#the person i follow tagged! which is not their responsibility - it is their choice! so they cannot be penalized by blocking!

[not-quitenormal]

Tumblr, if your filtered tags are going to work, please make it consistent.

[nolita-fairytale]

burn your life down | chef luca x fem!reader | chapter one

summary: leaving your old life behind, you move to copenhagen to follow your dream of opening a restaurant. almost a year after opening, luca's quest for inspiration brings him right to your doorstep.

warnings: fluff, eventual smut, eventual angst not use of y/n, second person pov, swearing, danish inaccuracies, very little connection to the world of the bear.

word count: 2500

a/n: remember when i said we'd get pastry chef luca fanfic whether we liked it or not? well, it seems i can't be normal about anything bc i have an outline of (potentially) 10 chapters right now based on this headcanon. while i try to keep reader characters pretty neutral so that you can picture yourself, i have this reader creating food from her own life experiences/cultures so do what you will with that. also, i tagged some peeps from my headcanon post, but please let me know if you'd like to be removed.

masterlist | part two

He’s in search of inspiration when he finds the restaurant – your restaurant. 

It’s an American stagiaire and a single conversation that makes him realize that he’s missing something – that he’s been in need of something fresh, a new perspective– setting him on his quest. 

The best things are inspired. 

Luca stares at a blank piece of paper for what feels like hours, writing a few things down, sketching up an idea, before viciously crossing them out, hopelessly stuck on new ideas for the new menu. After a few half-baked ideas that go nowhere, It occurs to him that he may be in need of a little inspiration himself. He can’t think of the last time he’s taken his own advice, mulling over the carefully-chosen words of wisdom imparted to Marcus a couple of weeks ago, and he’s determined to change that. 

A review in the paper, an old colleague’s recent trip there, and a glowing recommendation from a close friend are what bring him to the restaurant. 

He’s not sure what to expect – having forgone any interest in cuisine described with the words trendy or fusion a long time ago – but Luca reminds himself that it’s the writer’s word choice, not the chef’s, when writing the article. 

When Luca steps into the small home-turned-restaurant, he’s immediately inundated with a warmth, a homeyness, that takes him by surprise. From the open kitchen, to the golden lighting, it feels vastly different from the classic Danish-style, fine dining establishments that have swept the country. 

But Luca reminds himself that the announcement of noma’s 2024 closure, has shifted the conversation around dining culture in Denmark, and already, he can feel that this is the breath of fresh air that he’s been looking for. 

Luca’s seated quickly with care and hospitality by a highly-attentive host, which he only assumes is a symptom of the fact that he read somewhere that you’re an American. While Danish, the host is boisterous, as if he’s known Luca since childhood. Luca smiles politely in response, graciously thanking the man and his chocolate brown curls. 

The menu is small, indicating that each dish receives enough care to be excellent and he likes that, despite being described as trendy and fusion-focused, your menu is creative. It’s different. It’s inspired. 

He chooses the special of the day: the mapo tofu bolognese – a traditionally Italian concept done from an Asian perspective – and the suggested wine pairing.

It doesn’t take long for him to receive his glass of wine, or his food, and he’s pleasantly surprised by how efficient service seems. Stealing glances through the open kitchen, he watches as you and your sous lead dinner service with a kind of compassionate leadership and playfulness that warms him from the inside out. 

“We recommend mixing the whipped tofu into the dish for a creamier sauce. Skal,” his waitress greets, with a warm smile on her face as she sets down the bowl of noodles. 

“Cheers,” Luca replies, his eyes savoring every single detail of the dish. 

It’s somehow elevated, thoughtful, and elegant, yet comforting all at once. 

Luca picks up his fork, using it to collect a little bit of everything – a perfect noodle twirl with just enough sauce, and ground pork before running his fork the whipped topping – raising the fork to his lips for his first bite. 

As the flavors hit his tongue, he closes his eyes, and it’s as if time has stopped, just for a moment. 

The wheat noodles are perfectly al dente while the whipped tofu is almost ricotta-like, transforming into a silky smooth addition to the dish, cutting the tingle and heat of the Sichuan chili peppercorn-based sauce. 

The corners of his lips turn up as he takes a breath, opening his eyes as he savors the delicate layers of flavors. With a crooked smile on his face, he decides that he’ll most certainly be back next week. 

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

You make peace with the fact that tonight is one of those nights – a slow night – as you finish washing your hands. It being a slow night, you’d encouraged your staff to up the hospitality at the pre-shift meeting. Treating guests with the utmost personal touches in an effort to build genuine connections would be the focus of tonight’s slow service. In fact, you and Mathilde, your sous chef, had been running dishes out this evening – something you rarely had the luxury to do. 

“You should go say hello,” your sous encourages, nodding towards the dining room through the expansive window of the open kitchen. 

“Thought it was your turn,” you reply in a casual tone, paying no attention to who she’s referencing.

“No, I think you should take this one,” Mathilde nudges you, causing you to look up. You shoot her a funny look, your eyes flickering over the mischievous expression she has on her face, to where she’s gestured towards. 

“To-?” you begin to ask, before seeing exactly who she’s talking about.

“Ehm. Tall, blonde, and tatted!” she emphasizes in a whisper yell. 

You don’t really need the description as you glance over at the dining room, easily spotting the man seated at a two-seater near the front window.

“You’re right. He’s become a bit of a regular,” you agree with a curt nod that means all business, no pleasure, as you move a few things as you walk and talk around the kitchen, tidying up.

“That’s not what I meant,” she scoffs with a playful eye roll. 

“You know, Jesper thought he was Swedish because… look at him… but he’s apparently a Brit,” she gossips with you, her eyes stealing a glance his way. “We’re slow tonight. He’s here every week. Sure he’d appreciate a direct thank you from the chef!” 

“I-,” you hesitate, wondering why she’s so damn insistent on this. “... yeah, alright. I’ll go.”

“That’s my girl!” Mathilde cheers, in a sing-song voice, she hands you the beautifully plated bowl of pasta to take out to the dining room.

As you walk over towards his table, you make a note that it seems as if the mystery man has made this a bit of a routine. He shows every Saturday at exactly 7 pm, week after week, for the past month or so, as if it’s a standing date he has with himself. After his first visit, you half-expected him to bring a date when he returned, or bring a group of friends, or for something different to happen. 

But it hadn’t and you’ve watched him come in, week after week, with a different book each time. He always orders the special of the day and whatever suggested wine pairing Jesper’s recommended that week.

Most Saturday nights you're busy leading a kitchen or cooking on the line – having little to no time to fixate or wonder curiously over your weekly diner – but tonight’s pace affords you the luxury to spend more time at the front of house. Truthfully, you know it’s the thing that sets you apart. Sure, the hospitality here in Copenhagen is excellent, but you bring an American hospitality-style to this restaurant – and above and beyond mentality – that feels welcoming, personal, even, as if your restaurant itself is just an extension of your home. 

