper lip, but the pain is hardly the first thing on your mind. 

Din’s kiss is devouring—  

Scalding and bright—the galaxy, a thousand suns, all there ever will be and all that ever was. The way his lips move against yours is a devastatingly sharp contrast to the steady, syrupy sweet kiss Paz offers. Desperate and eager to surround you in his own arms—steal away any lingering thought and replace it with him. Din Djarin—  

You gasp as Din’s teeth nibble and pull on your bottom lip, only a moment before he surges closer, wrapping his hand around your jaw to hold it open as he licks deep into your mouth. Breaking for air, Din tangles his fingers into your hair at the base of your neck and yanks, baring the column of your throat. His travels down, the tender kisses morphing into teasing nips and lingering sucks that’ll turn into tender bruises in the morning. 

Din hovers over your breasts, his heated breath and cooling saliva the catalyst to the goosebumps that rush over your skin. He lightly tugs on your nipple using his teeth, then plants a sweet kiss over your sternum.   

“Can I taste you?” Din murmurs, his lips ghosting over your flesh. “Maker—wanna put my mouth on you.” 

“Din—“ A different set of lips latching onto the juncture of your neck and hijacks your train of thought. Wipes your mind clean until Paz is the sole thing you can consciously focus on. 

Paz laves his tongue over the shell of your ear and urges you to lean back against him once more. Your nose scrapes against his stubble as you tuck your head into the crook of his neck, his hips lazily rolling his hardened cock into your backside. 

“Or…” Paz rumbles, capturing your hand and interlacing your fingers with his. You marvel at the sheer size of his palm—astounded still when he leads his and your hands to palm his cock. “I could give you this. Fuck your pretty little cunt until you’re screaming for me.”

It’s a punch to the gut. Why the fuck do you have to choose? You squirm as Din points his tongue over your nipple then sucks it into his mouth. 

Working through the fog in your head, the answer is clearer than fucking crystal. Because who in their right mind would turn down a Mandalorian’s request to eat you out? Not you, that’s for sure. “Din—want your mouth.”

Din huffs in triumph and slips between your legs that part to accommodate his broad shoulders, leaving no patch of bare skin untouched and worshiped. You shiver as his tongue circles around your bellybutton then retreats. Din settles his head beside your knee and mouths a kiss there.  

You whine his name and buck your hips, heart beating wildly in your ears. The teasing is unbearable and, stars—if he doesn’t start now— 

He nibbles on the inside of your thigh, laving his warm tongue over each mark he leaves behind, buffering the sting of his teeth. Din snake his hands under your ass, hooking your knees over his shoulders as he heaves your cunt closer to his mouth. Din’s thumbs part your soaking pussy, his breath hot fanning over your cunt. His tongue his scalding—like liquid velvet as he dips the tip of his tongue from the base of your slit all the way up to your clit. 

Din sucks on the little bundle of nerves, rolling his tongue until you’re crying out, molten pleasure zipping through you. He grunts as your fingers tangle into his hair—fuck. Fuck, you need more.   

Arching into his mouth, all thoughts are obliterated; nothing but the warmth of his tongue, and his lips, devouring you as if he were a man seconds from death and you’re his saving grace. That frenzied desperation lingers on the edges of his movements like he’s afraid you’ll fade into smoke—but you’re not going anywhere. Not even a million credits could convince you to push Din’s head away. 

He sinks two fingers into your clenching hole and curls his fingers, stroking and curling his fingertips to make you sing. Zeros in on that little spot that causes the involuntary twitches of your leg and wrenches embarrassing, high pitched mewls that fill the room. You’re careening towards your high, the sensitivity of your last orgasm amping up the influx of pleasure. 

“Shit—Din. Close—I’m so close,” you gasp, pulling his hair tight enough that you know it must hurt. He makes no sign that it does, just groans and buries his tongue into your dripping hole, licking alongside his fingers that shovel more of your wetness into his mouth. 

Your release unfurls through your body like sticky molasses—smoldering embers that seep into each limb until they’re heavier than lead. Fuck—it’s so hard to think and at this rate your brain is as good as gone.   

You pay only a fraction of attention to Din as he kisses his way back up your body and lands a final one over your lips. His thumb grazes over your chin, his gravelly words of praise cutting through some of that foggy haze, how good you were, how fucking delicious you tasted when you came on his tongue. You taste your own arousal on his mouth as he noses your cheek and captures your lips in another kiss.           

“Are you done?” Paz asks dryly, much too barbed to be thrown your way. You groan when Paz jostles your limp body as he hoists you back into his lap.

“Just starting, actually,” Din quips. “Why don’t you hand her back over? I’ve got some more things I wanna try.” 

Paz scoffs and secures a heavy arm around your middle. “Greed will get you nowhere.” 

“Neither will your arrogance.” 

“Shut up—both of you,” you interrupt. Your voice is raw and choppy but it does the job. “Just fuck me already.”

For now their little spat is sidelined—it’s not worth ripping off that bandage of a temporary truce. There’s a chaste moment of quiet, like they’re considering tearing into each other’s throats instead, but with a touch to Paz’s thigh the standoff fizzles out. 

“We need to work on your manners,” Paz suggests, curling his large, calloused hand around your neck in a loose hold. “I believe it’s please fuck me.” 

Maybe if you weren’t practically a pile of brainless goo, you’d argue. See how far you can push—though this time you fold. “Please fuck me. P-please—I need it.” 

Seemingly satisfied with your answer; Paz wedges a hand between your bodies to grip his cock and run the tip through your folds, soaked from you own wetness and Din’s saliva. The head of his member nudges at your entrance, and wether it’s his size or the fact you can’t see anything—you panic. 

Your hand shoots out, nails harpooning into the meat of his forearm. “W-wait—you’re too b-big.”  

Paz freezes and moves you up his lap and presses a kiss over you hairline. “We can stop. Just say—“

“N-no, I’m fine,” you assure, planting an apologetic peck on his stubbled jaw. Stopping is the last thing you want to do—it was just…overwhelming. A sensory overload testing the very fringes of your being. “Go slow?”

You feel his head bob in compliance as he moves you back to where you’re hovering over his cock. You relax this time, not as many alarm bells clanging through your head as your cunt flutters around the fat tip and then that glorious, first thick inch. Paz’s thumb bumps over your throbbing clit, coaxing your pussy to take him further. 

“Yeah, that’s it vaar’ika,” he grunts, his breath fanning over your neck in quick pants. “Taking my cock so fucking well. So nice and pretty.”

Your pussy flutters, fresh waves of arousal hot and burning.You nearly keel over when Paz starts shallowly rocking his hips, easing your body the rest of the way down his length until the back of your thighs touch his. Maker—how the hell is he all the way inside? You can feel him in your fucking guts—         

“See?” Paz purrs. He sucks a bruise into the meat of your shoulder and pushes his palm against your lower stomach, making the fit even tighter. “Fits fucking perfect.”

The noise your cunt makes pulling out and the debauched moan that filters through his vocal chords is obscene. If anyone where to walk by, well—it’s certainly not training that’s going on, for the better lack of words. 

Paz holds true to his word—keeps his pace limited to deep, languid thrusts that brush up against something that makes your whole body shake—like strumming a golden chord molded to a musician’s fingers. Fuck—he’s doing all the work too. Lifting you by the swell of your hips and pulling you down onto his cock with a rough buck of his hips. 

Abruptly, he slows to a gentle rocking—quick to lock you in place as you thrash and roll your hips. “Paz—n-no. Keep going. You n-need to—“

Paz silences your please with a wet, open mouthed kiss. “Our friend looks lonely. Why don’t you use that pretty mouth and suck his cock?” 

Din. 

You hear the man curse in Mando’a, probably some stab at Paz—

But with a pat to your outer thigh, you don’t need any more prompting—you’d give up your left hand to get a chance to suck him off. With the help of Paz, you’re eased onto your hands and knees, shocks of white-hot pleasure zipping through your core at the change of angle. Like this Paz is seated deeper inside, stabbing into each spot that makes you sing.    

Fuck—your arms are shaking—only able to hold yourself up for half a click and then you’re sinking face first into the floor, ass in the air as he fucks into you. Paz clicks his tongue and wraps his arm around your front, pulling you back up from your slumped position. 

“I told you to suck his cock, girl. Not take a nap.” Paz accentuates his words with heavy, well measured thrusts—the kind of force you know will leave your whole lower half throbbing and sore in the aftermath. 

You whine as Paz grabs a hold of your jaw, digging into the tender joints until your mouth falls open. “Good. Keep it like that.” 

Paz’s hand falls away, replaced by a softer touch. The pads of Din’s fingers hook under your chin, guiding and tempting you nearer to what rests between his legs, hot and heavy and large.       

You feel the tip of his cock, flushed and pulsing, rest on your bottom lip. You lap up the beads of sticky precum with kitten licks that morph into suckling the entire head. Din grunts out your name and tangles his hand into your hair as you tongue at the ridged frenulum. He never forces you to swallow down more of him—lets you cradle the first few inches in the wet warmth of your mouth and languidly roll the pad of your tongue around him. 

You want to take him deeper, let Din fuck your throat raw, but your jaw already aches. Your lips are pulled tight around his shaft, drool dribbling down your chin and landing on the mat below. You’re not sure if you could take more of him without the danger of your teeth catching or dislocating your jaw. So you manage like this—hollowing out your cheeks and and using the momentum of Paz’s thrusts to pleasure Din.          

It’s frustrating—it must be each time you let his cock slip out of your mouth to breathe or the fact Din isn’t able to fucking fit his cock into your mouth. Annoying that you aren’t able to think properly to help him out a bit ore when that said brain is being fucked straight outta you, put through the wringer and then body slammed onto duracrete. 

Din cups your cheek, strokes over your skin with his thumb and maneuvers himself out of your mouth. You whine and lean into his palm, his touch addictive like smoldering coals in the dead of winter.    

“You want me there instead of him?” Din purrs, using the tips of his index and middle fingers to tilt your chin and drag you into an open mouthed kiss. “Fuck you like you deserve.” 

The profane imagery of Din between your legs instead makes you clench tight. It only takes a couple seconds and a few more feverish kisses before you’re nodding to his request. Paz mutters a swear, hesitates, and reluctantly pulls out, leaving your cunt empty and aching with need. 

Din, however, is speedy—quick to hoard you to himself and yank your legs over his hips so that you’re draped on his lap. He jumps straight to the point, no fancy maneuver or drawn out teasing—just grabs the base of his cock, slides the flushed tip between your folds and sinks into your cunt. Even after your pussy had been stretched and molded around Paz’s length, you struggle to take Din’s entire cock into your aching center. It’s easier than Paz but, Maker—not by much. 

You whine, harpooning your fingernails into his shoulder once he bottoms out. Din snarls a curse and latches his teeth onto the juncture between your neck and shoulder, prickly pain shooting directly to your belly. “Fucking tight. H-how—fuck.”

There’s no time to adjust before Din sets a pace, harsh and desperate—his hands digging into the flesh of your ass for better leverage. Each roll of his hips borders erratic, taking his pleasure without thought—intent on reaching his own end before it could be yanked out from under him. Din’s staggered exhales below your ear are interlaced with subdued moans that start low in his ribcage then dip into a higher, airy pitch. A delicate sound you’ll guard closer to your chest than any secret you possess for the rest of your life—precious and yours. 

Din turns his head to steal a kiss. “You feel fuck—fucking good. Wanna feel you cum around me. S-squeezed so fucking hard around my fingers—“

You choke out a groan and feel your arousal begin to drip down your thighs—hear the thrusts of his cock into your cunt become shamefully wetter. Heat sizzles down each vertebrae in your spine, burning up each and every cell with the brilliance of a wildfire. Stars, this is gonna destroy you.      

Din’s hand sneaks between your bodies and rubs tight, little circles over you swollen clit. There’s no build up to your orgasm—just a blinding surge of blistering warmth that knocks you off your feet and steals away all the air left in your lungs. Your nails dig into Din’s back as you shake and grapple for a foothold in your own consciousness—the steady warmth of his body a much needed anchor for the madness that threatens to drown you.  

“Good girl,” Din praises, pace faltering from just how tight your pussy squeezes and flutters around his cock. “S-such a fucking good girl for me.”     

Regaining some semblance of control, you realize he’s still fucking going—still rock solid and throbbing, fucking you through the aftershocks of your release. Your arousal turns sharp, like rough cotton over a fresh sunburn as it dips into overstimulation. It’s not unpleasant but Din has to slow his hips to a delicate roll for you to recover.            

In the time it takes to inhale, a different calloused hand kneads into your lower back then smoothes up your spine. A second later you feel the scrape of Paz’s stubble prick along your exposed shoulder as his tongue drags along your sweat dampened skin—all the way up the curve of your neck and ending at the shell of your ear. 

You’re not sure if it’s intentional, but as Paz crowds closer the tip of his cock pokes at your other hole. With a surprised mewl, you tense and shy away—but he follows, molds his chest against your back to sandwhich you in. The hand gripping your bicep jumps to your neck and pulls your head against his shoulder. 

Two of Paz’s fingers dip down the curve of your ass and brush along the puckered skin—far less jarring this time. “Do you want to be fucked here too?” 

Maker—

You’re gonna fucking explode.  

Stuffed to the brim already, it’s hard to imagine Paz cramming himself in along with Din. A little red light blares in some corner of your mind but it’s quickly soothed as Paz plants soft kisses over your cheek and jaw. You trust him—there’s no reason to think he’ll hurt you or push you to the point of pain.

You catch his mouth with a kiss and rock your hips back. “Y-yeah, ok. I trust you.” 

You feel his smile curl against your cheek. “Don’t worry vaar’ika—I’ll take care of you.”

Paz strokes your bottom lip with his thumb and kisses the crown of your hairline as you sink into him. With his ring and middle finger, he pushes past the seam of your lips. “Suck.”

You obey, sealing your lips around his two digits and coating them in your saliva. Paz pulls them out with a pop and moves them between your legs, and with the added wetness dripping from your cunt, the first finger is easy enough. The second and third have you gasping as he scissors them and stretches your tight hole wider. You claw your nails into Din’s shirt—and he’s no better—Din’s own hands are clamping around your hips, struggling to keep still and biting back moans each time your cunt constricts. 

Your hips begins to meet the thrusts of Paz’s fingers as your body familiarizes the feel of him there. It’s a deep thrill that rushes up through your spinal cord—much different from anything you’ve felt before. 

“You like this, don’t you?” Paz goads, chuckling when you whine as he extracts his fingers. “I think you’re ready to take my cock, yeah?”

You shudder and nod, your voice no more than a squeak as it pilfers out. Paz strokes the top of your head and tips you forward into Din’s eager arms as Paz slicks up his length in a mix of precum and your dripping arousal. He touches the swell of you ass in warning, lines himself up with your hole and wedges the tip of his cock inside of you.     

Involuntary tears dampen your makeshift blindfold as Paz buries himself deeper, his rumbling tone urging you to relax—relax even though your mind is drowning in an ocean of arousal and swirling emotions you have no hope to pin down and analyze. It’s for the best—thankful as Paz bottoms out that it wrenches you back to a feasible reality you’re able to manage.

“Shit—I-I’m gonna die—“ You sob, writhing at just how full you are. But there’s nowhere to fucking go—     

“Easy,” Din breathes, and you wonder if he’s said it to keep his own head on his shoulders. “Easy.”

Din’s gravelly rasp cuts through the fog in your head, and stars—you sound like you’re fucking dying. Your wheezy breaths and lightheadedness would certainly suggest that—but no…no, you’re fine. Better than fine.     

A rush so acute and devastating launches up your spine as Din’s patience cracks. He experimentally rolls his hips and that’s the end of it. You’re swallowed up in that riptide you fought so hard to avoid—fuck. You won’t be the same after this. How can you?  

You can feel them both, separated by a thin wall as they sprint towards their own highs. You’re never once left empty—Din reaches the end of you as Paz pulls out and while there’s not exactly any finesse involves it’s the best fucking thing you’ve felt in your entire life. There’s no bickering—no teasing and you’re struck with an idea that makes you clench tight around both of them. You wouldn’t mind if this was the way they decided to settle scores or finally see eye to eye.   

This time you can’t discern your high—just a constant overflow of ecstasy and dazzling arousal like an imploding supernova. You cry their names—sob and shake in their hold with such fervor that Paz traps you tighter between them to keep you still.  

“Fuck—you get so fucking tight,” Paz growls, blunt nails digging into your hips. “And so fucking wet.”

His fingers touch the inside of your thigh and stars—he’s right. “I get to fuck your cunt next time—see how much you’ll drip for me.” 

Even if the blindfold were off—there’d be nothing to see but a white wash of nothing. Blinded by pleasure and bursting at the seems. 

Jealous, Din steals your breath away with a kiss, licking and nipping at your swollen lips until you whine his name. His jagged pants fan across your chin—chapped lips and patchy facial hair tickling across your bottom lip as you breath the same air. 

Din whispers your name like a prayer, his fingers clutching tight around your thighs as his pace starts to flounder to choppy jerks. “Shit. I-I’m close—“

Your fingers twist into his hair. “Yeah—ok baby. Let go.”