You’ve heard your staff – front of house and back of house – whispering about him, all seemingly enamored and enchanted by the charming Brit. All any of you knew about him was that his name was Luca and that he’s always more than kind to your front of house staff. 

He doesn’t say much when he comes in, you’ve noticed, but every Saturday at 7 pm, he’s pushing his way through the front door with punctuality and a gentle ease.

The whisperings from your staff had all revolved around who your mysterious regular must be: whether he was Danish or Swedish, that someone that good looking must already have a partner, that he doesn’t wear a ring. 

You hadn’t paid much attention to the gossip (or at least that’s what you’ve told yourself) more focused on running dinner service then trying to piece together the story of your handsome, mysterious regular. 

“Hello,” you greet him warmly. “I just wanted to come introduce myself and say thank you for becoming one of our regulars. Your support means a lot to all of us.”

“Hi, I’m Luca.”

You share your name with a smile as he shakes your hand. 

Luca turns his attention down to the bowl you’ve put in front of him, his eyes taking in the beautiful presentation hungrily. 

“Wow, this looks… incredible,” he marvels, returning his gaze back to you. 

“Thank you. I’m sure my front of house already walked you through this but if you’d like for me to-,” you begin. 

“Yes, that’d be great, thanks,” he interjects, a crooked smile on his face that makes your heart skip a beat. 

You have to pull your attention away from him, hoping he doesn’t notice that you’re quite possibly gawking at him. 

He’s kind, charming, and he’s easy on the eyes (easy on the eyes, really being an understatement here).

“Today’s special was inspired by a childhood favorite of mine,” you begin, walking him through each component of the dish. 

Crispy Rice. Caramelized marinated trumpet mushrooms and charred broccolini. Your mom’s sauce approached with classic French techniques, courtesy of your sous, Mathilde, a classically French-trained chef. 

It’s a marriage of your story. Of the people around you. It’s your heart and theirs, put into a dish. 

“You’re the chef?” he asks, unable to hide the surprise in his voice. 

“Yes,” you answer, trying your best to get a read on him. 

He balks, and you’re unsure of how you’re supposed to respond. Was he surprised that you’re a woman? That he’s been eating your food the whole time and expected a male chef? Before you can overthink it, Luca clarifies with:

“I’m sorry. It’s just-, I can't think of the last time I saw a head chef work front of house, let alone with this much care.” 

Oh. 

You let down your guard, wondering why you’d assumed the worst when the man’s been nothing but kind to you and your staff so far. 

"We're a little short staffed tonight. And I love getting to talk to diners… especially on nights like this,” you explain, trying your best to sound like you hadn’t just assumed that he was a sexist asshole. 

He shakes his head in disbelief, looking down at the picturesque bowl, then back to you.

Luca is impressed, and he has no intention of hiding it.

He picks up his wine glass by the stem, raising it to you.

"Cheers,” he says. “And thank you. This is a really beautiful dish.”

“Of course. Enjoy,” you reply, giving him a polite smile, before heading back into the kitchen. 

 -------------------------------

“Good service tonight, everybody!” Jesper, your front of house manager, announces while clapping a few times to signal to staff that it’s time for a post shift meeting. 

As you all gather in the pristine front of house space. Some of your cooks have taken their aprons off, others haven’t had a moment to unwind from the shift yet – business picking up in the last hour or so of service. 

Jesper goes through his nightly wrap-up notes, celebrating the wins of tonight, and making sure to celebrate how everyone rallied to pick up pace when business spiked. He’s gregarious, larger-than-life, the kind of person who can talk to anyone about anything, making him an excellent front of house manager, and even better sommelier. You really lucked out with the twins, you think to yourself – with Jesper and Mathilde – when they were more than eager to work with you on opening this restaurant. 

“Oh, and before we go, a client left a gift… table number four,” Jesper says, in reference to Luca’s table. He pulls a tan-colored pastry box from another table, setting it down on a table where everyone can take a look. 

“As a thank you. He requested for me to share. So have it and let’s make a note next time he’s in to really treat him like a VIP.”

One of your most-talented servers opens the box, eliciting a chorus of gasps, giggles, and excited whispers as soon as the assortment of croissants and pastries are revealed. 

You and Mathilde exchange a look as everyone else busy themselves with unpacking the pastry box. Mathilde raises an eyebrow and you’re not sure what to say. Witnessing your silent exchange, Jesper makes his way over to the both of you, before extending his arm to reveal the card he’s holding. 

“And this, my dear…” he begins, exchanging a look with his sister. “...is for you.”

“What do you-, just me?” you ask as you take it, hesitantly. 

“I think so, yeah,” he nods, confidently. 

To the Chef, the front of the card reads. 

“Jesper, let’s check out some of these pastries, yeah?” Mathilde suggests, not so subtly hinting towards her brother. 

He nods, giving you a little space so that you can read the card Luca’s left for you. 

As your staff divvy up the box of laminated pastries, sighing with joy as they taste the decadent, hand-crafted sweets, you take a few steps away to open the note. His handwriting is pristine – perfectly neat in every way, like he’s written over carefully measured invisible lines.

Chef,

Thank you for all of the great meals. I'd like to return the favor, that is, if you're open to it. 

Tomorrow. 5 pm. Dronningens Tværgade 2, 1302

While Luca’s gift has been more-than-generous, you find yourself overwhelmed by questions. Was he a chef too? And why had he not said anything? And what was this gesture all about anyways?

You read the card a few more times, turning the words over in your head as you try to make sense of it. 

Mathilde can see your overwhelm, your eyebrows knitted into one confused expression as she saunters back over to you.

“What does it say?” she asks, curiously. “A love confession perhaps?”

“Mathilde, you really have to stop reading all of those French romance novels!” you tease her. “It’s giving you too many ideas.”

“It’s the only way I keep up with my French!” she defends herself with a lackadaisical shrug, earning a laugh from you.

“Uh no… it’s actually a thank you card… only I think he… wants to feed me,” you share with her, holding the card out so that she can take a look. 

“He’s a chef too?” she asks, taking the card from your hands. 

“I think so, yeah,” you reply, letting out an exasperated laugh. 

“Oh shit!” Mathilde exclaims, as soon as she sees the address that Luca’s written down. 

“What?” you ask her, wondering if there’s something you missed. 

“The address… that’s AOC. I think he’s a chef at AOC, babe,” she gasps, shaking her head as she hands the card back to you, sending a ‘you lucky, bitch’ look your way.

Oh shit, is right.

[djarinterstellar]

Safe Place

Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!Reader

Summary: What starts as a night off alone escalates into some trouble in town. Luckily, when you’re employed by one of the fiercest warriors in the galaxy, backup is never too far away.