Din’s teeth sink into the base of your throat and cums. His seed coats your insides—hot and copious and fucking shit—if there’s a next time you want him to cum in your mouth.      

You don’t get time to relish Din’s stuttered gasps of your name, laced with praise and a show of a tender and bleeding heart before Paz is gathering up your hair in a tight fist and jerking your head up. “You—you want me to cum too? Say it.” 

Without a breath of hesitation you beg for it, cry and arch into him. It does the trick—

Paz is loud—shouts a thunderous roar and buries his cock deep into your hole. Din is still recovering from the aftershocks of his release when Paz pulls out after what seems like ages pumping you full. His cock no longer there to plug you up, his cum begins to dribble out and mix with the mess between your legs. Your legs shake and you wobble--crying out as Din slips out, your body dreadfully empty and aching.     

You're lowered to the mat by Din and if you weren't still trying to formulate words, you'd thank them. Lips dart over your cheeks and hairline, and for once nothing needs to be said. It’s nice...the radiating warmth from their bodies and the simmering flush through you body is something you could get used to. But you’re no stranger to the shifting tides of the future. 

You shrug it off.    

Your eyes are heavy and with one of them stroking your hair and the other your thigh, you drift to sleep. Later—later all unspoken things and disastrous words can be dealt with tomorrow. You must be dreaming when it’s said--careless and bold, but the words nestle into your heart and sprouts with fear. 

“You love her, don't you?” 

translation:

vaar’ika--pipsqueak 

or’dinni--dumbass idiot 

vod--brother/comrade 

tag list: 

@bobafctts​ @djxrxn​ @teaofpeach​ @corrupt-fvcker​ @nelba​ @datmando​ @ben-is-a-hoe​ @dreams-like-clockwork​ @aerynwrites​ @auty-ren​ @huliabitch​ @anxiety-riddled-mando​ @phoenixhalliwell​ @trippedmetaldetector​ 

[nightowlwriting]

summary: caleb is not so sure that he deserves the kindness you've done for him. you're sure that he deserves so much more, and you plan to show him in small increments so that you don't scare him away. the shopping trip is only the beginning. (part 3/13 of the kindness series, a thematically connected series of c2/exu imagines)

word count: 2.1k

warnings: caleb's low self-esteem, mentions of political corruption, set early in c2

note: i am only on ep16 of c2 so that's where we're at folks, also my german is so so so rusty so uhhh hope it's right but any germans want to correct me feel free lmfao

masterlist - request - support my work? - ao3

Caleb Widogast is a jumpy, jumpy man. You assume it’s for good reason - he’d confided in the group that he met Nott in jail and, well, typically people don’t go to jail unless they’ve done something.

(Although, the more that you adventure with the Mighty Nein you’re not so sure that’s true. It seems like corruption runs deep in the Empire, and you’ve only scratched the surface.)

Still, he is far jumpier than even Nott, and she’s a goblin in the Empire. You watch him, sometimes, and cringe when he flinches. It’s not pity that makes you start being nice to Caleb, but that does color your actions in the beginning. You are of the firm belief that he is a good person, that all of the Nein are, and that they deserve kindness. Caleb most of all. He is so hard on himself and no amount of coaxing from the rest of the group can get him to ease up. Not even Nott, and she functions as his pseudo-mother. But you want him to loosen up, want more of those moments where he makes a joke with a straight face, only to crack a small smile when the group looks away from him. (You try not to look away, craving those moments where you can see the smile light up his face.) When your group arrives in Zadash, you make it your mission to get Caleb to feel some sort of positive emotions about himself.

Or some sort of positive emotion that’s not scarred by whatever happened in his past. You want him to be happy, to heal from whatever keeps him held back from joking with the rest of you. It doesn’t even matter if he reciprocates how you feel about him - you don’t really care. You can love him from afar, be kind to him, and that will be enough for you. He doesn’t have to fall in love with you like you’ve fallen in love with him, really, that’s not why you’re doing this. This being stopping by Pumat’s shop to pick up some more spell scrolls for him with your gold. He had been muttering to himself the last time you were all in about not having enough money, but you hadn't wanted to embarrass him by purchasing them on his behalf, so a separate trip it is. Pumats, all of them, seem to know what you’re doing because they smile when you tuck the scrolls under your cloak and sweep out of the shop.

Your next stop is an ink shop, where you pick up some more ink and incense for Caleb. You’re not really sure how his magic works because it’s not something he was born with or given by a God, but you know that he’s always looking for good ink, parchment, and incense. Just because you don’t understand doesn’t mean that you can’t be supportive. You hope that’s what Caleb will get out of your gift, and not anything else. After you gather the magic supplies - you’d asked specifically for the things that wizards use just to make sure - you make your way to the Chastity’s Nook. Maybe Caleb was joking about wanting to be titillated while he learns, but you feel better safe than sorry.

The worker there is incredibly nice, if not shy, and helps you pick out something educational, historical, and terribly smutty. It makes you blush when you glance through it, but it seems to be the right balance of the things that Caleb has expressed interest in before. (Even if that might be fake - you’re not totally sure. Still, it can not hurt to try.) She even wraps it up nicely for you, offering to wrap your other gifts too. That might be too much, so you decline, but you still pass her a few more silver as a tip. You’ve never been so nervous as you are when you make your way back to the tavern where you’re staying, but it’s almost easy to keep your cool and mask the absolute terror you feel when Caleb is sitting with the group, eating dinner. You were kind of counting on him being in his room, reading, but you don’t let his sudden appearance stop you. Jester spots you first, patting the empty seat between her and Nott, calling your name. You slip into it, easily concealing your gifts behind your back. “Where did you go?”

A sly smile slips onto your face as you reach forward, taking a portion of the food they’d ordered, “Oh, you know, around.”

“You smell like perfume,” Beau leans over Nott and sniffs you, making a slightly disgusted face, “Why do you smell like perfume?”

“I went shopping,” You cut in before Jester and Molly can interject with salacious theories, “That shopping happened to be in the Tri-Spire, thank you very much.” Caleb raises an eyebrow, sharing a look with Fjord, but you ignore it. “What did you guys do today?” You don’t really listen - only enough to hum or nod as they’re speaking - because you’re focused on figuring out a plan to get your gifts to Caleb without the others noticing or making him feel like you’re doing it out of pity, or that he owes you. You just want him to be happy that he’s getting a gift. It’s later, when everyone has cleared out, that Jester shakes your shoulder lightly, calling your name.

“Are you okay?” Her dark blue eyebrows pull down over her eyes, incredibly worried, “You didn’t talk at all during dinner.” You take her hand in yours, squeezing it briefly.

“I’m fine, Jessie. I think I might head to bed, though.” You give her a hug before heading up to your room, looking over your shoulder just before you hit the stairs to see if Caleb had gone to bed when you had zoned out. He’s easy to find in the corner, nose deep in a book, and you grin. That makes everything so much easier, especially since Nott is tucked into the booth next to him. That means that their room is completely empty and a perfect place to drop the gifts without any of the unnecessary baggage that might come with giving them to him face to face. You don’t even think about the fact that he might have warded his room until it’s too late. (That being until you watch the string snap around your ankles when you make it four steps into the room.)

But, damnit, you have a mission to complete. There’s at least a minute before Caleb makes it to the stairs and perhaps another half a minute before he hits the door. You set the things up on what you think is Caleb’s bed a little messier than you wanted but you’re running out of time. The door is a no-go to leave, and you can hear Caleb bounding up the steps. You whirl, tugging your cloak tightly around you as you debate jumping through the window instead of opening it. In the end that will just draw an entirely different reaction than you want, so you settle for slamming the window up and slinging one leg over the sill. Caleb’s room is on the second floor, so the fall might hurt a little bit, but Caleb is right outside the door, so you don’t have any other choices-

“Was machst du in meinem Zimmer!?” He bellows, hands already engulfed in flame, when he kicks the door open. It startles you off of the window sill, luckily into the room instead of out. You pop up, hands raised and already talking.

“Okay, I don’t know what you’re saying but I didn’t know you had your room warded, I was just trying to give you the things that I bought you today, and then by the time I realized it was too late because I couldn’t just leave without giving you the stuff, because then you’d be scared-” Caleb extinguishes the flames that had started to crawl up his arms, shutting the door as he comes closer to the bed. You scramble to your feet, snagging your cloak in your hands to twist it nervously. “-I should leave now, excuse me.” You do your best to skirt around him but Caleb holds up a hand, eyes on the pile of loot you’ve left on his bed. He wraps a warm hand around your wrist to keep you in place as he tries to process what’s happening.

“What is on my bed?” Caleb finally looks toward you then, eyebrows furrowed as he watches you nervously fidget with your robe, biting your lower lip. “I am not mad, but what do you mean things you bought me?” He gestures loosely with the other hand and you take a step closer to him and the bed. You weren’t ready for being confronted with Caleb, despite how much you thought about what you might say to him in a situation like this. You almost swallow your tongue trying to figure out what to say to him.

“I bought you things,” You blurt, “Because you deserve it. I’m not sure if it’s all the right things, but I tried and even if you can’t use them for, you know, magic things you can use them for other stuff-” You watch as he makes his way over to the pile and begins rifling through it, mumbling to himself in Zemnian. “I’m not doing this out of pity, or anything,” You move to his side, peeking over as he skims through the book you bought, “I did it because I want to, I promise.” You wring your hands and look off to the side, avoiding watching the way he’s pouring over what you’ve bought, “You weren’t even really supposed to know they’re from me, honestly, I just wanted to do something nice for you because you deserve kindness-”

“-I am not so sure about that,” Caleb turns to you, catching your attention. He smiles, but it’s weak, when he looks at the small pile you’ve bought for him, “The spells will be useful for the group, but the rest… You are too kind.”

“I’m not!” Perhaps on instinct, you reach out and clasp his wrists in your hands, “No, Caleb, please. I didn’t do this to make you feel bad, I want you to feel good. You’re so bright, Caleb, and so amazing that I just want you to feel a fraction of the happiness you make me feel.” He hesitates so you press on, taking the chance to step closer to him as your heart takes off at a breakneck pace in your chest. “Please, don’t feel guilty. I did this because I want to, okay? I want to make you happy and make you smile, and make you feel good because it makes me feel good. You don’t have to do - to do anything and if you want, I’ll stop. You just say the word and I’ll stop, but I see you, Caleb.” Your voice breaks off as your eyes mist over. He looks awe-inspired at you, not stepping away or pulling from your grasp, “I see you. I see the way you bite back jokes, and sometimes they slip through. I see the way you care for us, for Nott. I see the way you sacrifice yourself in everything you do because you don’t feel like you deserve to be happy, but you do. Please, you are such a good man - I can see it. I can feel it, Caleb. You deserve the world’s largest kindness, but if I can’t give that to you I’ll give you small kindnesses, if you’ll let me.” Your lip quivers and your voice comes out in a hoarse whisper when you decide to fling yourself off the metaphorical cliff you’ve found yourself on, “Caleb Widogast, I wish to give you never-ending small kindnesses not only because you deserve them, but because I love you. I am in love with you.” The difference sits heavy in the air between you as you watch Caleb process everything that you’ve said.

“You… Are you in love with me?”

“Undoubtedly.” You confirmed, whispering. He’s stepped toward you a fraction of an inch, but it puts the both of you nearly chest to chest. “I have never been so sure of something, Caleb.”

“I enjoy the way you say my name.” He confesses. You watch in wonder as red begins to crest from underneath his facial hair, coloring his cheeks a rosy, pretty pink. He tries to look away, but you duck your head to try and keep some semblance of eye contact. Your hands tremble in his.

“I’ll say it forever, then,” You try to smile, but you really only manage an upward quiver of your lips, “Every day, if you’ll accept my kindness.”

“Es wird schwer,” Caleb says under his breath as he shuffles even closer to you, “Es wird so schwer, aber ich werde es versuchen.” You’re not totally sure what he’s saying, but when he presses a terrified, hesitant kiss against your lips the message comes across loud and clear.

[thiswaycomessomethingwicked]

Was Napoleon a tyrant? I don't necessarily think he was: at least, I believe he was a better alternative to the absolute monarchs he was fighting. But there are those who disagree. What are your thoughts on the subject?

This is a can of worms to be sure.

I mean....how are we defining the word tyrant? All monarchs are tyrants to someone. Monarchy, by its very nature, is tyrannical in one way, shape, or form, no matter who is at its head. Even in the more neutered forms we see now days with the British. The Queen still exerts a ridiculous amount of power, all things considered.

Napoleon was no better or worse than any other monarch in Europe at that time. Indeed, better than some, worse than others. Because you know, he was human!

-

This got VERY long. SO LONG. Choice excerpts from below the cut:

"'Power was encroaching with large strides behind the words order and stability,' as Thibaudeau put it."

"(And I suspect he was concerned about seeming too eager for power/setting up a monarchical system. Fouche: You're about as subtle as a canon going off right next door. Napoleon: Hush.)"

"Theeeeeen the little bastard (affectionate) became Emperor."

"Napoleon Vs. Jeff Bezos: fight! fight! fight! (I'm putting my money on Napoleon.)"

--

tl;dr: a more or less benevolent emperor who had his faults and who was intimately aware, for better or worse, more than most monarchs, that the head is only tenuously attached to the body. (Skim to the bottom for my thoughts on the personal things i.e. how I interpret Napoleon's actions and brain)

But, more seriously, as with most absolute statements, I am opposed to calling him a tyrant because it is reductive and serves no purpose except to make broad sweeping political statements that I believe are far more about the person making the statement exemplifying their modern political, republican position (as in, actual republican-I-support-the-existence-of-republics not the gop) rather than expressing any sort of truth about the past. (wHaT iS tRuTh.)

For historical purposes, it can over-simplify the situation and lead to skewed interpretations of events because you're coming in with this word that has a lot of modern, 20th and 21st century baggage to it.

And, because these people are coming in with this big, bad word of tyrant as a label for Napoleon, it doesn't allow them to engage with the nuance and complexities of his reign.

Anyway.

Napoleon, as emperor, supported centralized power held in his own hands, with support from other governing bodies (senate, council of state etc.). However, Napoleon had a lot of influence in the structuring of these governing bodies and the subsequent appointments as a means to exert control over entities that would otherwise be able to act somewhat independent from him and impinge his power.

We see this consolidation of power beginning, obviously, under the consulate. 'Power was encroaching with large strides behind the words order and stability,' as Thibaudeau put it.

There was the whole theatre around the Tribunate offering to extend Napoleon's tenure as First Consul for another ten years as a means of thanks/showing gratitude for all he did for France (Fouche was like: fuck that, let's just make a statue of the guy). Napoleon played the part of Humble Servant of the Public and refused both statue and the ten year extension. (Very Julius Caesar: You all did see that on the Lupercal, I thrice presented him a kingly crown, which he did thrice refuse. Was this ambition?)

In actuality, though, he was pissed because he wanted it extended for life.

This resulted in the Council of State deciding "independently" (i.e. Napoleon wasn't present but he sure as hell influenced that Council session) to hold a plebiscite in order to ask The People two key questions: 'Should Napoleon Bonaparte be consul for life?' and 'Should he have the right to designate his successor?'

Napoleon nixed the second question saying to Cambaceres, 'The testament of Louis XIV was not respected, so why should mine be? A dead man has nothing to say.' Which is to say, he knew people would vote for him to be Consul for life, but the prospect of him choosing a successor, a la the Roman Empire, and having that choice be without input from the people and respected upon his death? Less clear.

(And, I suspect he was concerned about seeming too eager for power/setting up a monarchical system.

Fouche: You're about as subtle as a canon going off right next door.

Napoleon: Hush.)

For the Plebiscite, there were around 3.56 million votes for Yes to the question of Napoleon as consul for life and only around 8,300 for No.

The turnout rate was 60% which is uhh...impressive! (To be fair, there was no real evidence of tampering with the vote. Unlike in subsequent Plebiscites, such as the results for Do We Make Him Emperor, which were absolutely doctored. But, considering the highest turnout ever seen in the French Revolution was around 30/35%, double that is certainly something.)

Lafayette was pissed with this. He kicked up a fuss in the Senate and wrote to Napoleon saying that his 'restorative dictatorship' had been well and fine for now but has Napoleon thought about restoring liberty? and that he was certain Napoleon, of all people, wouldn't want an 'arbitrary regime' to be installed!

Napoleon: Bold of you to assume that, Lafayette.

There were, at this time, some mumblings and grumblings about tyranny from the liberals and those still wanting to continue the experiment of the French Republic, to be sure. They increased as time went on and Napoleon's power continued to consolidate.

Theeeeeen the little bastard (affectionate) became Emperor.

Lafayette: WhAt Is tHiS??

Napoleon: Look into my face and tell me honestly that you are shocked.

--

His government, as Consul and as Emperor, was centralized and very top-down in how it operated. Little was done without Napoleon's input.

The seemingly democratic institutions that had propped him up into power were retained and Napoleon used them as a means to facilitate his rule. As noted earlier, Napoleon had a heavy hand in appointments and the processes in place to fill various offices. Nothing was really...independent of him and his influence.

Though, in terms of Image Building of Empire, Napoleon worked hard to try and maintain the façade of impartiality as emperor. That he was head of state, sure, but all state apparatuses operated independent of him.

(Why is Napoleon's hat so big? because it is full of lies supporting the imperial image making machine.)

That said, when it came to filling those offices, Napoleon focused on merit more than anything as he wanted his governing officials to be capable, hardworking and, above all else, loyal.

(A good quote from Napoleon in one of his more Eat the Rich moments of the consulate: 'One cannot treat wealth as a title of nobility. A rich man is often a layabout without merit. A rich merchant is often only so by virtue of the art of selling expensively or stealing.'

Napoleon Vs. Jeff Bezos: fight! fight! fight!

(I'm putting my money on Napoleon.) )

--

This is getting really long and I feel that I've not addressed anything in a useful manner, but am I going to stop? No.

--

Napoleon, himself, at least in 1803, did express some conflicted views about assuming an imperial title. To Roederer he said, 'So many great things have been achieved over the past three years under the title of consul. It should be kept.'

Cambaceres said to Napoleon that upon assuming an imperial title 'your position changes and places you at odds with yourself.' No longer are you merely a public servant, an upholder of the Republic's ideals. Now you are a man wearing a crown, trying to be the upholder of the Republic's ideals.

(nb: I feel that duality is something Napoleon never fully got a handle on. He would veer strongly into authoritarian monarch then have moments of Rousseau-ian Idealism.)

Napoleon was insistent that his rule be a parliamentary monarchy (keeping the governance framework implemented in the Constitution of Year VIII, if I am not mistaken. But don't quote me on that.) and that the French were not his subjects but his people.

So, the imperial government worked thus with the Legislative process divided between four bodies:

Council of State which would draw up legislative proposals,

Tribunate which could debate on legislation but not vote on it,

a legislative body which could vote on legislation but not discuss it, and

Senate which would consider whether the proposed legislation conformed to the Constitution.

The Senate and the Legislative body could, theoretically, curtail Napoleon’s freedom/power. However, considering the fact that he was involved in the appointment process of these offices, and the general rhythm of daily governance, how much power they were able to exert over him was limited.

(This is at his height! Of course, towards the end we see a shift in that. But that's largely tied up in his military defeats and the British banging the door knocker demanding to be let in. Also they brought with them some friends. You might have heard of them? Bourbons?)

The initial terms the Senate brought to Napoleon with their offer of accepting him as a hereditary monarch included, but weren't limited to:

liberty cannot be infringed

equality cannot be jeopardized

sovereignty of the people must be maintained

the laws of the nation are inviolable

all institutions were to be free from undue imperial influence (e.g. the press)

the nation should never be put into a position where it needs to behead the head of state. Again.

Napoleon was uh. Not best pleased with this and had a new version drafted up that included acknowledgement of the sovereignty of the people, but a lot of the other things (e.g. freedom of the press) were cut out.

Yet, Napoleon maintained certain parts of the French Revolution's values which were reflected more in the 1804 Code Napoleon and other legislative and legal pieces than in the initial terms of Senatorial acceptance of his imperial title.

Some of the things enshrined in the Code that were carry-over from the Revolution include, but aren't limited to, the abolition of feudalism, equality before the law, freedom of conscience (to practice their own religion), gave fixed title to those who had bought church and émigré lands during the 1790s, and the equality of taxation was maintained (tax those aristos and the church). Also, there was affirmation of the idea of careers being "open to talent" rather than an accident of birth (as touched on above).

The Freedom of Conscience clause in the Code was a further formalization of several Articles Napoleon amended onto the Concordat in 1802. The Articles guaranteed the principle of religious toleration and made the Protestant and Jewish churches similarly subject to state authority (alongside the Catholic).

These are just a brief summary of some of the more liberal/revolution-informed aspects of Napoleon's governing.

The non-liberal ones I believe we're all pretty familiar with: suppression of the free press, roll-back of rights for women (women are for babies!), reinstatement of slavery (which he later reversed circa 1810/12-ish), top-down Emperor-has-final-word approach to ruling (Napoleon was all about Authority From Above, Trust From Below) etc. etc.

At the end of this, I would say Napoleon's empire falls into that "benevolent monarch" situation. For a given value of "benevolent." As stated at the start, he was like most other monarchs in Europe at the time. Better than some, not as great about certain things as others.

--

Really, it all ties back to Order and Stability.

Napoleon's assent, and his approach to strong, centralized ruling, was a result of uncertainty and constant government change over ten years of revolution alongside the growing belief, by 1803, that a republic like the Romans or Greeks was not going to happen any time soon. Not without constant warfare and the forever looming threat of a Bourbon restoration.

In addition, Napoleon was doing imperial drag. (If that makes sense.) He was dialing the notch of Emperor up to 11 - being the most emperor of all emperors. So, state control was absolute because he couldn't show any signs of weakness - either in his own body, his familial body, or the body of state. The court protocols were intense and over-the-top at times because he had to prove he was not just a second son of a parvenu lawyer from the sticks. No! he was worthy of this pomp. He was worthy of imperial majesty. He was worthy of the crown and scepter.

Napoleon was not raised to be anything other than a military officer and a middle-class head of a family (would have been a MASTER at doing Sunday Dad Puttering About the House). When he dawned the mantel of power, particularly that of empire, he had to make it up as he went along. For such a self-conscious and proud man, this was difficult. He never wanted to misstep and be embarrassed - on a personal level, political or military.

At the same time, he was reared on Rousseau and Revolution so still had those values and ideals imbedded in him, and those fears and memories. Napoleon knew as well as any Frenchman that a monarch's head is easily removable should it become necessary. Therefore, he sometimes ran roughshod over the liberty to ensure security. For better or worse, that was the choice he made.

--

Napoleon was a flawed leader with a complex approach to governing that was focused on a centralization of power within him while, at the same time, trying to be the Successor of the Revolution, the Roman Republic and the Roman Empire. Layers! Like an onion.

His approach as emperor really was within the realm of normal-for-the-times when compared to most other monarchs on the European stage in 1800. He also granted liberties to his people that were unheard of in other countries.

I feel like all my Napoleonic ramblings end with the same message: Dude was nuanced. Dude was complex. Dude did good things and bad things. Dude helped people and hurt people. Dude contained multitudes. Because he was simply human, at the end of the day.

--

ANNNNNNND we are done.

Gods bless all y'all who made it this far.

Have my favourite picture of Napoleon at Tuileries as a prize.

hmm that beautiful heavy, handed symbolism.

[soulfullofold]

🪄🪄🪄 zapzapzap!

(vibrating) SO NORMAL. SO NORMAL. like a microwaved ant.

you might be spoilin’ me [with too much love] flowers on the hillside, bloomin’ crazy crickets talkin’ back and forth in rhyme blue river runnin’ slow and lazy I could stay with you forever and never realize the time yer gonna make me wonder what I’m sayin’ yer gonna make me give myself a good talkin’ to yer gonna have to leave me now, I know but I’ll see you in the sky above in the tall grass, in the ones I love yer gonna make me lonesome when you go

Bob Dylan is such a formative artist for me. He might have fueled my #notlikeothergirls phase a little but he's the favorite musician of another formative mentor figure for me. One of my Really special formative childhood experiences was going on these school road trips themed around american history (led by the 8th grade history teacher) and I got invited early to go (as a 7th grader) and got invited back afterwards (as a 9th grader). I could get out of the house and go on these awesome trips to see historic sites...idk it really made me into the person I am and sparked my interest in museums & museum design & the conversations around historic sites in general. God I get emo about it anyways we would get to pick the CDs we listened to and Bob Dylan was ofc in there. My big introduction into folk music was through Dylan & I really enjoy his songwriting. This one is... kind of a silly song to pick but I think it's the one I'm the most not normal about. Whhhheeennn I was coming out to some of my childhood friends, I wrote some fiction with some old old old shared OCs of mine and it was basically songfic about this character going on a solo roadtrip and listening to Blood on the Tracks and realizing that she wants to break up with her boyfriend. That it's gonna be painful because she DOES love him and always will have a love for him, but damn, it's not right, it's all theater for her, and not fair to either of them to let them stay trapped. ASIDE from all the Baggage I have with this song I just adore the lyrics & they're some of my favorites from Dylan. ;m;

this growing old is getting old I often find myself here thinking about the birds, the boats, and past loves that flew away or started sinking and it's crazy here without you I used to think this all was ours we'd stay up late, debate on how we'd find our way say it's all up in the stars well, some nights I rule the world with bar lights and pretty girls but most nights I stay straight and think about my mom oh god, I miss her so much and there are people on the street they're coming up to me they're telling me that they like what I do now and so I tried my best when I took the fall to get right back up, back in your arms if you're out here why do I miss you so much I just need a helping hand I close my eyes and think about tomorrow it never came true and you, you're always holding on to stars I think they're better from afar because no one here's gonna save us don't you wish on me why can't you see that no one's gonna save us? no one's gonna save us no one's gonna save me now

A teenager scream-in-the-shower song for sure. Lots of feelings around the mom lines 🤪 & lots of anti-religious feelings bottled up in my young body lskfjaslk. I did cry when I heard this live thanks

believe me I never wanted to be this way never thought that I'd be this age and fail so soon we'll settle down out west look at the cage I've been caught up in look at the way I've been brought up look at the pain I called my God, I never wanted it bad enough, well bury me in some fashion in something fashionable with a procession whose words / with dirt and words that sound like a song I used to know but never wrote 'cause it was beautiful and predictable like oh, oh, all I ever wanted how'd I ever fail so soon?

aha L;FJSADKFL it's a cute nugget of a song that just gently guts me like im a crab being shelled and dipped in butter.

[mrstaeminlee]

Mission Complete Ch. 1

You had two goals in life. One: Complete your squad training without dying. Two: Fuck Levi Ackerman

Pairings: Levi/f!reader

Warnings: Swearing, eventual smut, lmk if I need to add anything~

You really had no idea what the fuck prompted you to join the military. Maybe it was to find some redeeming grace in the eyes of your dying mother, maybe it was because you wanted a life with as much stability as one could muster, maybe it was because you just fucking hated farming.

Whatever it was, you wished to any God that would listen that you would have buried it in the ground along with the countless friends and family members you had lost to the Titans.

The first week of the cadet corps was everything you knew you would hate and more. Between the foul smelling breath of the commandant threatening to make you puke up the bread you had managed to steal, to working your body to the point of sneaking away from one on one combat to puke behind the bushes, after seven days you had almost decided that maybe digging in the dirt for the rest of your miserable life wasn't so bad.

There was only one thing stopping you from making your own walk of shame to the wagon of regret.

Levi Ackerman.

AKA the man you fantasized about every night when you managed to find enough strength to finger yourself below the covers.

He was a couple of inches shorter, true, but you were willing to break your rule of not fucking anyone shorter than you for him.

You had only see him twice in your life by complete chance, the first had been when you happened to be by the gates in time to see the Scouts returning from what was undoubtably another failed mission, and you decided that what the hell, might as well have a look at Humanity's Strongest in the flesh. Granted, it hadn't been his best day; his green cloak was splattered with what could only have been the blood of his comrades as it didn't look as if he had a single scratch on him, but he looked like a god, albeit one that had just gotten his ass kicked out of heaven. His eyes seemed to be sunken in, and even from how far away you were you found yourself shivering from the intensity of his dead gaze. You weren't sure what possessed you to lift your hand as he eyes moved through the crowd, looking for whom, you didn't know, or what possessed him to raise those eyes to you, but you found yourself lost in haunted silver as you gave a soft wave. The way he seemed to look straight through you, not even seeing you even as you stared at each other, was enough to convince you that you needed to do whatever it took to see this man again.

You enlisted the start of the next week.

The second time was completely by chance.

Everyone was desperate for military recruits, and desperate times called for desperate calls to important people to make appearances in front of people that were well, not very important.

Erwin Smith, Dot Pixis, Nile Dawk, Levi Ackerman, Hange Zoe, Rico Brzenska, and even Darius Zackly graced the entrance ceremony of the new Cadets, and you thanked whatever bone in your body made you a teacher's pet because you had a front row seat to the man that had plagued your thoughts every single day in the past week. His appearance was brief and he didn't speak, just stared at the fresh faces, some cocky, some blank, but mostly terrified new recruits, and you could have sworn that you saw a tinge of sadness hidden in the silver, as if he could already foresee the deaths of everyone in front of him. He followed after Erwin immediately after the blond gave his speech about thanking you all for making the decision to serve humanity and you fought the urge to roll your eyes. 'I'm not doing this for humanity, I'm doing this for dick,' you thought as you signed your life away to this shit camp for the next two years.

How one man who was fucking shorter than you managed to convince you to trade the next 728 days, 14 hours, 37 minutes, and 15 seconds of your life for physical and emotional hell was beyond you, and yet here you were, standing proud and slightly hungover from the pre-graduation celebrating you did with Eren, Mikasa, and Armin the night before. They hadn't initially been your first choice in friends, but Armin was nice to you from the start and once you very quickly learned that flirting with Eren in front of Mikasa was not in your best interest, you had decided that they were alright; especially when Eren's Titan form had been revealed. If anyone was going to have to get close enough to keep an eye on Eren, it would be Captain Levi.

The very man you were thinking of walked on the stage along with Nile Dawk, Dot Pixis, and Erwin Smith as the three took turns giving their pitch. You hadn't made the top 10 but were happy for your friends that were, you were content with your place as 13th. In a class of over 500, you still considered it a win, and if your parents were still alive you knew they'd be proud. As the remaining members of the top 10 who had opted to join the elitest MP's went off to talk to Nile and the other scared fucks ran off to sign themselves to the Garrison regiment, you and around a hundred other members stayed where you were and you licked your lips, forcing your heart rate to calm itself. 'Calm down, you can't work your way up to fucking the strongest man in the world if you die of heart attack before-'

"Listen up you little shits."

Oh my God he was speaking you've never heard his voice before it's so fucking-

"Most of you are going to die. Are you prepared for that?"

Ah, so Humanity's Strongest was a sweet talker.

"Erwin is making me come up here and talk, so we're all going to pretend that I'm saying some meaningful bullshit. But here's the truth: If you aren't strong, you will die, and it will be painful. Imagine the thought of seeing your childhood friend's entrails being slurped up like spaghetti by a Titan, while the entire time he's conscious enough to reach his hand out for you, and you are able to do nothing for him because you spent exactly one second hesitating, or you were a moment too late to draw your blades, or react to the threat. If that scares you, then do us all a favor and put down that half assed salute and sell your soul to the Garrison where you'll spend your days fucking the best whores for a discount if you're in uniform and getting drunk on the clock."

After his touching speech you and your now dripping panties decided that you had indeed made the right decision in selling yourself to the Scouts.

One month later

It was moments like these, where you weren't quite trashed but definitely more than tipsy, that you had never been happier to be part of the survey corps. I mean, you were in peak physical shape (you still couldn't believe you had abs. Abs!), you were hot, you were fit, and you knew Sasha Braus, who had managed to steal a few bottles of top shelf liquor from the higher ups.

You were also horny as fuck. It had been over a year since you'd gotten laid, and you were using the dildo you'd bought on your first trip back into town as often as you brushed your teeth (twice a day, you didn't fuck with cavities). You briefly thought about enlisting the help of one of your current drinking buddies but after seeing your choices you decided to leave it to old faithful hidden in your pillowcase. There was Jean, who albeit was pretty hot even with the long face but was so in love with Mikasa it made you want to vomit. Marco, who you were almost one hundred percent sure was gay; Connie, who held the sexual appeal of a pile of horse shit, although he was super nice. Reiner almost looked promising but you knew underneath those stocky muscles was a shitload of emotional baggage you didn't want, and Bertholt was head over heels for Annie of all people. That left Armin and Eren. Eren you already knew was out, while your slut senses told you he'd be a great lay, you weren't quite ready for your life to end at the hands of Mikasa. That left Armin. You tilted your head, staring at him as you sipped on your god forsaken concoction and debated fucking him or not. He wasn't outright sexy, but he'd filled in well during the two years of training and you had seen glimpses of his surprisingly impressive muscles under his white shirt. He might actually do. He'd be shy as hell and you would have to lead everything, not to mention he'd probably cum in less than a minute, but it just might-

“Did you guys know that Captain Levi is a virgin?"

You spit the mix of vodka, rum, and whatever mixer Reiner had put in all over the face of the person you had just considered fucking.

"I'm sorry, what?" You turned your attention to Christa, apologetically handing Armin a napkin and patting his cheek.

Christa blushed at the attention and scooted closer to Ymir, who threw an arm around her shoulders and gave Reiner her customary 'If you even look at her weird, I will gut you' look. "W-Well, recently I started helping out in the infirmary because they've been short handed. You all know, it's that time of year where everyone has to get looked at and they give us that sheet of paper to fill out with all of our personal information to keep track of potential diseases. I was in charge of filing the paperwork the day they brought all of the officers in, and on the paper they ask you how many sexual partners you've had and Captain Levi wrote 0. But you guys, you have to promise not to tell anyone! This is private information, if it somehow gets out that I told you this I'll get into a lot of trouble!"