Tags/Warnings: category is- MUTUAL PINING[!!] they just don’t know it. mostly comfort/fluff. some violence in the beginning + 1 minor injury. mentions of alcohol and spice (cannabis) use. Reader is fadeddd most of the plot lmao. Protective/Soft Din 🥰 mentions of Force-sensitive Reader. also no Grogu today, it’s past his bedtime :(

Word Count: 8.6k

a/n: not me posting this on the cusp of season 3 finally premiering 💀 also this was supposed to be shorter but honestly, this thing got so out of hand so fast, idek why it drags on for as long as it does. but i was inspired by this very stoned prompt i thought of months ago with my favorite tin can babygirl and decided to finally finish it so. here we go. ✨

ps: i’m still trying out the 3rd person pov thing so lemme know if you hate it or not. also to settle any confusion amid the new szn, this takes place between s1 and 2 :)

Translation: Sen’ika = little bird

*

*

It’s supposed to be an easy night.

Mando is on a hunt and she’s been left in charge in his absence. Normally she would’ve argued coming along and you know, making herself useful as she’d originally agreed upon. But the Crest could only land so close and the additional foot travel was too long and treacherous for the Child to follow along. Plus Red trusted her enough to leave her alone with his foundling without making off with his ship and she had no other choice but to agree.

A few days had passed now since he’d departed. He estimated he’d return in about a week, so she was in no rush in waiting for him. Mando had settled them on the outskirts of town, far enough where they could lay low in peace but still close enough for her to make any emergency supply runs in town. She was left with everything she needed to care for the kid. And with specific instructions not to leave the Crest unless it was absolutely necessary.

Which is exactly what she decided to categorize this as.

The pair of double doors leading into the local cantina burst open and she stumbles back out into the streets, giggling to herself as she cradles a pair of warm cider bottles to-go in her pouch. She hadn’t planned on lingering at the bar but three drinks and a pair of shots with a group of local girls later, plans were changed. She was even invited out back to share a round of their spice joint, a generous offer she simply couldn’t refuse. She was now blissfully intoxicated and felt lighter and happier than she’d been in weeks.

The kid had finally settled in earlier and if his recent patterns served her correctly, he’d be down for the rest of the night. She was finally alone, a privilege she found extremely rare these days since joining Mando’s crew, which gave her ample time to wander into town. Was it responsible of her to leave the Crest and the kid alone? Most would argue it wasn’t, Red most of all. But he wasn’t here to say no! Plus, she had locked the ship down to keep the kid inside and protected from any potential stragglers. All goes well, she would be in and out before he woke up.

And she was confident about this because she’d already gone out just last night. Sure, she hadn’t been out this long, but again, Mando wasn’t expected anytime soon.

She liked exploring towns. It gave her a reason to not only scope out her environment, but to familiarize herself with the locals and figure out which spots in town were traveler-friendly. It was easy to wander when she was on her own, but now that she was a full-time employee, it had become somewhat of a rare treat.

It was week’s end for these particular folks, which meant most of them were out in droves tonight. She could still hear the fits of laughter and drunken serenades belting out of the cantina behind her as she walked away. The air was far cooler at night and the refreshing taste of it in her lungs gave her cloudy head the clearance it needed.

She was delightfully drunk and probably just as high, but she was conscious enough to know she needed to get back. Leaving the kid alone for a couple of hours was fine, but stretching it out any longer than that was far too much of a risk. Live music was playing somewhere from around the corner, locals dashing around her as they hopped from one cantina to another.

The energy buzzed around her like an electric current, yet she walked with a familiar ease. She felt oddly safe within the center of town. But as she drifted further into the outskirts, the street lamps dulled and the crowds thinned out. A pair of fraternal moons became her guiding light as she willed herself to remember the path back to the Crest.

And for a while, it was fine. Despite the silence, she couldn’t help but feel a bit more on edge out here alone than when she was surrounded by a bunch of drunk miners. She ignored it though, trying to tell herself it was probably the spice making her antsy. But the farther she walked, the longer her paranoia festered and itched and scratched until she realized it wasn’t the libations talking to her.

It was the Force.

She realized too late she was being followed until just before she was confronted. A Balosar male slinks out from an alleyway behind her, long and slim with his hands stuffed in the pockets of his oversized coat. She wills herself to keep her eyes straight ahead but she could hear him glide over to her side to match her stride.

“Where ya goin’ sugar? The party’s that way!” he drawled, sending an immediate chill up her spine. Shit.

“I know where I’m going,” She doesn’t look at him as she attempts to brush past him. “Have a good night.”

He reacts by slipping around her once more, this time blocking her path directly ahead. “Whoa whoa, take it easy!” His accent is thick and laced in what she can only describe as mock-innocence. “Relaax, nobody’s gettin’ hurt here!”

Her facial expressions remain unmoved, glancing up at him boredly. In reality though, her heart was hammering against her ribcage. The last thing she needed, especially right now, was unwanted attention from anybody, let alone from this total stranger. She moves to step forward but he cuts in her way, a sly grin stretching across his face.

“It’s okay baby,” Her stomach internally caved in at the pet name. “just tryna find where the cool people hang out.”

“Wouldn’t know where to point you to.” she replies flatly, straightening her back. “Excuse me.”

She attempts to move around him again, but his arm comes up to lay on the wall next to her and he leans forward to cave her in. “Where’re you from then? I’ve never seen anyone this pretty so far out here.” His free hand inches towards her face but she’s quick to turn her cheek, her jaw clenching behind her lips.

“And you never will.” she snaps back, already inching backwards.

This only prompts him to step closer, a frown crossing his slimy face. “Ey, you don’t have to be a bitch.” His tone switches almost predictably and her hand slips behind her cloak to reach for her holster.

“Back off.” she snarls him a warning with the coldest glare she can make.

He tries reclosing the gap between them again. “C’monn honey- ”

“NO.” Her fight-or-flight instinct kicks in and she fully pushes her weight on him to shove him down. Her stand off is cut short though when he finds his balance and pushes back. She’s thrown back against the wall and before she can even process it, a pocket knife is jabbed against the skin of her neck.

Shadows move over his shoulder in her peripheral vision and when she follows them, 3 more Balosars creep out of the dark, hovering behind the first one in a sort of half circle around her.

It’s at this moment that she realizes 2 distinct things. Firstly, she doesn’t recognize them. In her 4 or so days since they touched down, she’d observed the villagers in her down time and gathered a very broad consensus of who was who— and in that time, she hadn't seen any Balosars in this town, which told her they were also just passing by. Secondly, she thinks as she watches the other 3 close in, she’s tangled herself in a very complicated web here. It was 4 against 1, with a notable size difference amongst all of them. She couldn’t see straight, was hilariously underprepared for a fight given the company she was currently keeping, she was fucked up and only growing more inebriated as her vices soaked into her bloodstream, and she was alone. No baby, no bar friends, no civilian witnesses.

No Mando.

Fuck.

A strangled little noise escapes her throat when the knife is pinched further into her skin and she curses herself at how whimpered it comes out.

“Fine, since you wanna do this the hard way..” the first Bathosar sneers almost mockingly, his frame towering over her own.

She’s curling into the overcast of her cloak when her fingers finally find the handle of her blaster, skin digging tightly into the cool of the metal. She looks into his eyes and sucks in a deep breath before the tension snaps.

Fuck it.

In an instant, a shot zaps out, aimed directly at his foot. He cries out when it makes contact, and she smashes her blaster across his temple when he folds over in distracted pain, his knife clattering to the ground. Despite her inebriation, she can sense the others jumping into action and she points her gun at the closest one, shooting him right in his chest before he can get any closer. She doesn’t have time to watch his body crumple to the floor as she turns to shoot at the other two, a rapid succession of plasma bolts whizzing out almost desperately. Her second target barely misses her line of fire and as she follows his trail, she fails to block the third Balosar from tackling her into the wall. She cries out as he harshly elbows her wrist to disarm her, the blaster forced out of her hand.

“Grab her!” She hears her attacker hiss from above her before she’s suddenly snatched from behind. Her arms are pinned to her sides as she’s grabbed and lifted several inches off the ground.

Her heart is pounding, blood pumping into her ears as she yells out. Her feet start kicking furiously in an instant, every functional instinct left in her telling her to fight back. “Get off me!” she shrieks, flailing until her boot finally connects with a knee. She hears him yelp behind her, his grip slipping. She jabs her elbow fully into his nose, sending them both tumbling.

Two separate voices are shouting incoherently above her in a blend of confusion and exasperation. She can see her blaster just feet away and she starts crawling, scrambling in a desperate effort to reach it, until she’s yanked backwards by her ankle.

“Pin her down.” she hears one of them growl maliciously from above.

Her stomach turns as she’s dragged back into her assailant’s grip, trails of her fingernails digging into the dirt floor. She feels her brain short-circulating in its panic so she resorts to one last defense tactic.

She starts screaming.

And it’s a shriek that’s piercing and raw and louder than she was planning it to be. But she screams anyway in hopes that anyone within the block can at least hear her, even if it’s another drunken villager on their way home.

“Shut her up!” A second voice hisses hastily, hands scrambling to smother her.

“NO- ” She bites down on the first hand that touches her face and only squeals louder, her pitch jumping another octave in her hysteria. She starts kicking again, nails scrambling in the dirt for a spare rock, a glass shard, anything physical to grab in her defense. When her palms only fill with clumps of dirt and sand, she clenches her fists around them anyway.

What started as a dreamy, whimsical high has quickly soured into a debilitating panic trip. Rather than floating in euphoric bliss, she feels tranquilized, her focus and motor skills severely hindered and overpowered by these 3 much larger adversaries. Her stomach is turning over under her ribs, waves of nausea churning with her rising panic. Her heart is pounding too fast she feels, and her lungs are tightly clenched despite how fast she’s gasping for air.

She doesn’t realize she’s crying until she’s flipped on her back, the welling tears spilling down her temples. Before she can scream again, a balled up handkerchief is forced into her mouth. Two of them meanwhile, are putting their full weight down on her to pin her limbs to the ground. The first one is limping over to them, his knife recovered in his hand while patches of fresh blood trail behind his injured foot. She audibly whimpers now, wriggling in their grasp like a drowning fish.

“You know.. I was gonna let you go after all this,” he starts, turning his blade over in his hand as if to inspect it. “But that was before I believed the rumors.” He pauses here, and the dread is only momentarily overwhelmed by her instinctive curiosity. “I mean- we all knew the bounty’s primary target was a Mandalorian with a green pet- ” Her stomach drops. “ -but there was no mention anywhere about his pretty little accomplice.”

She rustles again as he looms over her. “And I gotta tell ya, I didn’t think it was true at all. I mean, a Mandalorian with a business partner? And a girl at that!?” He almost laughs before he pivots. “But then we sees’ you in town, carryin’ this little guy around, and we think, maybe there’s some truth in all this, ya know?” Her stomach sinks even lower at the realization that they not only spotted her with the kid, but that they’d been watching her this whole time too.

Double fuck.

Suddenly, he’s kneeling in front of her, his injured foot tucked behind his knee, and she’s roughly sat up to face him by the snatch of her hair. “So here’s what’s gonna happen,” She grunts helplessly when his blade is pressed deeper against her neck as the three men crowd around her. “you’re gonna point me in the direction of the gremlin, you’re gonna watch us shoot his kidnapper, and then, and only then, will I finally kill you myself.”

Her brows crease in pain as she tries to pull away from his blade, but the hand twisted in the back of her hair only pushes her into it. The handkerchief is yanked out for her to answer and his head tilts to catch her eyes. “So?” he snaps. “What’s it gonna be? Now or later?”

Her eyes harden, nostrils flaring. Honestly, right now, she just wants to tell him to fuck off. It’s not like this was her first time being mugged and/or threatened, and unfortunately not while inebriated either. But this one felt pretty damn close to getting got. Her brain is already scrambling between scattered half-assed theories on how to get her out of this.

Fw-ip !

A whizzing sound passes under her and it’s so subtle, she almost doesn’t notice it. Then there’s a pause of silence that’s almost too heavy to be coming from nothing before she notices that the first guy’s eyes have blown wide open. They make eye contact and she squints, almost confused.

Suddenly, he’s thrown back and he starts screaming before she realizes he’s being yanked into the shadows by his wounded foot. She can hear the mechanical whizzing again as he’s dragged, even over his friends’ shouting, and it takes another split second for her to realize it’s a whipcord. And just like that, the Force alerts her that she’s not alone again. But instead of dread, something else flutters in her gut.

The Balosar’s screams are cut short by a single blaster shot, and she inhales a gasp of air before a chill crawls up her spine.

Two heavy, familiar boot steps clunk in front of them as its owner steps into the dim lighting.

She exhales and pure euphoria blooms in her chest.

He’s towering over them, broad shoulders stiff and gloved hands clenched into iron fists, his armor gleaming like a beacon even in the cover of night.

She can’t stop the smile that’s spreading across her face. “Mando..-”

“Kill him!” One of the Balosars yanks her back into his chest as his friend scrambles to his feet, blaster already in hand. She squeaks and the sound seems to snap Mando into full action. She’s yanked to her feet as his arm wrangles itself around her neck.

From here though, she can see her Mandalorian in his full glory. She watches him stalking towards his prey, blaster bolts bouncing off his beskar like raindrops as the other guy empties his clip into him. And of course, when that doesn’t work, he headbutts him to stun him before striking. Despite the weight of his armor, Mando moves like a viper and is just as deadly.

She feels herself being dragged away and she grunts in protest, trying to wriggle out of his grasp. It’s then she remembers one hand is still clenched. Without a second thought, she swings backwards, smacking the guy right in the face as she temporarily blinds him with a fistful of dirt.

“Agh- !” He shouts and she slips out his grip. She starts towards Mando, but then she’s grabbed by her hair and is yanked backwards with a cry. “Fuckin’ bitch- !” She hears him snarl before the back of his hand strikes her directly across her cheek.

She drops against the brick wall behind her, his body towering her, but from the corner of her eye, she spots Mando. The second guy is now motionless on the floor and his helmet is fully trained on the last one. And based on the swell of his chest and how hard he’s breathing now, she doesn’t need to gauge anything else; he just saw what he did and he’s furious.