Ymir chuckled, placing a sloppy kiss at the top of the blonde's head. "Don't worry about a thing sweet cheeks, if any of these miscreants here says a word I'll kill them for ya. But we don't have to worry about that at all, now do we?" She glared at each person in the room, who all looked as if Christa were a ghost, and slowly shook their heads.

Your life was changed.

Captain Levi Ackerman.

The strongest man in the world.

Rumored former thug of the Underground.

The person responsible for killing as many Titans as a hundred soldiers.

The person whose squad every scout dreamed of being on, was a virgin.

You screeched out a laugh before you could help it, the alcohol doing nothing to try and make you quiet yourself as you fell onto your back laughing, cup long forgotten as it rolled across the floor. The person who initiated your drive to join the military in the first place, the person you literally dreamed of fucking, had never gotten his dick wet.

Clearly, you had your work cut out for you.

If you managed to live through the sight of Ymir reaching over to punch you in the face to shut you up.

[darthkvznblogs]

Saw the new chapter, nice! BTW, how would the various characters celebrate Pride Month?

Apologies, I've been busy with last chapter's reviews!

Wowza, that's a huge ask - I've made a conscious effort to normalize LGBTQIA+ identities in my stories, so there's a lot of ground to cover here! There's also a minor issue in that most of the current stories are set in 2012, which is quite a different landscape in regards to the acceptance of the LGBTQIA+ community compared to nowadays.

With that in mind, I'll try to go for the "ideal" celebration (and I'll throw in the characters' gender identities and sexual preferences, since I've already got those in my ongoing character database). Obviously, this only applies to the characters as portrayed in the Kryptonverse!

(This is a long one, so I'll add a "read more" thingy for the sake of those who aren't interested.)

- I think Luz would take Pride Month as an opportunity to more overtly explore her gender noncomformity; much like was showcased in the Grom episode, she might try on different outfit combinations, different pronouns - whatever makes her feel closer to her ideal self. I think her stint in the Boiling Isles would only make it that much clearer how truly silly it is for other people to try and dictate what she should look or behave like. Luz currently identifies as a bisexual, cisgender woman, but she has found comfort in identifying as nonbinary in the past, and there's really no telling how she might feel in the future.

- Kryptonian society had a great many issues, but a resistance towards gender variance and non-heterosexual preferences wasn't one of them - as long as you followed the strict life path set up for you by the Empire, of course. Kara is still confused about the human attitudes towards this subject, and angry that they affected Alex and Lena negatively in their youth. I think she'd celebrate Pride Month by pushing the Avengers to champion causes that protect the LGBTQIA+ community - not that they need much convincing. Think parades, lobbying for legislation, impassioned speeches, and million-dollar donations to worthy charities - whatever it takes to make sure people know where their heroes stand on this issue. Kara is a pansexual cisgender woman, Alex and Lena are lesbian cisgender women, Tony is a pansexual cisgender man, Steve is a (closeted) bisexual cisgender man, Natasha is an aromantic, bisexual, cisgender woman, Clint is a biromantic, heterosexual, cisgender man, and Rhodey and Bruce are both heterosexual, cisgender men (the Hulk himself is pansexual though).

- Not that Ben was against it before, of course, but I think gaining the ability to swap bodies (and genders, depending on the transformation) at will would give him a much greater appreciation for people who suffer from dysmorphia or otherwise don't gel with the body they were born with. I think he'd champion trans causes specifically during Pride Month - much to the anger of his parents, both conservative politicians. Ben is a bisexual, cisgender man, Julie is a bisexual, cisgender woman, Kevin is a heterosexual, cisgender man, and Gwen is a (currently questioning) bisexual, cisgender woman.

- It's kind of a spoiler to talk at length about Chloé's relationship with her own preferences. Suffice it to say, she would be very much opposed to Pride celebrations initially, but may or may not radically change her attitude as her journey goes on. Chloé is a lesbian, cisgender woman. Adrien is a bisexual, cisgender man (with GNC tendencies as he grows up), and Marinette is a bisexual, cisgender woman.

- Nico obviously didn't grow up in an environment conducive to the acceptance of his being gay. I think there's still a lot of internal self-loathing there, even as his boyfriend and his friends have greatly helped to coax him away from it, and that might manifest as his reluctance to participate in Pride celebrations. I think once he's convinced to attend a Pride parade once, though, it would make a world of difference going forward! Nico is a gay, cisgender man.

- Ellie has never given much thought to her own identity or preferences. She's felt attracted to all kinds of people, but never enough to want to act on it. It's possible that she's aro/ace, or somewhere on that spectrum, but even that feels like an ill-fitting piece of clothing. She is fiercely protective of Danny, though; poking fun or attacking him for being trans is a surefire way to make her go all out against you. She'll happily celebrate Pride with Danny and friends, too. Ellie doesn't currently subscribe to any romantic or sexual preference, but does identify as a cisgender woman. Valerie is a bisexual, cisgender woman. Danny is a heterosexual, transgender man.

- Pidge used to comfortably identify as a straight, cis woman, but her stint as Pidge Gunderson and the subsequent massive expansion of her knowledge of gender identities and sexual preferences due to her travels as a Paladin of Voltron have let her more solidly (ironically) identify as genderfluid and pansexual. She'd have a blast teaching Allura and Coran all about Earth Pride celebrations, and I'm sure she's eager to teach the people of Earth just how little they know about what's out there. Pidge is a genderfluid, pansexual individual (identified as female during Close Encounters, but don't let that fool you!).

- Saiyans have a weird relationship with gender and sexual preference. The average Saiyan is mostly free to do and be whatever the f*ck they want in this regard, but there is definitely a culture of male superiority, and a stigma towards trans Saiyan men, specifically - it's seen by traditionalists as "women trying to rise above their station", much in the same way as marrying between Saiyan classes is scorned. Caulifla and Kale don't have that kind of baggage, though, growing up on Xandar - their dithering about being with each other is just your classic awkward teenage romance, nothing to do with their both being women. Caulifla and Kale both identify as lesbian, cisgender women.

- Dipper may be a straight man, but he's the best damned ally you could hope for - fiercely protective of his pansexual twin and bisexual girlfriend. He's got every opposing argument memorized, and a counterargument ready to go - you do not want to debate him, and he will track your ass down if he catches you trolling/hating online. Mabel becomes even more of a living vortex of glitter and gloss during Pride - sweeping away the more muted Tulip, who'll happily settle for a little bisexual flag pin or sticker on her computer. Hard not to find Mabel's enthusiasm infectious, though! Dipper is a heterosexual, cisgender man, Mabel is a pansexual, cisgender woman, and Tulip is a bisexual, cisgender woman.

That was a lot! I hope it was an enjoyable read, though! @the-literary-lord

[florbelles]

13~17 for Lyra and John?

thank you legend, i am once again sorry for my response time on this rip

xiii. what is their go-to for making a partner feel loved?

— this is something that's actually incredibly difficult for her; the enormity of it is something that nothing feels adequate to express. while she's very physically demonstrative, one of her greatest fears — particularly after he's gone — is that she never expressed it the right way, that he never understood, not really. she desperately hopes he does. she tells him, a thousand times, she is sorry for the way she is, even knowing that he loves her for it, even knowing that he knows what he chose. ( he did, of course, he tells her as much, but it still haunts her ).

she tries to makes him feel loved by what makes her feel loved; making sure he knows she sees him, understands him, accepts him completely and unconditionally. he doesn't need to be anyone else for her; he doesn't need to prove anything to her. she shows him she loves him by letting him simply be, by proving with time that she isn’t going anywhere, that she’s all in.

she shows him love the only ways she knows how. she's most comfortable expressing herself with her body, that she can give him, that she can do and do well ( sexually, yes, of course, but perhaps more pertinently — neither of them have an uncomplicated relationship or history with sex, elaborated on below under xv — with nonsexual signs of affection — running her thumb over his, nuzzling him when she comes up behind him, pressing her lips to his neck ). she’s always touching him if she’s near him. she’s extremely affectionate, both physically and verbally, especially in the mornings and at night when they’re lying limbs-twined.

the simplest answer is, however, synonymous with the answer to xv below; she expresses her love through her trust and willingness to render herself wholly vulnerable. she expresses it through quiet, subtle intimacies that might not be immediately evident to anyone who doesn’t know her ( it’s been stated many times before, but to lyra, the use of a first name and familiar language is the greatest sign of intimacy she can verbally give — her enemies are darling, her husband is john ). “hi, john” is her “i love you;” “i’m so glad it’s you” is her “i love you.”

xiv. what makes them feel loved? would they build up the courage to ask for it?

— the small efforts he makes to meet her at her level. when he says “you love me.” when he manages to drag his ass out of bed for her in the morning to watch the sunrise even though they’re on two hours and he needs his beauty sleep. she doesn't expect accommodation. she doesn't expect anything. one of her most prevailing thoughts early in their relationship is that it would have been enough for him to simply see and understand her; she would not have asked him not to hate her, she does not ask him not to forsake her, but he chose not to. he gave her acceptance. he gave her love. she would never in a thousand years ask for it.

for john, it’s that she lights up when she's around him — is truly simply that happy just to see him and be near him without needing or expecting anything from him, which isn’t something he’s necessarily had in his life from figures who aren’t obligated either by familial bonds or being his subordinates. she could not disguise it even if she wished. he will always make her flush. he will always make her stomach drop and her teeth flash and her eyes gleam. it is simply the way it is: it is incredibly fortunate they are not seen together by anyone outside of the project, because they would have known immediately. ( they do know immediately, when the time comes, before the end of everything ).

xv. what, for them, constitutes a level of intimacy that they would only rarely share with someone? this can be physical, emotional, etc.

— vulnerability, both emotional and physical.* quite literally, he is the only partner she's ever had that she has slept with, excepting some of her earliest girlfriends, generally bunkmates at school ( “i have never slept with a man in all my life!” is a favored gag of hers ). he is also the only partner with whom she hasn't kept her shoes or knives or some means of defense on her person ( john would argue the post-coital teeth and scratch marks he permanently wears make her true defenselessness sat any given time debatable, but it's the thought that counts! ).

( * for the sake of simplicity, this excludes all intimacy in relation to the project; while it’s obviously a major part of their relationship and a shared cause/belief system that deepens their bond, it’s complicated by the fact she would have joined the project and undergone those processes with or without him, whether or not they were lovers )

physical intimacy is, at first glance, something that is decisively not something only rarely shared, given that they both have hundreds of past sexual partners; they both have a complicated past with sex and their own respective baggage. john obviously has a history of self-medication and addiction that’s bound up with his demons and self-loathing; for lyra it's never been a particular vice — she has absolutely also used it to self-medicate in the past, usually as a way to blow off steam when her blood is running hot in a potentially more lethal direction, but it’s never been an instrument of self-destruction — an d is instead primarily is burdened with the fact that she used her sexuality to seduce targets; it's something she weaponized and exploited, so there are always going to be certain situations or circumstances she dislikes seeing john in ( she's reluctant to the prospect of restraining or binding him, for example, since she would use restraints on men she seduced with the intention of intimidating or killing them ). they both have associations they don't want to spill over onto the other.

having said that, the fact of that allows them a type of intimacy that might not be immediately evident to anyone else; she makes sure he knows he doesn't have to fuck her to hold her, he doesn't need to use his body to have that familiarity with her ( given that this is previously unexplored territory for the both of them, her saying so goes over about as well as can be expected — pardon him, he didn’t realize sex with him was such a fucking chore, sorry he is so sexually revolting, don’t do him any favors! — but they get there ).

sex is obviously still a big part of their relationship, and not one that john particularly feels the need to repent, since they’re married in all but name almost immediately and are married in fact within six weeks and otherwise has little difficulty john-justifying ( johnstifying, if you will ) it to himself ( she’s been entrusted to me, i’m bringing her closer to the project, she’s meant for me anyway, god brought her to me, this isn’t lust, she said so herself, this is a sanctioned union ), and she immediately casts off any notions of seducing or manipulating him as means of insinuating herself into the project’s protection ( it’s for this reason she stalls joining; she intends to right away, she believes joseph and desperately wants to believe that this is the reason and purpose for everything in her life up to this point, done both by and to her, but she flatly refuses until she can prove her complete commitment and good faith upfront, an opportunity afforded to her by the camera crew’s fortuitous arrival ) — this is also why she cuts off their first encounter and flees the ranch. she will never use her sexuality against him. in that sense, sex as a form of intimacy is reserved for each other.

( this is, in fact, how she knows she loves him; for all of her extensive sexual history, she has never actually wanted someone — not just release with them, not just a physical attraction to them — she is in fact unsettled on whether or not she is attracted to john physically; he's the most beautiful creature alive to her, but that's because he's him, she loves his nose because it's his nose, she loves his eyes because they're his eyes, his skin because it’s his skin — but actually him. she knew she had to have him. )

xvi. if they had the ability to just spend free time with their partner, what would they do? would they go out or stay inside?

— stay in ( not necessarily literally within the confines of their home, but within their own space ). lyra will probably coax him outside at some point because she doesn't feel right if she's indoors all day, regardless of the weather — no, the first seven years of the collapse are not looking well for her, thank you — but they won't necessarily stray from each other's companionship. if it's a day off, joseph is probably giving them space ( this is also his day off from their shared existence, how wonderful to be able to attend to the rest of the flock without worrying about what problems they're causing on purpose ), so while they'll occasionally have the company of one of their family members, it's more likely to simply be the two of them, possibly with the company of some of their closest inner-circle ( shaggy, holly, shaggy’s brother matthew, a few of their select chosen who are assigned to the ranch ) in the evening if lyra decides she wants a bonfire. otherwise, they take full advantage of their ability to absolutely nothing but laze around and talk and make love.

xvii. under what circumstances would they want to be left alone by their partner?

— this almost never happens, since they’re more inclined towards separation anxiety than a need for space, but lyra is the most likely to want it when she needs to sort out her mental state or let her fuse burn down ( like the time she locked herself in the shower to cry for an hour because he loved her or if they’re in an especially heated argument and she needs to clear her head before she says or does something she’ll regret). she rarely does so, however; she’s aware that from his perspective her walking out on him, no matter how temporary or how rationally he knows she’s coming back, exacerbates his angst and triggers his insecurities.

[realfuurikuuri]

Chapters: 20/? Fandom: Mao Mao: Heroes of Pure Heart (Cartoon) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Mao Mao/Tanya Keys, Mao mao/badgerclops

A/N: Finally managed to get out chapter 20, so alls of y’alls should go read it.

Direct Link to Ao3 Chapter 20

Chapter under the cut:

 The day was ending. The setting sun lit the sky on fire with orange and deep blue. On better days, Mao Mao might have been able to take a second and enjoy it. Instead, there was this      ...feeling    overwhelming his insides. He could feel it in his fingers and in his toes. Maybe it would be better to say he couldn’t feel it. Like he’d completely burned it would out every emotion he could possibly feel and was left with nothing.

       When was the last time he had a “better day”?

 Maybe when he was sitting in his mother’s lap at barely five years old.  They were vaguely remembered moments. The two of them sitting in the garden at dusk as he fidgeted with childish energy. Unsure of what they were doing, yet enjoying the moment so much he was unable to stop. Of course, those moments had to end. Childhood gives way to adolescence and then finally adulthood.

 There were the times he spent with Tanya. It was nice. Free from most of his shackles. The shadow of the Mao-clan wasn’t constantly looming behind him when he had a family of his own in front of him. Then all of that had to come crashing down around him, leaving him only with that damnable shadow.

 Then there were the first few days he was in the Pure Heart Valley. It was a land unsullied and untouched by the outside world. Literally a blank canvas for him to try and make something worthwhile. No tragedy, no family, no burdens existed here. However, all those things had to follow him into even the most remote places and eventually dominate his life again.

 Mao Mao covered his face with his hands, like he could shield himself from the shame attacking him from all sides.

 He pulled his hands away and looked around. He was on the outskirts of everything. The city out of sight, his HQ which was already far from civilization a dot on the horizon, so small, he might be mistaking the tears in his eyes for it. He wiped them away, and then again. He looked at his one remaining hand wondering if he was somehow missing before he realized that he was crying.

 That was the final straw that broke him. Or maybe that was what made him aware he was already broken.

 Maybe it was that realization that hit him harder than anything else. It knocked the wind out of him, and made his knees buckle until he was in the grass. He clawed at the dirt, trying to grasp something to help him at least sit up, but everything slipped right through his fingers.

 * * *

 Badgerclops sat down, his back against a tree. The cicadas had quieted down by now. It really was getting late. He was thankful to finally get off his feet, if only for a short, small, and quick break. It didn’t just give him time to rest, it gave him  to think. He thought about his acing feet, the growing hunger in his stomach, but those thoughts were transient and inconsequential.

       The thought that really weighed on his mind was that of his friend, of his partner. When they met, there was this sort of unspoken agreement between the two of them. That their lives started the second they met, and don’t you dare ask about      anything    that came before. A proposition Badgerclops was eager to agree to. He had baggage he’d much rather throw away than unpack. He never imagined he meet someone with enough to rival him, or even out do by a country mile.