He crosses the space between them and drags him backwards and away from her. The Balosar starts fighting back but he's quickly overpowered as he’s disarmed with an unnatural twist of his wrist. Mando spins him around and lands a punch directly into his face once, twice, thrice and then a final fourth blow before the guy falls to his knees. And it’s there that he goes for the kill, grabbing his head with both gloved hands and snapping his neck with an enraged grunt and a sickening crunch.

She watches the final body crumple to the floor with blown out eyes and her jaw fully dropped. She’s physically shaking, she realizes, and can barely breathe, let alone stand on her own. But when Mando finally turns to her, his chest rising and falling, she clings to the wall behind her to gather herself back up.

“What the hell happened??” Mando’s tone is harsh and agitated, even under his modulated panting. “You weren’t on the ship when I-”

He’s cut off when she runs straight into his arms. She all but collapses into his chest, arms coiled around his neck and her face smothered into his cowl. Before he can even process what’s happening, she pulls back to look up at him. “You’re earlyy!” She’s practically beaming up at him, one of her hands tracing the cheekbone of his helmet.

He’s speechless. First, a hug. And now she’s.. glad to see him? Not to mention how she’s smiling up at him with those big, adoring puppy-dog eyes. She’s never been this nice to him before, not even around the Child. “I- ” he hesitates before clearing his throat. “ -Yes. The target uh, took less time than I thought.”

This only makes her smile wider before she buries herself in him again. This time, her arms slip around his back, her cheek leaning into his chest plate. She could care less about how the edges of his armor were pinching into her skin, or how his fully loaded bandolier was pressed very uncomfortably into her collarbone. All that mattered to her right now, was this. “I’m so happy you’re here.” she all but whimpers, closing her eyes to savor the coolness of his beskar and the familiar scent of metal and gun smoke.

Now Mando was really stunned. But he can also feel the physical tremble in her muscles and the speed of her pulse, so he relents with a long sigh before a single arm drapes around her back. “Are you okay?” he asks, his tone much softer this time.

She nods into his chest before pulling away again. “Y-Yeah I just- ” she takes a deep breath and lets out a shaky exhale. “ -that was.. too close..”

“What happened?” He decides to ask again. “Are you hurt?” His hands quickly pat her down as if checking her for any other injuries before one of them comes up to gently cup her chin. He carefully tilts her face to get a better view of her red cheek and it doesn’t go unnoticed when she refuses to make eye contact. His helmet tilts ever so slightly. “Sen’ika..”

Her lips press together and her brows furrow as she flinches. “Well..”

“Did they kidnap you?” He asks, his other hand gesturing towards the 3 bodies behind him.

This makes her head snap back up. “No! No, they had no idea where I was staying. They were just trying to follow me back t..” she trails off the moment her brain catches up to her lips, and now that she’s face-to-face with him, she can practically feel Mando’s visor burning a hole into her forehead.

The pause between them stretches out uncomfortably before he finally speaks. “Where did you go?” His voice makes her insides squirm, like a teenager getting caught out after curfew.

“Uh..” She starts and suddenly she’s become hyper-aware of how hot her face is. She can’t remember the last time he was this close to her, and the realization of this somehow makes her self-conscious. She’s also still remarkably faded, too faded in fact to fake any semblance of sobriety. And if he’s already here, there’s really no point in lying to him, he’s way too smart for that. “..the bar.” she finally finishes meekly.

His shoulders slump as he exhales. “You got drunk?” he asks incredulously.

Her face brightens in embarrassment. “Okay, look- ” she starts and she can practically hear him groan under his helmet as he looks up to the sky. “-to be fair, I only went after the kid passed out, cause I knew he wouldn’t wake up.”

When she looks up, his helmet only tilts to the side, a silent move that only prompts her to keep going. “Ok, so there’s this pattern I’ve noticed, so when you give him a full meal and a glass of warm milk, and then you just let him play with his toys and get him to make them float around the room, after a certain time, he’ll get super tired and, like, fully sleep through the night. And I know that sounds like the most basic excuse in the book but I swear I tested this three nights in a row and it worked every time, okay so I wasn’t being totally stupid..”

She doesn’t realize how long she’s been rambling until she glances up again. He’s now leaned in closer to her, and for a moment she thinks he’s examining her cheek again. What she doesn’t realize is how carefully he’s looking into her eyes. He can tell she’s been drinking by now, and despite the trauma of the attempted assault on her just now, her eyes are still way too bloodshot to just be the liquor. Not to mention the hint of another smell on her..

She inhales sharply through her nose when she feels his gloved hands slip over her own. She gazes into his visor, as if straining to look for a pair of eyes behind it and leans in ever so slightly. She’s never been as curious to see what his expression looks like as she is right now. Her face softens as she stares up at him. “Mando..?” Her voice is just above a whisper and oh-so delicate.

She can feel his thumbs gently press into the pulse points of her wrists as he stares at her, and the surprising warmth of his touch makes butterflies flutter in her ribs. And just before she can open her mouth to call out to him again, he leans directly into her eye level.

“Are you high?” He’s audibly confused.

Her eyes turn into saucers in silent panic and it’s here that he can see her pupils are blown wide open.

“…Uhhhh…”

He sighs heavily as his head drops in defeat. It’s the only answer he needs.

“Okay,” he relents as he lets go of her. “Get your stuff. Let’s go home.”

He immediately stiffens once the words slip out. Oh, fuck fuck fuck.

No Din, no! This was temporary, remember?? She’d only made that abundantly clear the day she stepped foot on the Crest with a single bag and 2 datapads. It was always a mutual agreement though: she was to join him on the Crest to work full-time on tracking down a Jedi, with a deadline of at least a couple of months before he was to drop her off at a new planet of residency of her choosing. After all, she’d only just begun resettling her life and it was a path she intended to follow through on her own. Din understood this partnership was fleeting and it was unfair of him to call this ‘home’, yet for some reason, he insisted on slipping up in little moments like this again and again.

Though based on the glazed, clueless look in her eyes, she didn’t notice at all. “Okay.” she simply says, turning around to scan the alley for her belongings. As she skirts off in one direction, Din sees her blaster laying just a couple of feet away. He picks it up for her when a loud clanging catches his attention.

“Hey!” She calls out, straining to pull her bag out from under one of the bodies. Once she rolls him off with a kick of her foot, she holds up her bag and pulls out one of the sources of the noise. “Look, the cider survived!”

His helmet tilts almost disapprovingly, but he does nothing else as he holds her blaster out to her. “C’mon.” he all but huffs impatiently.

“Okay okay, sorryy- ” she slurs, stumbling over the same body as she returns and accepts her blaster. “One of these are yours ya know!” Mando is already walking away as she’s throwing her up bag over her shoulder, and she has to scramble to keep up with him, a move that makes her trip on her own two feet.

His helmet tilts over his shoulder at her. “Can you walk?” She’s not sure if it’s meant to sound demeaning or not, but it makes her puff her chest as she pouts at him.