       Two entire lives he never mentioned. One surrounding a family (if you could call it that) who didn’t know what reciprocal love was. And a relationship crushed into a fine dust by his own hands, well, just hand. He never would’ve imagined he’d have a child. Seemed like too much of a straight shooter to have one.

       That was the most difficult part of working with him.

       The calamities that’d walk through your front door demanding to be fixed by a man who could never fix himself. He was sure that’d when he finally managed to push Tanya and her son out of the valley. What’s next? A mountain sized monster coming after the Ruby? The rest of his family showing up to debate inheritance? Wibbildy wobbly time-shenanigans? He didn’t really put anything past fate? Or misfortune? Or whatever was in control of his mess of a life.

       It certainly wasn’t him.

       Badgerclops stood up with a groan. He rested his feet a bit, but they were still sore, and his knees were now staring to feel funky, too. He wasn’t even that old. Maybe the saying “stress ages you” is actually true. In that case, the past month probably yanked years off his life.

       He looked up. The day was getting old and the night wa just being born. His search started late in the day; there wans’t much time anyway. He stood up resolved to continue tomorrow, if he could find him at all.

 * * *

       Mao Mao sat there on the hillock. The tears had dried up, the ground felt steady beneath his feet, and he had nothing else to give. That was probably the worst part of it. When you come back down from those emotional extremes, you find that birds still sing, that grass is still green, and the world keeps turning. These all consuming problems are small, inconsequential, and yet they consume you all the same.

       If his problems were small, yet still consumed him, how small was he?

       He cringed and looked away, trying to push that realization out of his mind, but it stuck to him like a mosquito. He slapped it away a thousand times, ignore it like it wasn’t there, but it buzzed around in his own head. He absently scratched the back of his head, his frustration growing and mounting. It was only natural that he’d throw his head back and let out a groan of frustration, but when he looked back down there was something staring back.

       Staring back wasn’t the right word, for it had a featureless pink face.

       Mao Mao’s first instinct was to lurch back, tumbling over himself, barely escaping to his feet. A smooch as h’ed like to say that his hardened reflexes as a warrior were the cause, his quivering knees were undeniable. His dry tongue. The sweat creeping down his back. This was ruthless fear.

 Where did it come from? He didn’t hear it approach, didn’t even smell it. What was this creature? It shambled towards with long gangly limbs, and an unnatural uneven stride. He didn’t recognize this from his families Monster Manual. He didn’t recognize it from his personal travels… or, maybe he did.

 This fear he was feeling wasn’t the fresh kind. It was the kind thrown back in your face when dredged up from childhood memories… no. The fear was potent, but it wasn’t aged like wine. It was like a fresh soda all shaken up. So filled with bubling energy that it was about to burst.

 He wrapped his tail around his scabbard and pulled out his sword. He held his sword up high, edge facing the sky, the tip pointing at the monstrosity. He didn’t notice that he’d taken a more defensive form than unusual until he’d pushed away to quick strikes.

 Their was a sickening shriek as the creatures claws ran down his blade.

 They say many things can bring back memories. Smell is the usual subject. Smelling a dish in a restaurant that reminds you of mother’s homecooked meal. Personally, Mao Mao had alays been much more sensitive to sound. Maybe itwas his big ears or just a more personal quirk. Something as simple as falling into the mud while a bird chirps would forever taint the dove’s song to him.

 Right now, hearing claws rake across his blade like nails on a chalkboard, forced memories back up like vomit. Memories literally tinged with the flavor. There was something else with them. The stink of alcohol. A woozy haze. Explosive fear. He’d seen this creature before. Where? When?

 The realization hit him like the claks scouring his chest.

 He backed away, defensive posture still going strong. The wound wans’t deep enough to do more than draw blood, but the pain sung with every movmeent. The apin wasn’t enough to send him reeling, it was the word etched into his vague memories with clarity.

 Demon.

       He couldn’t believe he forgotten any of it. His sword began to shake and his knees began to buckle. Whatever stalwart resolve he usually had was falling away. He barely had time to retaliate when the demon lunged at him. He moved forward, pus the grasping hands with a strong thrust. Most things would die witha  sword throught he head, but the demon just pulled itself off. Frayed bits of its heads sewing itself up as it stumbled around.

       Thar’s right… He coldn’t kill this thing.

       Escape was his only option. His eyes flicked to the forest. His first mistake. When they flicked back to the action, he nearly had his eyes taken out. HE pulled his head out the way as claws scraped his cheek. His form was broken. It was a buried and sloppy mess of parries or slashes. No, not even that. He was swinging his sword, guiding the attacks away from himself.

       He was retreating. Each step back to gain space meant lost ground. How long could he keep this up? His arms were sore and his hands hurt. His movements were getting slower ad slower until he knew he’d reached his breaking point. He pulled back, catching the demons’ left hand, and pushed forward to catch the right, but his reactions were just a hair too slow.

       The claws slipped right on past and were homing in. Probably would be the end to his adventures if the demon hadn’t made a simple mistake. Something so innocent as shambling too far and losing its balance, throwing the attack wide and nearly taking half his face.

        The demon fell face forward into the dirt. Someone with honor or pirde may have let it stand back up, but there was only fear to be found here. Mao Mao stuck his sword and the ground and pushed it forward. One quick swing, to split his enemy in half. He hated to let luck decide a duel, but if it decided to be on his side for once than he’d accept her offer.

       He let the sword hang limp in his hands. It was done, mostly over, when he saw the threads writhing like worms. They moved of their own accord wth no pattern, rhyme or reason. No wound -no matter how egregious- id more than bother it.

 That wasn’t right.

 That wasn’t fair!

       He picked his sword back upw ith a haphazard grip. Slammign it down over and over, chopping, ripping and tearing, sending thread into the air like they were guts until eh could do no more. And it still wasn’t enough. There were bits and pieces left. A part of its head, maybe its hip, a forearm, and somethign else. Just lumps of thread, and yet they all seemed to defy every bit of reason.

 When would it stop?

 Could it be stopped?

       What to do? What to do? Even if there were anything in the Mao family handbook for killing immortals there wasn’t any way he’d remember it. His eyes searched the remains as they slowly stitched themselves back together. Was there some sort of core he needed to destory? Some weakness he could exploit? All he could do was pikc up the pieces. One after the other and throw them as hard as he could.

       It wasn’t very far. Barely enough to toss them out of the clearing and into the shrubbery before he fianlly took one part from himself.

       Even if it couldn’t stop the inevitable, it just might delay it.

 * * *

       Issues compounded on each other. He’d wasted most daylight looking for a fool, and did month’s worth of walking in hours. Exhaustion only got Badgerclops to come home even later. Jǐngti and Tanya were still at HQ. Either that, or they didn’t tun off the lights. Even the short steps up the porch were a pain in the ass, and when he checked the front door it was locked.

       The first thought that floated through his mind was that Mao Mao was home. He never locked the door. Why would he, when their closest nieghbor was miles away? It might have ben a problem if there wasn’t a spare key under the mat. Sure t was a generic post anyone could find, but again, who would break into their house?

       He opened the door and didn’t lock it behind him. He didn’t notice Tanya sitting on the couch until he was halfway across the room. Jǐngti was in her lap while she storked him behind the ears.

       “Did you find him,” she asked.

       “No,” he answered.

       Their conversation stopped there.

       Badgerclospd decided he’d just go to bed for today. He had a logn day of searching tomorrow, or that’s what he thought until he heard a sound at the door.

       Frantic footsteps up the porch and the sound of the door being thrown open was enough to get Jǐngti to sit up.

       In came Mao Mao, sweat and blood soaked his fur. He was covered in more fresh wounds and had a dazed, distant look in his eyes. He’d probably be more worried about that if it was the first time he’s done it.

       “There you are wHAT THE FUCK DO YOU HAVE?”

       At first, he thought Mao Mao was carrying… he didn’t really know anything about what he was carrying other than that it was pink and long, but upon close inspection it became clear it was a forearm. Did a Sweetipie catch Mao Mao at the wrong time? No. He had this dazed look in his eyes, and bloody wounds. There wasn’t any Sweetipie that could do that.

       Tanya and Jǐngti crowded around him, getting a look at Mao Mao and the thing he was carrying. It didn’t look like it came from any animal. It looked like it was sewn from thread. A macabre piece of patchwork that was still moving. Tanya moved to cover her child’s eyes.

       “What is that?” he asked again.

       Mao Mao stared down at it for a minute, like he wasn’t too sure himself. “An arm.”

       “      Whose    arm?”

       “...the Demon’s.”

       Badgerclops stewed on his information for a bit before he sighed. “Well, Mao Mao’s finally lost his goddamn mind.”

       “You say it like he didn’t lose it a long time ago,” Tanya added.

       “Hey!” Mao Mao waved the severed arm at them, “I’m being honest here! I really mean it! I was attacked by a demon and-”

       As Mao Mao waved it around it continued to move and writhe with a mind of its own, eventually slipping from Mao Mao’s grasp, and finding a place of its own. The thread moved, worked by deft, invisible fingers, suturing itself up to flesh until it was as snug as a bug in a rug. Everyone stopped to watch Mao Mao, lift his new arm and bend the fingers.

       The Demon’s arm had attached itself to Mao Mao’s severed stump, and now become his own.

[magnumdays]

OTP PROFILE GAME!

rules: answer the questions about your favorite ship (all time or current) then tag other people to do it too!

SHIP AND FANDOM: So I’ve shipped a lot of things in my life but my most constant for the past two years or so is Thomas Magnum x Juliet Higgins from CBS’s Magnum PI. So shockingly, that’s what I’m going with!

MOMENTS:

What were their first impressions of each other?

Juliet: Obnoxious, freeloader who has no money or brains or prospects. 

Magnum: British, stuck up, beautiful, kick ass...annoying her is going to be so much fun. Too bad her dogs are evil. 

A moment you think that both/one of them will remember forever about each other: 

For Magnum, I’d say when Juliet "drowns” in the ep. “Blood in the Water” and he brings her back. I think that moment and what his life would have been if he hadn’t been able to resuscitate her will always haunt him a little. (But that’s just my shippy brain...)

As for Juliet... I think she remembers everything but maybe Magnum telling him _he knows her _when she’s about to go kidnap/ torture/ kill the guy who might have intel on her (dead) fiance’s killer and then talked her down when she was about to kill him.

A moment you think that both/one of them wishes hadn’t happened:

 Weirdly the first thing that comes to mind is Higgy’s face when watching Magnum hold his dead ex. I think because she knew sort of what that felt like (to lose someone you thought was going to be your future - even if Hannah betrayed him long before the start of the series) one of her big regrets might actually be that she/they weren’t able to prevent Hannah’s death. Writing that, it sounds kind a messed up but I think Juliet just wants as little pain as possible for Magnum and that moment was definitively painful for him.

I think Magnum just regrets not asking Higgy to be his partner sooner...

What is Their Moment for you?

_Their Moment _as in the moment I began shipping them or their moment when the characters “knew”? Because I basically shipped them from the pilot. 

As for their most shippy feel-y moment... maybe from the crossover episode. It’s for sure one of my favorites. When Magnum proposes a toast to "us” for having saved the day and she tells him that it’s not a competition and if it was “McGarett wouldn't come close” and he points out that not all office romances fail. The looks and feels in that scene is just off the charts.

Then again, most scenes with them are so IDK, it’s hard to pick one moment!

LIFE QUESTIONS:

Marriage? If yes, who proposes?

Maybe. They both have been engaged to other people pre-series so having them at least get engaged by the end of the series would be the best. I’m hopeful for a proposal in the Ferrari, maybe Magnum has it all planed out and Juliet figures it out and he has to do it on the fly... 

Magnum. It’s canon now.

(Well it was for two episodes).

Children? If yes, if one had to stay home with them, who would do it?

I hope we’d at least one kid this in-show, be it an actual Miggy kid, just some nephew coming to stay or a case related ‘take care of the baby’ one but I’m not sure. Both of them are pretty great with kids so they’d have one at least. As for childcare, I’d think they’d take turns or just recruit Kumu as a nanny so they can go off solving cases and saving the world together.      

Housing? Where do they live together?

I’d love to see Juliet moving into the guest house after much debating on where they should live. It would also be interesting to actually see them get a place outside of Robin’s nest to really call their own. At the same time, who’d give up living in a beautiful mansion for free? 

Pets? Do they get a pet together?

No. I mean, they do have a goat for like five minutes (Ellie, you are missed) but I think they’d just stick with the Lads (even if they occasionally try to snack on Magnum...)

PERSON A & B…

Who would kill/remove the spider and who would leave it under a cup and leave the room?

   I think both of them would be too busy saving their latest client, bickering or just all around not caring to pay attention to the spider. If it got too up and close with Juliet she’d def. take care of it though... 

Who sings all day long and who gets so used to it they don’t even hear it anymore?

I think the singer has to, predictably, be Magnum. Even if we did get Juliet doing a karaoke number... 

Who can cook a gourmet meal for two and who can maybe use the toaster?

Higgy can cook it but would probably never do it. Magnum makes breakfast everyday and with impressive skill (he can use much more than just a toaster, as long as it’s breakfast foods being cooked).

Who wakes up before the sun rises and who would sleep in until 2pm if they didn’t have an alarm?

This one is easy. Juliet is the early bird and Magnum sleeps the day away.

Who is more affectionate/touchy?

I want to say neither and both. But I’m going to say Magnum because... well just because. But I feel like outside/ in public / even among friends, they’d be pretty low on the PDA. They’d both ‘cuddle’ like pros in private though...

Who wears the other’s hoodies/shirts?

OMG now suddenly all I can think of is Juliet in Magnum’s favorite Hawaiian shirt. 

Wait! 

I'll be right back...

Give me just one second...

There we go...

Oh no, why do I suddenly have the need to go write a fic in which this actually is a thing?! Urg. No. I’m just going to put it in one of my WIPs. We’re not starting any new fics this week. Nope. No.

Who said/ will say “I love you” first? 

Maybe a little controversial, I’m going to say Higgins. Because she has more baggage, her actually being the first to say it fits better and would be more satisfying. Also I think they’d be together a good bit before any I <B U are spoken...

[uboat53]

The Greatest Movie Scene

This is a spiel about the greatest scene I have ever seen in a movie.  It is not about the greatest scene that's ever been in a movie, I haven't seen every movie so that's not a fair statement, nor is it about someone else's greatest movie scene.  This is about the greatest scene I have ever seen in a movie, which includes all of the personal background and baggage that I bring to the movie plus the particular circumstances in which I saw it.  Clear?  Great.

The greatest scene is from the movie Batman: The Dark Knight, the one with Christian Bale.  If you haven't seen it yet, stop reading this and go watch it.  It is a movie that really benefits from being seen fresh without spoilers, so don't do that to yourself.  If you read past this, accept that you will be spoiled on key plot details of the movie.

Now, with a movie like this one, with a cast that includes Morgan Freeman, Michael Kaine, Gary Oldman, Aaron Eckhardt, Heath Ledger, and where Christian Bale himself, the star of the movie, can essentially be an afterthought, one might imagine that I'd be talking about one of their fantastic performances.  And one would be wrong.

So let's set the scene.  We come near the end of the movie, the third act.  The Joker, who has spent nearly two hours of movie time tormenting the heroes and tearing the city apart with incredibly innovative and terrifying schemes, has set three terrible plans in motion, all of which are occurring simultaneously.  First, he and his gang have taken a lot of doctors and nurses hostage in a skyscraper that's still under construction.  Second, he's placed explosives in two huge ferries that are being used to evacuate people from the city and is threatening to blow up both ferries unless someone on one ferry presses the detonator to blow up the other.  Finally, he's driven the city's white knight prosecutor insane and has encouraged him to exact his revenge on the police officers who led to his disfigurement, and that prosecutor has taken the family of the city's top policeman hostage.

For our scene we're going to focus on the second plan, the one with the ferries.

Now our two ferries couldn't be more different.  One of them is full of families, lots of women, children, and men who are no longer young.  The other one is full of the most hardened criminals from the city's prison.  Each is full of explosives and each one has a detonator on board that will destroy the other ferry if activated.  Both have been told that they have until midnight to blow up the other ferry (fifteen minutes away!) or both ferries will be blown up.

Now many movies would focus on the execution of the other two plans, they're far more action oriented.  Batman has a ton of great fight scenes in the partially completed skyscraper, tangling with disguised thugs and the police in turn, and the prosecutor (Two-Face!) is threatening the policeman's family with a loaded gun to their faces, but the real heart of this sequences is the scene on the ferries.

On the prison ferry, the warden has the detonator and is protected by two prison guards armed with shotguns.  The guards are young and frightened, both of the prisoners who are increasingly insistent that the warden should activate the detonator and of the ticking clock which is slowly approaching midnight.

On the family ferry, frightened people debate with the captain of the ferry and national guardsmen on board who eventually decide to put it to a vote.  Amidst a sinking feeling of dread, the people on board the ferry write their vote on pieces of paper which are slowly, all too slowly, collected by the guardsmen in their helmets.