“Of course I can walk!” she shoots back. “You’re just going too fast.” He grunts in response, helmet facing forward again and continues his pace. She’s not sure if it’s the spice but his strides feel more rushed than usual. His shoulders are also still fully straight, she notices and something tugs in her chest as she tries getting a sense of what his body language is telling her. She’s only a step or two behind him, and her eyes wander to the floor in front of her, the words spilling out before she can stop herself. “..are you mad at me?”

She almost sounds like a child, remorseful and heavy with guilt and she already hates how it comes out. But what punches harder is his response. Or his lack of it. Because he simply keeps walking at the same pace, fully ignoring her. No grunt, no hum, not even a sigh. And for some reason, this makes her ache. She stumbles over her own feet again and almost instantly she can feel tears threatening to well under the skin of her cheeks. She wants to curse herself for getting emotional, but it has to be liquor making her moods swing so drastically, she tells herself. Not that this thought doesn’t stop her from speaking again.

“I’m fired aren’t I- ”

Before she can blink, she runs face-first into a wall of beskar as he stops abruptly. She can’t help but yelp as she clutches her now-throbbing nose and when she looks back up, he’s turning to face her again. He stares at her until the silence frays at her nerves, and just when she can feel her face burning up to her ears, she hears a soft exhale from his modulator.

“C’mon,” his voice is soft as his right arm slightly pokes out towards her. “I can hear you tripping around from up here.”

Her brows furrow ever so slightly. “Are you makin’ fun of me?” she asks.

“Does it sound like I am?”

Her eyes narrow this time. “Mayybe.” she coos. But she loops her arm into the crook of his elbow and is silently delighted when he tucks her against his side. She finds it much easier to match his walk now and she can’t help the jump in her pulse as she’s pressed closer to him. In fact, she has to bite her lip to stop the silly grin threatening to spread across her cheeks. They walk in comfortable silence for a while before her spinning brain comes up with another enquiry.

“Mando?”

“Hm?” His response is barely registered under his modulator.

“How’d you find me?”

For a moment, Din doesn’t answer. And it’s not for the lack of one either. He’s just not sure where to begin. Does he start when he first re-entered the Crest to find the kid safe and sound but with her nowhere in sight? Or when he went back outside in hopes that she was on the roof stargazing or fiddling with the ship. Or when he started speed-walking through the nearby alleys because now he really couldn’t find her and just before his panic could bubble over, a single sound just yards away made his heart stop before he jump-started into a full sprint for her.

“I heard you scream.” he eventually replies and it almost sounds like his teeth are pressed together under that helmet.

She smiles at that. My hero. She almost wants to swoon until he speaks up again.

“I’ve warned you about being alone Sen’ika,” His tone is still soft, but firmer this time. She flinches and tucks her face down from him, nodding once.

“I know, I- ” her head swirls at the pang of shame but she swallows the urge to say anything other than what was necessary here. “I’m sorry.”

Another pause of silence. She decides to focus on their footsteps instead. There was something about the synchronized crunch of gravel under their boots that just satisfied every single sense in her. And it isn’t until she looks up and gets a full glimpse of the night sky that she realizes the spice is still very much in her system, unnatural neon lights and shapes bouncing across the stars. She stares in drunken awe up at them for a little too long and when she sees the Crest finally back in eyesight, she practically deflates in relief.

“Hey,” Then, Mando gently slides his arm out of their loop, leather ghosting down the length of her arm until he cups his palm over her fisted hand. “What matters to me most is that you’re safe,” he says softly. His visor turns to her, and he slowly opens her hand to slide his own into her palm. His gloved thumb gently squeezes her knuckles in what she can only gather as reassurance. “Okay?” His tone is so warm, it’s almost tender.

It catches her so far off guard, she’s pretty sure she short-circuited and is only still breathing on emergency autopilot. Her cheeks flush up and her eyes are blown wide open in the same sweet doe-like expression he adores so much, that he can’t help but smile behind the safety of his helmet. She blinks and she almost resets, clearing her throat as she looks straight ahead. She’s still blushing as she smiles and nods once. “Okay.” she replies sweetly.

Even his gloves are impenetrable, thick and almost twice as large in size. But she can still feel a warmth radiating from the other side against her skin. Suddenly feeling brave, she shifts, slipping through his gloves and slowly linking their fingers together. Mando stiffens at first, until her nails sink into the shape of his knuckles, and he internally melts. Before he can process his own reaction, he squeezes back, his thumb gently stroking over her own.

She looks up again, grinning from ear to ear. Clouds are dancing in her vision, stars swelling and shrinking in size across the painted skies. She dares herself to glance at him from the corner of her eye. He’s looking straight ahead thankfully, only semi-lit under the glow of the moons, but his beskar has never been more radiant. The same colors in her eyes bounce off the high points of his armor, illuminating him in an almost ethereal glow. She can’t stop her eyes from wandering. He’s perfectly shaped from every angle. He stands tall and proud, and walks with an effortless swagger so few could replicate. His mere presence can shift the focus of an entire room. He’s daunting and striking and is the picture of discipline and strength. Yet he cradles her hand in his like she’s made of glass. She’s never seen anything past the chiseled cut of his helmet, yet he’s never looked more beautiful in her eyes right now. She knows she shouldn’t be looking at him the way she is right now; with stars in her eyes and the softest, most affectionate little smile spreading from cheek to flushed cheek.

“You’re so pretty~” she slurs out in the sweetest tone. From behind his beskar, Din’s heart jumps into his throat.

“You’re drunker than I thought.” He doesn’t skip a beat though, somehow keeping his tone flat and neutral.

“It’s still truee,” she shoots back, leaning against his side with a wide grin. “It’s always been true!”

He glances at her wordlessly and she smiles back at herself through his visor. He’s not sure what to say to that, if anything, he’s too flustered to think of a rebuttal. He’s never been called pretty by anyone, even as a joke. Eventually he clears his throat and looks away and she only grins wider. Did she just leave him speechless? She can’t help but try to read his body language for any hints.

BONK.

Unfortunately she’s so distracted by the dancing Mudhorn on his pauldron that she fully trips on the descending base of the Crest’s ramp. The only thing that stops her from falling on her face is Mando’s sudden grip on her elbow. His visor slowly turns to her again. And she knows he’s frowning this time. He yanks her back to her feet and they finally ascend to the deck. She sighs happily once she stumbles into the safety of the Crest.

As Mando closes and locks up the gangway behind them, a late thought suddenly strikes her. She turns to him with panicked eyes. “The kid!?”

“Shh-!” He quickly hushes her with a gloved pointer over her lips. She stares into her own flushed reflection as her voice echoes into the cockpit above. She’s hyper-aware of just how loud she’s being now that she’s no longer outside. Along with the scent of sunkissed leather directly under her nose. She doesn’t move until his finger slowly pivots to her right and when she follows his direction, she spots his hover pod, sealed up and safe and sound, just as she’d left him.