Seconds tick by and the tension builds.  Frightened faces flash in front of the screen, sometimes reacting to the arguments for or against using their detonators and sometimes simply blank with dread.  Tension builds and builds.  The family ferry finishes their vote, it's a landslide in favor of using the detonator.  The captain takes it out, his hand on the key that will explode the other ferry.  There are only three minutes left.  He pauses for a moment.  "What are you waiting for?" an old woman demands, "Do it."  "We're still here," he says nervously, "That means they haven't killed us either."

Meanwhile, on the prison ferry, there is utter bedlam.  Prisoners are on their feet, screaming and shouting in the faces of the terrified guards, only kept back by bared shotguns.  At the back of the crowd a man stands up and walks forward.  He is huge, a massive African-American man with a shaved head, covered in tattoos and scars.  Calmly, he walks forward, the crowd parting before him and going silent, until he stands face to face with the warden, looming over him.

"You don't want to die, but you don't know how to take a life," he says in a threatening growl, "Give it to me; these men would kill you and take it anyway.  Give it to me. You can tell them I took it by force.  Give it to me and I'll do what you shoulda did ten minutes ago."

Nervously, hands shaking, the warden pushes the detonator into the handcuffed hands of this huge prisoner.  The expression on the warden's face is pained; the prisoner is right, he wants desperately to live but cannot bring himself press the trigger.  He hasn't killed the people on the other ferry directly, but in that moment he has sealed their fate.

The prisoner holds the detonator, looks at it for a moment, and then tosses it out the window into the water.

That is the single greatest momoment of the movie and, for my preferences, the single greatest moment in any movie I've ever seen.  The raw tension of the scene, the conflict between pure morality and a desperate desire for survival, the anticipation of one outcome, and the suddenness by which another is achieved.

That is the pivotal moment of the movie, the moment when the tension is broken.  And not like tension breaks in other movies where there's a gradual drawdown and sense of relief, this tension snapped like a dry twig and left behind only deepening feeling of dread, acceptance, and a certain feeling of pride and accomplishment.  The fear on the people's faces as they chose or were forced to accept that they would die in order not kill was palpable, all the more so as we'd been witness to their struggle.  The decision of the filmmaker to make us spend the entire fifteen minutes with these people, worrying and debating, trying to save both their lives and their souls as Batman fought his way through a vertical construction site, drew us into their struggle and forced us to empathize with their fate.  There was no way to save both their lives and their souls and they had chosen, even the ones who we may have assumed were the most soulless among them, to save their souls.

But it's not just the tension that's the reason why this scene is so great, not by itself.  The reason why that scene, that moment when the detonator flies out the window, is the greatest I've ever seen is that it's the moment when the Joker is defeated.  Batman hasn't punched him in the face yet; in fact, at that moment, he has Batman pinned, forcing him to watch the culmination of his schemes, but in that moment he has lost.

You see, the thing that becomes clear from the rest of the movie is that the Joker isn't trying to kill people or destroy the city.  That's far too simple for him.  He threatens the life of a man not by pointing a gun at him, but by threatening to blow up a hospital if he isn't killed.  He tries to break his enemies not by injuring or killing them, but by setting them up so that they must choose which of two choices they value most, only to discover that they were the reverse of what they thought they were.  The Joker isn't trying to destroy Gotham, he's trying to force Gotham to destroy itself.

In that moment the people of Gotham, some of them at least, decide that they won't do it.  They won't play his game.  He may kill them, he may rampage ans scheme and cause his mayhem, but they won't be a part of it.  Not because they are perfect and not because they are without fear, but because they are human.

And in that moment it is they, the ordinary people, who become the heroes of the movie.  Not the caped crusader or the police, not the extremely talented actors who take lead billing on the marquee, but the regular people who are most often just relegated to the background of superhero movies, forced to simply react to or accept whatever the result of the conflict between the hero and the villain is.

That's why that moment in Batman: The Dark Knight is the greatest scene in any movie I've ever seen.  It has stuck with me since the moment I saw it, at a midnight showing in the summer of 2008 with some of my roommates while we were doing summer work in our college town.  No movie I've seen before or since has stuck in my head the way that one did, coming back to trigger more and more thoughts and contemplations on the many, many topics that it brought up, many of which are still salient to the world we live in today, and no scene to me has better illustrated the greatest potential of human nature.

If you're still with me, thanks for reading.  This has been going through my head for years now and it's good to write it all out.  I hope you enjoyed and, if you haven't seen the movie yet, go see it!

[harry-styles-sunflower]

Wandering Hands Part 1

Hellooo everyone! I hope you are all having a lovely day! SO this is Part 1 of Wandering Hands. 

What it is: You and Harry become friends but you come with certain baggage that might make any other man run. 

Word count: 6.2k 

Warning: death and angst? (lmk if i forgot one!) 

Pls reblog if you like it :) Thanks in advance for the support! 

~~~

It was a long day after work and you had no one but yourself to worry about tonight. It was Friday, you were at Joe’s, the bar across your apartment. You’d come in regularly. Only about every other weekend. You were drinking your troubles away with a Manhattan. The bar wasn’t too full, it was only happy hour. You heard the bell ding behind you meaning someone walked in. Some man approached the bar as you finished your drink.

“Hello, can I get a glass of your most recommended wine?” You felt him look over at you, “and a refill on whatever she’s having” he paid Joe and sat a stool away from you.

“Thank you, you didn’t have to” you slid your glass away from you.

“No problem, I wanted to” you nodded and watched the tv. Joe served you your Manhattan and the man his wine. You knew it was a glass of his Château Cheval-Blanc because you had had it yourself once. 4 years ago.

“You know, I never understood baseball too much.”

You drank your drink and looked at him from the corner of your eye. Was he talking to you or Joe? You looked around you and you were the only one close enough to hear him and Joe was busy.

“It’s a good sport if you understand it” you shrugged.

“Care to explain it to me?” He moved to the stool next to you.

You swallowed your drink and looked at the screen. You had no interest in getting a good look at the man next to you anyway.

“English?”

“Precisely.”

“The Red Sox and Yankees played in London a few years ago.”

“Wasn’t home.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah”

“Well Um. 9 innings, 3 strikes you’re out. Guy on the circle in the middle? That’s called a mound. His position is a pitcher- “

“Isn’t that what you guys pour juice out of?”

“Yeah we use the same word for a lot of things, don’t interrupt,” he smiled at you, “he’s a pitcher. He throws to the guy across him, the catcher. Catcher signals him what kind of ball to throw in between his legs. He does it based off the batter’s weakness. There’re 4 bases. 1st, 2nd, 3rd, and home. When the batter hits it, he hopes no one in the outfield catches it or it gets out of park. If they catch it while it was in the air he’s out, if they catch it after it’s hit the ground he can run as fast as he can to whatever base is available. But like in order. Oh, also if someone in the outfield catches the ball, they’re gonna throw it to one of the basemen so they can tag the batter running. But if the batter touches the base before they’re tagged then they’re safe.”

He nodded along so you knew he was listening.

“Can I ask a question now?”

You nodded and sipped your drink.

“How do you know it’s a strike?”

“Oh, my bad. See the box on the screen? If it gets in there it’s a strike. Outside the box it’s a no ball but we usually just say ball.”

He nodded and gestured to your drink, “refill?”

“Oh no, I’m good. I need water” He ordered one for you and Joe gave you a knowing look and you just shook your head at him. You two were basically friends now. He’d gotten to know you over the past 4 years. You lived across the street for 5 but you came in 4 years ago. Joe came and gave you your water and you drank it slowly and watched the game. It was Yankees v. Red Sox. The Red Sox made a homer and you shook your head.

“Yankees fan?”

“Yep. We’re in New York. Kind of against the law to be anything else.”

He laughed and sipped his wine. He hadn’t drunken much, he gave you all his attention while you spoke. “My dad was a big Yankee fan. I’ve been one since the day I was born. My mom says she pushed me out and when the doctor put me in her arms the Yankees had won the game. We used to go to a game like every year when I was a kid.”

“Are they as fun as they seem?”

“Even better. During the commercials on tv, sometimes the outfield players play catch with the people on the side or they play a video of the players talking or play a game with the crowd”

“That’s pretty cool,” he put his hand in front of you, “I’m Harry by the way”. You looked at his hand and put yours in it and shook it.

“Y/n” you looked over at him. You finally took a good look at his face. He was gorgeous you couldn’t deny it. He had strong facial features. Short stubble and green eyes. They were bright. Different than your own dark eyes. He made eye contact with you for a few seconds before you turned back to the screen and drank your water.

“If you’re from England, are you here for business or pleasure?” It was New York, people came and went. Travelled. But in your small town about 30 minutes north from the city, no one really came through here unless they knew someone.

“I uh I’ve been here for about a year but I just moved to the area recently. Got a little tired of the city life, but didn’t want to be too far. I work as an editor at Simon & Schuster.”

“Wow. That’s a good job. Hell of a commute I assume?”

“About 1 hour every morning. It’s worth it. Sleep without the sound of horns or sirens”

“True.”

He turned on his stool to face you and you faced him. Your knees were touching.

“So, what do you do?”

“Teach. I’m a teacher. 7th grade social studies. Actually, I taught the Boston Tea party today” you smirked at him and put one arm up on the bar and leaned against your hand and one hand on your knee. Some fingers accidentally touched his knee but your knees were touching. You couldn’t prevent it from happening

“Ahh” he moved a pointed finger at you. You laughed and so did he. He had dimples. Cute. “Such a petty thing if you ask me” he shrugged.

You laughed and shook your head.

“A lot of history is petty.”

“Do you like teaching?” He put himself in the same position as you, his fingers brushing yours too.

“I guess. I love my kids and filling their minds with knowledge but the standards and requirements are a pain in the ass”

“Oh yeah, I’ve heard about that. Not too much freedom”

“Yeah. Like if I want to take them to a museum, I need to find a standard that validates that museum will teach them according to that standard”

“Wow. The museums here are basically free too right?”

“Yep.”

He shakes his head and sips his drink.

“It’s been like an hour and you’re still drinking your wine”

“Well Ms. Judgey, it’s a good wine. I’m savoring it.”

“It is good. I’ve had it. And I’m not judgey. I was just saying it must be warm now.”

“Eh. It’s still chill. Thanks for caring though” he grinned at you.

You rolled your eyes and finished your water.

“When did you have it?”

“Huh?”

“The wine”

“Oh, um four years ago”

“That’s precise”

“It was on an anniversary of something.”

“Wedding anniversary?” He laughed.

“Death anniversary actually.” His face stilled and he became pale.

“Shit I’m so sorry for laughing.”

“It’s okay. You didn’t know.”

“Shouldn’t have assumed.”

You saw him looking at you like he wanted to know who it was but would never dare to ask. You debated telling him. You turned back towards the screen, leaving his knees cold. He felt he had lost any chance he thought he had with you. He liked talking to you.

“Joe, jack and coke please”

He nodded and brought it to you. You chugged it down. Harry put his head in his hands. He had driven you to drink. Yikes.

“It was my husband. He died.”

He lifted his head from his hands and looked over at you. You were a widow. You looked so young. He felt bad you had to go through such pain.

“I’m sorry for your loss”

“Thanks. It was 5 years ago. I’m alright”

He nodded. Too scared to say the wrong thing.

“He was in the service. Died in Iraq.”

“Oh wow…” he was surprised you were opening up to him. Perhaps it was the liquid courage.

“Came with the territory, I guess. We were together for 10 years. Married for 5. Widowed for 5 now. If you’re trying to do the math we were high school sweethearts. Started at 15. Married at 20. He died at 25. Yes, I’m 30.” You drank your leftover water.

“Erm… Wow. Well you look good” he was nervous.

You laughed lightly and said thanks.

“Guess I scared you away now didn’t I?”

“No no! Not at all I just don’t want to fuck up and say the wrong thing.”

“Harry it’s been 5 years I’m good. I’m religious, I coped well”

“Oh okay.”

“Stop being nervous!” You laughed.

“I can’t help it!” He laughed lightly.

“I’ve got a big curveball for you,” you turned to face him and you put your hands on his shoulders as he faced you.

“I see what you did there. Curveball” he tilted his head toward the tv.

“Ooh yeah. I didn’t even notice. Well are you ready?”

“I think?”

“I have a son.”

It was what he thought. Didn’t know if he fully expected it though.

“Okay. Curveball caught? Strike? What’s the big deal?”

“Wait what? You’re not thrown off?” You were shocked. His face barely twitched or showed any surprised expression.  

“No?” He shrugged. “It’s a child. I guess I kind of expected maybe something after you said you were together for 10 years.” He finished his wine.

“Fair enough.”

“So, where is he? If you’re here”

“In-laws. They take him every other weekend. Or just from Friday till Saturday.”

“You get along with them?”

You shrugged. “I think they thought I wanted him to sign up for the force. I didn’t. Obviously. It’s a death sentence. I just wanted to support my boyfriend at the time,” He nodded as you spoke, “but they love Sam and are always there for him”

“Sam huh?”

“Samuel. He’s 7”

“Good age”

“Yeah. He’s a lil sarcastic but I blame myself. I could be that way so he’s only doing what he’s learned. But he’s really smart. He’s obsessed with rocks. Been that way since he could walk”

“That’s cute I won’t lie”

“Thanks” you laughed. You liked his company. He was easy to talk to. You had found it easy to open up. He didn’t seem creepy either. Like he just wanted to get in your pants.

“Well it’s been lovely boys, but I have a little boy I have to be up for in the morning. His grandma wants to have brunch”

You stood up and so did Harry.

“Wait let me walk you to your car.”

You lived across the street but he didn’t have to know that. Joe hid his smile when you said “okay”. Harry paid Joe for both of your tabs and walked out with you. It wasn’t too late, 6 pm. You walked to your car and his was coincidentally in front of yours.

“So um. It was nice meeting you. I enjoyed your company”

You fiddled with your keys and looked up at him.

“Yeah I did too.” you said.

“Would it be too forward if I asked for your number?” he was biting the inside of his cheek, you could tell.

Guys had hit on you before. But the wounds were too fresh and Sam was too young. He’s still young but he’s smart, and he knows some days you feel lonely. As much as you convinced him that he was the only man you needed he knew the truth. You liked his company and conversations. So, you said,

“I don’t think so,” you held your hand out for his phone and he placed it in your hand. You put your number in as “y/n 🥃🍷”. Ball was in his court now.

“Cute” you both laughed.

“I’ll text you” he said

“Mhm” yeah. Sure.

“Are you gonna get in your car?”

“Oh, it’s fine you don’t have to wait” please don’t make me get in my car. I live here.  

“What kind of gentleman would I be if I didn’t wait until you at least got in to your car?”

Okay you were a little impressed. Fair enough.

“Very true actually. Well bye, Harry”

“Nuh uh. It’s see you soon. I’m serious about texting you”

“Okay” you laughed and got in your car.

He got in his and you waited for him to pull out.

 Once he was past the traffic light you got out and went up to your apartment. You called Sam’s grandma the second you got in. He picked up with an ecstatic voice.

“Hi ma!”

“Hi baby, how are you? Everything okay?”

“Yeah! We’re bowling. I’ve gotten 2 strikes!”

“Oh wow. Look at you!”

“Grandpa says dad was good at bowling”

Your heart broke just a little. It bothered you a little when they spoke about him to Sam. You knew he was their son but they didn’t know how much Sam cried sometimes wishing he got to know his dad. You only spoke about him when Sam asked about him or mentioned him.

“Yeah he was actually. When we were younger, we went on a date and he won one round and I won the other. But we were too broke to buy another round so we left it a tie” you laughed at the memory. Just 15-year-old kids.

“You were broken?”

“No sorry hon, I mean we didn’t have enough money to pay for another round”

“Ohh okay.” You forgot sometimes Sam was only seven because he was so smart sometimes.

“Yeah. Well can you put your grandma on for me hon?”

“Yeah okay. I can stay over?”

“Yeah of course. As long as you want to and don’t feel forced to okay?” You knew sometimes he didn’t want to because of how much they spoke about his dad. On those weekends you faked he had a tummy ache.

“Yeah okay. Here’s grandma” he passed the phone to your in-law. You could never say ex. Your husband wasn’t an ex.

“Hello?” Her tone was already unwelcoming.

“Hey, just wanted to confirm we’re still on for 11?”

“Yeah. I haven’t cancelled.” Translation: did I tell you we weren’t going?

“Okay. Sounds great. See you there”

“Okay” she hung up.

“Yeah okay bye. Geez” you slammed your phone on the table and rubbed your temples. She was always so rude to you. When he died, she said it was your fault he left. She apologized for that but it was still something she said. You can’t take words back. You left your phone on the table and went to shower. You just wanted to take a warm shower, relax your muscles, wear some cozy pajamas, drink some tea, and watch friends until you fell asleep. Friends never did you wrong. So that’s what you did. You remember to set your alarm for tomorrow but you also remembered you left your phone on your kitchen table. With a groan because you found the position and you knew you wouldn’t find it again, you got up and got your phone. You saw you had a text from a random number. When you unlocked your phone, the message said

H: Hey, it’s Harry.

You felt bad for making him wait but whatever.

Y/n: hey

You got back into bed, not finding the position again and kept your phone next to you. Your phone lit up about a minute or two later.

H: what’s up? Did you get home safe?

Y/n: oh yeah. Thanks. You?

H: Yeah, I did thanks. So, what’s up?

Y/n: watching friends, you?

H: Same actually. Nick@nite?

Y/n: Yup 😂

H: I’m happy they play this. Especially since Netflix took friends off.

Y/n: Same. Friends is like my bedtime story now. I watch it every night

H: favorite character?

Y/n: I think it depends the season? Like I love Ross in season 9 and I love the rest. I couldn’t pick

H: I agree.

H: Would you want to FaceTime?

You thought about it. Did you want to?

H: We don’t have to if you don’t want to. (Sorry for the spam of messages btw)

You laughed at the last bit.

Y/n: we can FaceTime :)

“Harry would like FaceTime…” you slid your finger across the screen.

“Hello”

“Hey” he smiled into the camera.      

“You look cozy” he was wearing a brown robe thing w a hood from what you could see.

“Ooh I am,” he looked up at the tv, “why are birth control commercials so odd?”

They were playing a commercial for lo loestrin fe and the cartoon bought what was supposed to be lingerie and was showing her boyfriend you assume.

“I hated that pill. It was the worst one I’ve ever tried”

“Really?”

“Yeah it made me gain weight and tons of acne”

“It sucks that all that comes with just trying to prevent pregnancy”

“Yeah. You males have it so lucky”

“Well if they came out with a male one, I’d take it”

You laughed a little too loud.

“You think you’d be able to remember?”

“I’d just take it in the morning. Like a vitamin”

You noticed the way he pronounced vitamin. It was a little different. Cute different.

“I used to take mine at night, just before bed. It was easier that way for me”

He nodded at you and the show had come back. You think that maybe that whole conversation was TMI for your first FaceTime call. The episode The One in Barbados. You both laughed at Monica’s hair.

“Kind of didn’t like the whole Joey and Rachel plot line” He said while looking at the tv screen. It was like you guys were together in the same room and his company was nice on this lonely night.

“Yeah same. It was wack” he laughed at that.

“I think I love phoebe”

“Same, Regina Phalange”

“It’s actually princess consuela bananahammock.” He said with a straight face. You cracked up at his little joke and kept watching the tv.

 A few hours later and friends was over. You and Harry were basically playing 21 questions.

“any pets?” You asked.

“Nah, I work too long” you nodded.

“Favorite flower?”

“Sunflowers or tulips”

“Interesting choices”

“Thank you” you smiled. You were now in bed laying down against your pillow, “do you live in a house?”

“Yeah. Small but yeah”

“I used to, but a year after he died, I had to sell it. I like the small space better. It’s more homelike for just us 2”

He nodded and listened. “What time is lunch with your in law?”

You liked how he didn’t say ex in laws. It was a small thing but you noticed.

“11:00”

“Oh okay”

“Yeah”

“Y/n, um. I’d like to take you out. On a proper date. But I know you’re probably really busy. So, um do you think you could let me know when you’re free? If you wanted to go out on a date with me that is”

“Yeah sure” you bit back your smile. You had never done this before. Well not after your husband. It would be your first date in 5 years. You just got a good feeling from Harry.

“Oh okay” he was a little shocked.

“If not this week, then the next. Maybe Friday”

“Yeah that’s good with me”

“Well uh, I’m gonna go to sleep Harry. It was nice meeting you today”

“Yeah it was for me too, meeting you. Goodnight. Sweet dreams”

“Yeah thank you. Goodnight” you smiled and hung up. You felt giddy and happy. You looked at your bedside table and it was a picture of you on your wedding day staring back at you. You knew he would want you to move on already. You smiled and contently fell asleep.