She sighs softly and her shoulders slump in relief. Mando leans in pointedly. “You’re lucky you were right.” he whispers into her hair. “He didn’t flinch when I got home.”

As goosebumps sprout up the back of her neck, he pulls away and crosses the room to the ladder. “I’m gonna lock us down. We’ll leave first thing tomorrow.” Just before he climbs, he turns back to her. “Bedtime, Sen’ika. Now.” It's a gentle, but final warning.

She nods wordlessly and he leaves her in the middle of the room, dizzy and flustered. Her ears are also ringing now that she’s swallowed in silence. Eventually, she slowly pads into her designated corner. Her hammock is tucked away in the pocket of an empty storage closet, a thin makeshift curtain the only barrier between her ‘room’ and the deck. The walls hum around her and she realizes the heat has been turned back on, thankfully. She’s too drunk to fully wash up but she’s got enough energy to rip off her tight, itchy outdoor clothes and boots. She grabs the closest pajama-adjacent shirt and lounge pants she can find and wriggles them on.

She opens her hammock and finally allows herself to lay down, eyes turned to the dim ceiling.

How would it have felt if she’d laid her head on his shoulder?

No.

Would he have pushed her away? Or allowed her to stay?

Her brain’s focus shifts to the vision of his arms. His hands. His sweet, soothing voice.

I mean, he let her hold his hand, didn’t he? And hug him. Surely she could’ve gotten away with a little shoulder lean.

Gods, no.

Is he soft under all that armor? Does he run hot or does the beskar keep him cool? Is there a human face behind that m-

No! Stop it!

She physically shakes her head to break her train of thought. This was dangerous terrain. Just because you’re drunk doesn't mean you should be humoring these silly curiosities of yours! Her eyes squeeze shut and as she tries to take a deep breath, she realizes her heart is racing.

This is ridiculous.

Okay, so what if she has a crush on her employer?? It's not exactly a new phenomenon, and it certainly wasn’t the first boss she’d ever fallen for either. What was insane was what she liked about him. Because for the very first time, she couldn’t put a face to it. Instead, it was in his voice. His strength. His unwavering faith in his Creed, in the Way. He was loyal, honorable and resourceful. Stubborn as a Bantha, but quick to strike like lightning. He was also kind and selfless. He had the patience of a saint for the Child and innocent locals and despite his daunting appearance, he never hesitated to help out others, even if it meant pushing back on their schedule. There were actually various reasons why she liked him, and she couldn’t even put a name to a single one of them.

Not that any of it mattered. Because not a word of this would be uttered to anyone, let alone to him. Not to mention that this was a temporary gig, it’s not like she’d be around much longer anyway. The last thing she needed was to complicate this job for herself with her unprofessional schoolgirl behavior.

Squeezing her eyes shut, she shifts her focus to the only other thing clouding her judgment. Her head is still spinning but the heaviness behind her eyes makes it easy to keep them closed. She also focuses on slowing her breath, allowing her limbs to fully sink into the cradle of her hammock. A few minutes melt away and just as she finally feels herself beginning to drift..

“Pin her down.”

She physically jolts awake as the image of her ex-attackers kneeling over her flashes behind her eyelids. Her heart jumps to her throat as that same awful wave of nausea courses through her. Okay so clearly she wasn’t over what happened just yet. Her stomach turns again though this time for far more terrifying reasons.

She leaps to her feet before she can stop herself. She’s not sure what she wants just yet, but she knows whose presence she needs. She whips her curtain aside and almost jumps out of her skin when she sees Mando already standing at her doorway. “G-Geez- !”

He doesn’t flinch. He’s also holding a metal cup that he offers to her when she looks at it. “Drink this before you fall asleep,” he simply says.

“What is it?” she accepts it anyway, peering inside before taking a test sip.

“Just water,” Mando pauses and inwardly smiles when she gags at the aftertaste. “and powdered electrolytes to cut your hangover time in half. You'll thank yourself in the morning for it.”

“Mm, awesome!” she flashes him a pained grin and he almost chuckles. She’s so adorable like this, it’s almost painful.

He lingers for just a moment longer before he nods once. “Sweet dreams.” He starts walking away until a single hand on his arm makes him stop in his tracks. His helmet shoots towards her expectantly and when her eyes meet his visor, her voice suddenly clamps in her throat. She catches the almost-panicked expression in her reflection’s eyes and looks away. She almost starts apologizing, but he turns towards her instead, closing the distance between them. “What’s wrong?”

“I- ” Her face feels warm again despite her growing anxiety and she feels betrayed by the flush burning across her cheeks. She huffs and looks down at her feet. “Never mind, it’s n- ”

“Sen’ika,” He doesn’t even have to say anything else. His helmet ducks to try and catch her eye. “Tell me.” His voice is so gentle and reassuring that she has no choice but to succumb.

Fuck it, right?

“C… can I stay with you tonight?” Her voice is so soft, it’s almost a whisper. Her hand gently squeezes his sleeve, teeth catching on her bottom lip. “I don’t.. wanna be alone tonight..” To be fair, it wasn’t a lie.

It’s so quiet, you could hear a pin drop from the cockpit. In fact, she can’t even hear him breathing. Fuck. Did she fuck it up? Is he weirded out? Is she fired? Again?? Fuck! Take it back!

She has no idea just how startled Din really is though. She can’t hear his heart doing somersaults in his chest or how almost-terrified he looks behind the visor. But then she looks up at him with those frantic angel eyes for just a moment, he knows that despite whatever’s asked of him, how could he ever deny his little bird?

She opens her mouth and he perks up. ”Okay,” he says. It’s just as soft as she asked and almost nervous. He nods to follow up and clears his throat. “Of course.”

Her eyes round and she blinks back at him, almost dumbfounded. Holy shit, it worked? “Yeah?”

He nods again. “Yeah,” he replies lightly before his helmet jerks in the direction of his bunk. “C’mon.”

He crosses the room to his bunk to open the hatch. The kid’s pod is hovering peacefully right by the door where either of them can reach him if they have to. She follows him wordlessly where he steps aside for her. “Pick your spot, I’ll be right back.” he tells her.

Ironically, she was no stranger to his bed. He’d offered his room to her plenty of times before she carved out a spare corner for herself to give him his privacy back. She never imagined she’d actually be sharing it with him for once. She downed the last of her water and put the cup aside before she stepped into the bunk. She decided to slide into the corner facing the wall to give him as much space as possible.

Mando’s only gone for a few minutes, but in her panicked, overthinking state, it feels like ages. She finds comfort in his sheets. After getting so used to this space then moving out for a stretch of time, they felt familiar and almost welcoming to come back to. She acknowledged this was mostly due to their scent, the warm, woodsy musk that she recognized as what was likely the scent of his skin. She nuzzles into his blankets, inhales and sighs into them.