~~~

You woke up around 9:45 to give yourself enough time to get ready. It was nice being able to sleep in a bit. Sam was always up by 8. You remembered your conversation with Harry last night. You haven't had a conversation like that in years. You'd just recently decided that you'd be open for a relationship but you weren't on any dating apps or anything either. Going with the flow you guess. You got ready quickly and drove to the restaurant where you were meeting your boy and your in-laws. You stepped out your car and so did they. Sam looked around before running to you. You opened your arms for him and he hugged you tight.

"Ugh my baby I missed you so much last night!" you kissed his forehead.

"I missed you too ma," he kissed your cheek.

You picked him up and spun him around making you both giggle.

"y/n", your mother in law said.

"Lydia, how are you?" She held her purse in front of her as you put Sam down.

"I'm good, you?"

"Good."

Your father in law approached you. He was quieter and more reserved. The loss of his son hit him hard. The two were close. He did watch out for you a bit more than Lydia. Lydia's priority was Sam, William's priorities were you and Sam.

"Hi William, how are you?"

He gave you a hug and you guys walked into the restaurant.

"I'm good. How are you?"

"Good, thank you."

You guys got settled into a booth and you already knew what you all wanted. This wasn’t the first time.

"Sam told me his science teacher is being hard on him," Lydia spoke without looking away from you. She was looking at your clothes and makeup. Seeing if it was up to her standards.

"Yes, he told me too. I already told him what to do."

"And what was that?" Here we go. Here's the thing. Lydia was your husband's mother. When he passed, she wanted to be her grandson's mother as well.

You held in a sigh before speaking. "I told him to work hard during school but if she specifically targets him repeatedly to let me know and I'll handle it."

She nodded and stayed quiet. Thank God.

"Mami, your phone vibrated," Also, your husband was Italian. You were Hispanic so you were trying to teach Sam some of his Hispanic side as his grandparents taught him mostly his Italian side. They more so taught him stuff about the culture and food, but none of the language. They swore they knew it but you've never heard them speak it.

"Thank you for letting me know mijo, but since we're all together I'll check it later." you kissed his head.

You and your husband had done a good job. He was a perfect mix from both of you. He had brown curly hair, like you. Hazel eyes like his dad. Dark eyelashes like you. A button nose like his dad that was covered in freckles like yours. Plump lips like the both of you. The food came and you all began eating.

"We wanted to talk to you about something." you felt Sam put his hand on your knee. Uh oh. He was preparing you for something he knew you may not like.

"Okay, what is it?"

William spoke up, "Well, winter break is coming up and we wanted to take Sam away for a week."

You almost choked on your food. A week? Them? With your son? Were they insane? Okay maybe you were being a little dramatic but what?!

"Um, where?" you tried to seem open about the idea.

"Blue mountain. We would go snow tubing and other things in the snow." Lydia said.

"For a week? Snow tubing for a week? That sounds more like a weekend thing to me." you ate your eggs.

"Well we would look in the town for other things to do obviously," Lydia snickered like you had sounded ridiculous. She better not start with an attitude you thought. She was asking you for a favor not the other way around. So instead of giving her a direct answer, you said "I'll think about it." You needed to talk to Sam if this was something he wanted to do or they wanted to do.

You guys had finished eating and you all eventually said goodbye. Sam wanted to come back home instead of staying Sunday. Sometimes he just wanted extra time with you.

~~~

You were driving home from unsuccessful shoe shopping when you heard Sam's little voice come from the backseat.

"Are you mad?"

"No, I'm not mad. Why would you say that?"

"Because grandma was kind of rude to you when you said it wasn't a week long thing." Every year he became more observant.

"Well I mean I didn't like that but I'm not mad. I don't let your grandmother ruin my mood."

"Okay"

"Do you wanna go?"

"I don’t know… I do but not for a week. That's too long away from you."

Your heart warmed a little and you nodded. "I'd feel that way too."

"Did dad like snow tubing?"

"I'm not sure bud, we never went"

"Oh."

"That doesn't mean you shouldn't go. I went when I was younger with my mom and sister, we made it a girl's trip. It was a lot of fun."

"Really? What if we went just us two?"

"Hm I don’t know bud; I think your grandparents might get sad. I think I can tell them it will only have to be for a weekend and then you and I could go another time. Just us two."

"Umm okay that sounds good. I agree."

"Good." you pulled in front of your building.

"What was dad's favorite season?"

"Fall. He hated the heat, but he hated being too cold. And he'd get the worst allergies in the spring and he had this weird pet peeve for sneezing. It was kind of funny seeing him get frustrated though. He would look like he wanted to rip his nose off." You held his hand as you walked inside. He giggled at what you said. When you both got inside to your apartment you both took off your shoes and sweaters. You had a picture of your husband on a small table by your entrance. Every time you walked in Sam would say "Hi dad!" to it. He asked if he could watch some Disney XD for a bit and you said it was fine. You were going to make some dinner. You checked your phone and saw Harry had texted you. You were a little shocked he kept up with talking to you.

H: Hey, good afternoon. I hope brunch went well :)

y/n: Hey it did, I guess.

H: You guess?

y/n: Eh they want something, felt like a setup?

H: Ah. I get what you mean. Sorry it happened.

y/n: It's alright. I got my boy back so I'm happy.

H: Good. I'd love to meet him someday to be honest. He sounds adorable.

You thought about his text. How would Sam react? He's always saying for you to get a friend but what would happen when you actually did? It made you nervous to think about. You felt your phone vibrate again.

H: Uh sorry if that was too forward.

y/n: No, its fine. It was sweet.

H: Okay good.

"Ma?"

You jumped up slightly like you had been caught doing something bad.

"Who are you texting? You never text this much" he was grinning at you. He was happy?

"Um none ya beeswax"

"It is my beeswax when it's taking time away from you cooking my dinner," you gave him a warning look. Dang smart ass. Gets it from you. He mumbled a "Sorry" and sat up on the stool and leaned on your countertop.

"I made a friend that’s all okay?"

"A guy friend?" he smirked.

You turned to get a pot. "Mhm"

"What's his name?"

"Harry."

"I like that name."

"You would like any name if it meant I had a friend."

He giggled and nodded. "Does he know about me?"

"Of course he does. You think I could not talk about you?"

"Okay okay," he blushed slightly, "Is he nice?"

"Yeah he's pretty nice."

"Are you gonna go on a date?"

"Samuel! He's a friend!" you playfully yelled at him.

"Mom I'm not 5, I know you might want a little BOYfriend"

"Sam you are 7, and how do you even know what a boyfriend is." you were talking to him as you gathered all your ingredients.

"Grandma told me about boyfriends and girlfriends"

"Now what is she doing telling you about that?" you looked at him.

"Well we saw a couple at the bowling alley and they kissed and I said ew and she said it’s because they were boyfriend and girlfriend so she explained what that meant to me."

"Hm, okay." you trusted she gave him a good and appropriate definition.

"Do you have a picture of him?"

"We just met yesterday" you say as you open and close cabinets.

"Does he like baseball?"

"I actually had to explain the sport to him. He's not from here." you started cooking.

"Where's he from? Is he from where dad used to work?"

"No, way off. He's from a place called England."

"Where the Beatles are from!"

"Exactly," you smiled at him. He was a classic soul.

“That’s cool”

“Yeah his voice is different too”  

“I wanna meet him” he put his chin in his palm, “It’d be nice to be around another guy that isn’t grandpa.”

“He uh actually said he wants to meet you too but I think we should wait a bit. I think I should get to know him better before you meet him” You stir your pasta in the pot.

“Okay” he tapped your phone screen, “he texted you”

“Thanks, nosey” you took your phone and read his message. You had forgotten to respond.

Y/n: hey sorry was cooking dinner for the hungry boy and I

H: it’s alright. What’s on the menu?

Y/n: pasta. Penne ala vodka with some shrimp. Probably some garlic bread too. Lazy meal

H: lazy? sounds glorious.

You laughed as you texted.

“Oooh he’s making you laugh!” Sam giggled.

You covered your face and told him to go to his room to make sure he had done his homework. Tomorrow you were going to Chuck E Cheese so he wouldn’t have time to do it then.

Y/n: we’ll see how it tastes

H: do you like to cook?

Y/n: I do but I run out of things to cook so I get bored

H: yeah same. I like to experiment though.

You were feeling a little confident and flirtatious

Y/n: maybe you could show me sometime

H: yeah. That’d be fine with me 😊

You bit your lip unsure of what to say. It had been a while since you were back on the flirting scene. You felt your phone vibrate again.

H: are you vegetarian or anything? Gonna think of some ideas from now.

Y/n: I don’t follow any specific diet but I definitely don’t eat a lot of meat. More of a seafood person.

H: gotcha ;)

Y/n: ;)?

H: don’t like it?

Y/n: eh it’s alright 🤷🏻‍♀️

H: alright?

Y/n: mhmm

H: you’re teasing me, aren’t you?

Y/n: just a lil bit 🤏🏻

H: 😂😂

You finished up cooking dinner and called Sam. He came down quickly and mumbled a small yum.

Y/n: I’ll talk to you later. Gonna eat now.

H: okay 🥰

You served you and Sam plates and you both ate quietly as you watched some tv. You would say you were pretty lenient with Sam. He was very mature for his age and he respected you greatly. He barely gave you a hard time. You think he got that from his dad. His dad always wanted to please you any chance he got.

“Mami, can I sleep in your bed tonight?”

“How come, hon?”

“It’s comfier” you laughed at this because you would say the same thing to your parents when you were younger.

“Okay. But you know you can’t always sleep in Mami’s bed. You gotta sleep in your own some nights.”

“Yeah I know,” he smiled at you.

“Alright. Well can I trust you’ll bathe yourself good tonight? I don’t have to help you?”

“Yes ma, I’ll remember to wash myself good.”

“Okay, remember to get in between your toes and everything”

He nodded at you. You two finished your plates and you sent him off to shower. He kept the door open just in case he needed your help opening one of the bottles. You remembered the first bath you ever gave him. He was so much smaller compared to now and his dad kept complaining about how slippery he was. You were only 23 with a new job and new home but you were both so happy with your little boy. You cleaned up the kitchen and went up to bed where your little boy was already waiting. He had turned on the tv and was watching friends. You showered quickly before getting in bed with him. He cuddled up to your side and laid his head on your chest. You massaged your fingers into his damp curls until you heard him snore lightly. You fixed him onto your other pillow and fell asleep on yours.

~~~

The weekend had ended and you hadn’t heard from Harry. That was before you remembered you were the one who hadn’t answered. It was now Monday afternoon and you were picking up Sam from school. You worked at a middle school just a block away. Sam hopped into your car and told you about his day.

"Can I go to Justin's house tomorrow afterschool?"

"Is Justin's parents okay with this?"

"Yeah, we'll do our homework first too!"

"Alright, you better do it because when you get home I'm checking it all"

"Okay!"

You guys walked into your apartment and Sam went up to shower. That was the routine after school. He showers while you make a snack, after that he comes down and eats while you shower, you grade papers while he does homework, and then if he's done you let him watch some Disney channel while you make dinner. This is exactly how your evening rolls out and you decide to text Harry.

y/n: hey sorry. Busy day yesterday. You wanted me to let you know when I was free and I'm free tomorrow after 3...

You stop typing, "Sam, until when are staying at Justin's?"

"Until like 6? He said his mom was gonna cook"

"Okay," you continue typing,

y/n: Hey sorry. Busy day yesterday. You wanted me to let you know when I was free and I'm free tomorrow after 3 until like 6. I know its late notice so no worries if you're not free too.

You finish cooking, eating, and cleaning and you still hadn't heard from Harry. He was probably mad at you now. You sighed aloud and thought well it was nice while it lasted. You went over Sam's homework with him and then made sure he brushed his teeth before bed. You tucked him in and gave him a kiss on his forehead.

"Goodnight my love," you pushed his hair back off his forehead.

"Goodnight mami, goodnight dad" he blows a kiss toward the picture of him and his dad on his bedside table.

You walked out his room leaving his door ajar and walked down to your room. You grab your book and climb into bed. It was the book from Jane the Virgin. You related to Jane in multiple ways. As you were becoming a part of the fictitious world of the character Josephine you felt your phone vibrate.

H: Banzai, 3:30pm, Be there or be square.

You smiled at his assertiveness. It was kind of cute.

H: If that's okay with you.

y/n: Yes, that's fine lol😂😂

He could never be too serious you thought.

H: watching friends?

y/n: actually reading.

H: what are you reading?

y/n: snow falling, it’s from a show and stuff.

H: look at the publishing company

You looked and sure enough it was Simon & Schuster. Wow.

y/n: Wow lol, I never noticed.

H: I've read it, it's pretty good. More of a girly book, I think.

Y/n: I can’t imagine you reading this tbh.

H: it was a hard manuscript to get through. Kept me on my toes.

You continued texting and before you knew it, it was 2 in the morning.

y/n: wow its 2am.

H: I know. Time flew. You're so easy to talk to.

y/n: I could say the same about you.

H: I'm excited for later

y/n: so am I, free food.

H:😐😐😐

y/n: I'm joking!

H: sure you are.

y/n: I am, I'm excited too because I miss your company, its nice.

H: I don't have a company

y/n: Harry

H: okay okay, thank you. Get some rest, you've gotta be up early.

y/n: true, see you later! 😊

H: see you🥰

~~~

Part two is up now!

[lesbianecrivain]

Retourne-toi!

Summary:  Denise decides to travel, hoping to take her mind off everything, only to end up doing more work as she makes the mistake of admiring a castle that has remained hidden from humanity for years.

AO3 link HERE! 

(I’ll be posting all of the chapters on AO3. If you liked this, check that out more often because updates would be there. This is not too related with the game. F/F pairing)

Warning for a little bit of violence when OC remembers her childhood. Also, should I continue this? Reviews and kudos are highly appreciated!! 💕

Now, let us simp for the tall vampire~

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

Chapter 1: Wandering Traveller

The wars never stopped. Up until today, humans still fight amongst themselves for silly reasons instead of working together to be united. Anyone would want to take a break from all these wars. Especially someone who had done everything they could to, at least, lessen or slow the effects of these unending wars. So, that is what Denise Rodriguez is going to do. She took a break from everything, flew back to her country hoping to feel snow again. She really loves the snow despite having low tolerance for cold. If lucky, there might be children on the street who would be willing to play snowball fight with her. A smile broke the straight line on her lips at the thought, heart warming at the images of children smiling as they throw the snowballs at each other. She couldn't wait to reach their destination, she made sure that the place is snowing this time of the year. Having been born from the tropical side of the planet, snow can quite be something desirable for someone like Denise. Something spectacular and worthy of attention and praises.

Here Denise was, sitting by the window seat and staring at the bright cloudy yet calm view outside, a small smile playing on her lips as the plane continued heading towards its destination. Only a few more hours until they reach Europe. Her heart bloomed at the thought of returning to a land that it acknowledged as home more than her land of origin.

When Denise opened her eyes, the sun was not shining anymore. A grin crept up to her face. The person beside Denise stared at her weirdly before going off with their own life. Denise couldn't care less though, she is finally back and she would never allow a mere stranger to ruin her vacation here. She will be staying here for some time, taking the opportunity to stay here for as long as she'd like to. Perks of dual citizenship. She badly needs a break from handling a lot of environmental issues and having to provide for hundreds of students, she almost forgot about her corporation. Yes, when she says she needs a break, she needs a damn break. From everything, especially her other country that has been a shit show ever since she became aware—this having started when she reached twelve years of age, and she is in her early 30's now. It has been a long time yet within the years she lived in her country, not even a single road in her street has been fixed.

"Alright," She muttered, bracing herself while her hand gripped her baggage tightly. "Romania, here I come!"

Denise went straight to her house and after organizing the stuff she brought, she glanced at her phone. There laid on her bright screen, 19:34 in black as her eyes wandered to the other time zones as well. The way to her house was splendid, she can't help but to marvel at the various infrastructures that passed as she rode the taxi despite seeing them for the nth time. She has observed how great the difference is between this foreign land and her own, and then she was again further disappointed with her own land. Enough of that, she is here to free herself of worry, Denise reminds herself, eyes quickly ridding of all the gloom and anger as they caught sight of the marble structure that she has been longing for ever since she departed from this land two years ago. She has always been a regular here the moment she found out about this place, around seven years ago. They just served the best pizzas Denise has ever known to exist, though that could change when she further travels across Europe in the future.

"Miss Rodriguez!"

Denise smiled at the chipper servant and greeted them back just as gleeful. She is glad to know that they are the same servant from two years ago. Even the other staff smiled at their guest, knowing how prominent she is in this place, seeing that she is a regular customer here and actually treated them properly than how other customers would, disregarding them as if they were lower than them.

"Denise!"

Her head turned toward the all-too-familiar light voice, almost squeaking, as soon as their eyes caught sight of Denise. A wide grin set itself comfortably on her lips, turning around to open her arms, preparing to envelop whoever had greeted her.

"Sophie!" Denise was too slow to react as the other woman practically threw herself in her arms. "Looks like someone had missed me," she chuckled, patting Sophie on her small back.

"You damn bet I do," Sophie pulled away but the smile on her lips was relentless. "I told them all to prepare your favorites as soon as you informed me that you will be coming here, and it seems like I am not the only one who missed you,"

Confusion was briefly on Denise's face then her eyes darted behind Sophie. There she saw people carrying a tray, enough to feed all the people inside, with smiles plastered on their faces. Denise knew herself that she couldn't finish it all by herself. Sophie seemed to close the restaurant earlier because the only people here are the staff, herself, and Denise, their guest. Warmth spread through the small woman like a drop of milk spreading lightness to a black coffee.

"Y'all," Denise shook her head in disbelief. "C'mere, let's eat. I cannot finish these all by myself!"

The place was filled with laughter, the faint glow of gold surrounding the place and adding to the calming and light atmosphere. They all took a seat on the long table with Denise on the head and Sophie on her side while the staff sat along by them. They all looked genuinely happy, as if this was the only time they could take a break from all the stress the day has brought upon. The wide grins, sounds of soft laughter filling the room, and the gleam in each of their eyes were enough to take Denise's worries away, even for the briefest moment.

"Y'all didn't have to do this," She told them, shaking her head.

"But we wanted to!" chorused most of the staff while some just kept smiling at her. Sophie then raised a brow in her direction. "Save your irrational guilt, sunshine," she told the small woman who seemed to be rethinking her decision of informing her of her coming. "We missed you and here is our way of showing you. So, shut up and eat, young lady, we've got so much to catch up on."

"Alright, Soph," Denise sighed in defeat yet the grin never left her face. "Y'all dig in too! I'm tipping all of you extra because y'all look extremely happy right now," and that warms my heart, Denise wanted to add but didn't want to sound cheesy or seem like a softie as she wasn't either of those.

Sophie hummed her disagreement. "Ugh ugh, this one's on the house! You keep eat—"

"No." interrupted Denise with a frown. "The least I can do is to pay and leave a huge amount of tip for you all individually, and no Sophie, this is not up for a debate."

Denise was determined and Sophie knew that there is no way she can convince the raven-haired woman when she is determined. She shook her head and released a sigh. "Fine, you are lucky you're handsome."

Denise was thankful for her brown complexion that a blush didn't appear on her cheeks at the sudden compliment. She wouldn't want to be blushing in front of anyone. She coughed, "So, how's everything with you?" She said, clearly dismissing the compliment and hoping that her friend wouldn't push it.

"Eh, nothing eventful while you were gone. Same old same.." Sophie shrugged, mind wandering to the events in her life in the past two years that Denise was gone. "How about you, busy bee? I've seen you on some article while I was surfing the net last night.." She grinned then teased the smaller woman, nudging her softly with her elbow, "You're really doing something big out there! Planning to contribute positively to the world along with a bunch of other stuff!"

At this, Denise's hand crept to the back of her head where her palm was able to feel her shaved head, all while she huffed as she smiled. Maybe it was the time where she joined in one of the protests against the passing of a ridiculous nonsensical bill. "I'm not doing 'something big', you silly," She rolled her eyes at the exaggeration. She doesn't want anyone thinking that what she is doing is grand, especially with all her wealth. "I'm just doing my responsibility as an inhabitant of this world.." She shrugged, and in her defense, she really was although Sophie has told her a lot of times that she is being a hero by doing so. But, Denise had quickly countered that what she does is not a heroic act but her moral obligation as a human. It would be natural to want to help in any way you can, at least that is how Denise thinks, which further amazes Sophie.

"Well, whatever you say," Sophie took a sip from her glass. "How long do you plan to stay? And tell me all the places you'd go to!! Maybe I can tag along if you want to or if I've got the time..."

"I think I'm gonna stay for a while and go to the old times.." Denise explained when confusion crossed Sophie's expression. "I plan on visiting this ancient village. I heard that the sceneries there are spectacular.. I'm going for this old-y vibes for my book that I'm currently writing.. and I plan to take pictures as well." Then she showed Sophie her phone which displayed the village she is referring to. The other woman nodded approvingly at her choice as she kept scrolling through the pictures.

"Well, what exactly are you looking for?"

Denise shrugged as she put her phone back to her pocket. "Nothing really specific.. If I go there and feel it, I would immediately take a picture. I hope to find an abandoned infrastructure or if I'm lucky enough, maybe a castle?"

Sophie grinned at her. "Look at you being all things at once," elbow nudged Denise again, urging her to shake her head. "I really wonder how the hell you're able to do all your responsibilities at once!"

Denise rolled her eyes. "That is why I'm taking a break, silly."

A chuckle bubbled its way out of her throat. Laughter filled the room along with the small conversations among the staff and themselves. Having this unfold in front of her prompted another smile on Denise's lips as one word screamed loud in her mind;

Home.

—————

Denise would have already started her travel, or adventure as she likes to call it, the day after she met with Sophie; however, works keep holding her back and as a result, she has been occupied by them for a whole week, unable to do anything exciting and relaxing other than to play her musical instruments or catch up on series. Why couldn't she just bring her stuff along with her so she could work when she reaches wherever she wants to go? Denise isn't certain if the area she plans to go to has internet or even supply of electricity. Either way, she finally has finished all her follow-up tasks, releasing a sigh—whether it be from relief, exhaustion, or both—as her palm pushed down the screen of her laptop.

"Fucking finally," She sighs again, leaning back on her office chair. She rubs her eyes before closing them. The silence in her home provided a calming effect after her long day of work. Imagine coming here to relax only to be haunted by those damned works. The city was calm. The loud sirens fading from a distance, honking of the car horns, and sometimes a loud chatter would bloom from a small crowd, created a soft cadence lulling Denise to sleep on her position that she would surely regret next morning. But, whatever worry she may have for tomorrow was left unthought of as the night progressed with much ease she hasn't had for quite a while.

The same calm she has been seeking for.

The following morning, the dull ache on her back was quicker than her eyes to open and be aware of their surroundings. "Dammit," grumbled Denise with her voice hoarse. She slowly stood up, still groggy from waking from such a deep slumber that she hasn't had for a while. Her hand immediately reached to rub her back, seeking for relief albeit brief, before she proceeded to go to the bathroom to clean herself. After doing her morning routine—cleaning herself, exercising then eating breakfast, Denise started prepping for her long journey. She had informed Sophie that she will be gone for quite a while and that her brunette friend may occupy her house during her leave, to which the restaurant owner quickly agreed to—saving both of them time and money.

Denise felt like a scout because of all the things she is going to bring with her. She nearly brought her house with her. Better ready than not, she thinks to herself as she packed her razor that she uses to keep her head shaved. Along with that are the various tools she deemed necessary (she brought her toolbox), and some weapons that are easy to hide and bring, for precaution. She also packed a lot of foods and clothings, and of course, money. After packing all of those stuff, she went to put her portable generator on the back of her van, just in case.

When she is satisfied with everything, Denise ceased her movements before sitting on her couch, a sigh escaping past her lips before she could even think of it. She took a deep breath and then closed her eyes, letting the silence envelop her in its tranquilizing arms. The comfort se found in silence started reminding her a moment from her childhood. Something she didn't want to remember. It was midnight back then and she jolted up from her bed because of the tingling sensation in her abdomen. Realizing this, she stood up and went downstairs, only to halt on her way as she heard a whimper below— on the living room where her parents sleep. The lights were off but the soft glow emanating from the television was enough to show her father strangling her mother. At that very moment, Denise completely forgot about her bladder's needs and went straight back to the bedroom she shared with her siblings as silent as she could. The confusion, fear, anger, disappointment, and sadness that she felt that night were too overwhelming. Since then, she promised to herself that she would never marry or have children if she would only act like her father.

"I am so ready!!" Denise practically bounced as she moved, hopping like a bunny on a meadow, as she stepped into her huge van. She decided to bring some of her musical instruments and some of her books to have something to keep herself entertained. Sophie stood by her doorway, waving and smiling at her as she drove away and into the unknown.

Denise had promised that she would take a lot of pictures so that when she shows them to her, Sophie would feel as if she were with her all along her journey. She hasn't reached her destination yet, however, the tall trees she kept passing by as she was hours into her drive were always able to amaze and put a smile on her face. Nature has always been enough to make all her worries drift away, one of the reasons why she does all her best to take care of it. She is a devoted environmentalist, writing articles about the issues regarding nature in her free time while also using her resources for further development of restoration of deforested lands. It may seem like a big work, just like what Sophie insists because it truly is, but for Denise herself it isn't. She loves what she is doing, she wouldn't feel the exhaustion if she weren't mortal. Unfortunately, she must take breaks every now and then for her to be able to continue doing her passion.

After two days of driving and taking breaks to get some sleep, Denise finally arrived at the said village. She immediately felt the atmosphere she needs for the inspiration of both her book and its cover. The village itself wasn't grand, quite the opposite. The way of living here seemed to be simple almost as if the people here are still living in the olden days, and she thought it is possible that they still are. She parked her van near the entrance of the village. The village was small so she didn't bother bringing her van inside, for it would be easier to leave it outside of the village. She greeted the people who met her eyes with a small smile, hoping that they are not hostile to tourists. Thankfully, she felt welcomed enough although some just glanced at her and didn't really pay her any attention but at least no one scowled at her. She doesn't plan on staying here for too long. In fact, after she bought some supplies and asked for the elder for permission to take pictures and after taking pictures, she was already bidding her goodbye and gratitude to the elder before she hopped back to her van.

Something in the north caught her eye as she scrolled through the pictures she's taken, which pulled her gaze away from her camera. The sun was still up, there's still time for her to travel further and find a place to park her van safely— she doesn't need to spend night in a hotel or motel since her van is big enough to host, but she still needs a place to stay for her security. Denise carefully placed her camera back to its place, securing it, then proceeded to drive further up north. What caught her eyes is the enormous structure that seems like a mountain covered in snow on top, a perfect scenery to add to her choices. But as she neared the said mountain, another caught her sight. This time, she also completely forgot what it is that she went for as she was utterly amazed by the sight in front of her eyes.

Her mind couldn't think of anything except;

Perfection.

A castle. It hadn't been in the map nor did the elder of the village informed her of this. It wasn't even on Google when she searched for this area. She thought that maybe this beauty was meant to remain hidden from the outside world. The reason behind for this possibility? She couldn't care. All she could give a damn about is that she finally found what she is hoping to see. So, she did what any people would do. She took her bag and her camera before stepping out of her van—making sure to bring the keys with her, after she parked it in front of the gates.

"Woah," Denise couldn't help but gape at the infrastructure.

Jackpot, she internally celebrates.

The structure seemed to be a mixture of both Gothic and Romanesque style, with its round walls yet pointed arches and stained glasses. Overall, the castle was impressive. Its walls were enough to tell about its age, which to Denise's opinion, this castle might have been built around 18th century. She went to the gate, searching for any doorbell or anything that would notify the inhabitants of the castle—if there were—of its visitors, only to find none. But, luckily, she found out that the gate is left unlocked. Maybe, the castle is abandoned? Denise thinks then smiles as she proceeds further outside the castle grounds. The gate squeaked as Denise pushed it slightly just enough for her figure to fit perfectly.

Denise walked around as if she were strolling around the zoo for the first time, gaping at the size and the details of the castle. The castle emanated a vibe she can't quite put her finger on. She wasn't sure what it was but she felt calm and relaxed. This is perfect for my book, she thinks as she turned around once more to gape at the place. She felt like a person entering an aquarium for the first time, amazed by all the aquatic creatures.

When she was in the middle of the property, not inside the castle yet since the outside was a wide space that would have been green if it weren't winter, Denise finally pulled her camera to her chest. Hesitation kept holding her back. She doesn't want to take pictures without the owner's or at least the caretaker's permission, but whom would she ask if there seemed to be no one to ask for permission? Denise felt as if she just invaded the property despite not going fully inside the castle. She felt horrible, knowing that she must desert the place because she doesn't have the permission to be here, yet the curiosity and wonder in her became stronger than the guilt she felt creeping in her earlier. And soon enough, the latter completely overthrew any hesitation she had.

"Just one picture," Denise promised to no one in particular, trying to drown the voice in her head that screams at her to just walk away. "Let me take just one picture of this masterpiece, then I will leave." Her eyes closed in concentration as she did her best to drown any guilt creeping in her. Obviously, she didn't listen to the rational part of herself as she went to crouch and angled her camera where it covers mostly the upper part of the castle together with the plain sky and the snow falling.

It was perfect, the shot she took was splendid. Denise smiled to herself as she dusted herself off while getting up. A smile graced her face before she could even process it. She took another look at the single picture she took, after all she promised that she would only take one picture then she will go away, and that is what she is about to do if it weren't for the picture she took. The curve on her lips was immediately set straight.

Something caught her eyes the longer she stared at the picture. There. In one of the castle windows, there stood something—someone, she wasn't sure which, but it seemed to be a figure dressed in white and smiling down at her? Denise shook her head, closed her eyes then took a deep breath before looking at the picture again, squinting her eyes at it. It was still there, the...she wasn't sure what name to put to it... The creature? Either way, it doesn't seem like this castle is abandoned at all. She took one last glance at the part of the castle where she also caught the figure. There was no one there. Not the dress, not the smile, not the figure, nothing. Only darkness. Weird. Maybe it had been one of her imaginations? But she looked at the picture and the same figure was smiling at her. It couldn't be her mind's doings. Maybe the castle wasn't abandoned at all, and maybe she could ask for permission? All while Denise thinks what she could do to be more polite to whoever is living inside the wondrous castle, standing dumbly in the middle of nowhere, another thought occurred to her. This one she didn't like;

What if they're not human?