Then his boot steps echo back into earshot. She rolls onto her back and props up on her elbows, watching his shadowed figure fiddling outside. After a particularly heavy sigh, he clicks a light off and steps inside. For a second, he almost looks like a shadow sliding along the walls. It’s then she realizes he’s not wearing his beskar. He's stripped down to his full flight suit, boots, gloves and of course, his trademark helmet. There’s still not a shred of skin in sight but this still gives her a full view of his own figure. She’s dumbstruck at just how broad he truly is even without his armor. Then, it dawns on her that he took off his beskar to make room for her and something flutters under her ribs.

He looks at her and she scoots into the wall. His gloves clench and unclench in a subtle twitch as he slides into the space next to her. It’s a tight squeeze, laying shoulder to shoulder, but it’s a fit that would’ve probably been unbearable with the few inches of additional armor on. She crosses her arms, making herself smaller and fitting around the bigger gaps between them.

They both sigh and for a moment, it’s quiet. Her heart’s weirdly racing and she’s not sure what to say. Or if anything should be said at all. He shifts next to her, and her first thought is that he’s warm, even under his dense flight suit. He sighs again, and it sounds spent. She wonders if his eyes are closed behind that helmet.

Her head cranes towards him. “Long day?”

A short huff cracks through his modulator. “Something like that.” He’s smiling behind that response.

She grins back and looks up at the dark ceiling again. Colors are still swirling in her eyes if she squints long enough, but they're fading, she notes. There’s another short pause before this time, he breaks. “If.. this is too uncomf- ”

“It’s not.” she cuts in sweetly, still smiling to herself. Despite the angle, he’s warm and sturdy and she’d never felt more secure sandwiched between a man and his metal walls. She gently nudges his side. “Thanks again for saving my ass.”

He huffs again and nudges back. “Any time.” he replies.

She giggles and pauses, words pricking at the tip of her tongue. She’s feeling brave again and in her growing drowsiness, she decides to throw caution to the wind one last time. “Mando?”

“Mm?”

She inhales and shifts, her chin gently pressing into his shoulder. “Can I be honest about somethin’?”

His helmet shifts to her expectantly before pointing his chin at her. A silent approval to keep going. “I’ve been surrounded by armies my whole life. For as long as I can remember. Rebels, mercenaries, outcasts. You name it, I’ve met ‘em,” She peers up at his visor, ensuring she’s making eye contact. “And I’ve never felt safer with any of ‘em than I have with you.”

He doesn’t so much as twitch, but she swears she hears his breath seize under the helmet. Once again, his chest blooms and swells and something warm settles in his stomach. He smiles inwardly and before he can stop himself, a gloved hand comes up between them, leather knuckles stroking along the shape of her cheek.

She leans into it for just a moment and then she breaks through, ducking under his arm to curl herself up into his side. She rolls onto her own side, an arm draped across his chest and her head resting below his collarbone. Surprisingly, he not only allows her position shift, but he wraps his arm around her and even pulls her into him. “I made a promise to you,” he says. His hand settles between her shoulder blades, his thumb tracing a single circle into her back. “As long as you’re with me, you’ll be safe from harm. I intend to keep that promise as long as it takes.”

With her ear pressed into his shirt, she realizes that his pulse is racing against her. He also smells nice, like a combination of gunsmoke, the outdoors and the linen of his sheets. It’s woodsy and crisp, but it’s warm and homey and so intoxicatingly comforting.

She wants to say it.

She could get away with saying it if she played it right. But she's too drowsy and delirious and exhausted to keep thinking. He’s draping his blankets over them, tucking her into the ultimate heat source and she wants to soak in it. There’s a cool press against her hair and she realizes that his helmet is leaning into her. “Is this okay?” he whispers to her.

She nuzzles into his shirt and sighs contentedly. Sleep is pulling her into its depths faster than she anticipated but she has enough energy to sweetly mumble, “No. It’s better than okay.”

He exhales through his nose from above her and his hand gently rubs her back. “Get some sleep, mesh’la,” he purrs. “I’m here.”

She doesn’t know what that one means. She makes a mental note to ask tomorrow. Right now, she picks her head up to press a single kiss into his collarbone before plopping back down. “G’night Mando..”

His heart rate picks up again. He pulls her up closer so her head is nestled into the crook of his neck. This allows her to wrap both arms around him. His helmet tilts down and she swears she feels his eyes on her. “Good night.”

She closes her eyes and smiles, allowing herself to sink into his warmth and scent for the first and probably only time. Her words were never truer than in this moment; never had she felt safer than in this tiny bunk, wrapped in her Mandalorian’s blankets. She falls asleep shortly afterwards, her breaths evening out and her heartbeat slowing into a tranquil pace. This time, her mind takes her to more pleasant dreamscapes.

She can’t detect Mando at all, listening to her pulse as she sleeps. She doesn’t feel how long it takes before his gloves slip off in the dim lights and two arms fully wrap around her. She can’t sense his warm palms holding her against him, one across her back, the other coming up to smooth and brush her hair. And she’s long gone by the time he makes the conscious choice to give his helmet a break, telling himself he needs the air and it’ll be back on long before she wakes up tomorrow.

Somewhere in her subconscious, thoughts flash across her eyes; images of the Child, his laugh, his bright brown eyes, and his infectious joy. Repeated images of Mando, his visor, his cape, his arms. His sheets. His voice. His leathered touch. Their hands linked under a coat of stars.

She swears she feels a pair of ghostly lips brush against her forehead, if only for a moment, but she never quite figures out where they came from. Not that it matters. Because for now, this is enough. Even if it is only temporary.

* * *

a/n: stream season 3 only on disney + <3

[phantom-of-the-501st]

Thoughts on the Batch's Ending

Ooookay. This is going to be a long one. (Little note from Steph who just finished writing this: it’s nearly 3000 words…)

Tagging @saturn-sends-hugs @inkstainedhandswithrings and @eriexplosion because I value their thoughts (but I'm also not demanding that you read 3000 words of waffle)

I’ve had a lot of thoughts about the finale of The Bad Batch and honestly, my mind is a bit of a mess right now. One of the things I just want to try and tackle is how I feel about the ending of each Batch member individually, because while I can look at it and say “The Batch got a happy ending!”, I feel like that doesn’t really give me much of an idea of whether or not each character got an ending that I feel is fitting for their story arc.

So, this post is basically just going to be me unpicking the ending for each of the Batchers and working out how I feel about it (aka me trying to unscramble the mass load of thoughts going on in my head right now). 

Omega

Overall, I’m very happy with where Omega ended up. When you look back on how she was when we first met her, you realise just how much she has grown over the last few seasons. She didn’t just learn to be a part of the squad, she also learned how to look after herself. It isn’t just a development of her skillset, it’s also a growth in maturity, which allows her to have a clearer head and more rational decisions in the field. While Omega trusted her brothers to come and rescue her, she didn’t just sit around and wait for them, she hatched her own plan to not only get her and the other children out, but also help the Batch when they arrive at Tantiss.

Like Echo, she strongly believes in helping people and I love that that has carried through into her ending. While it would have been nice for her to live a quiet life, free of any more troubles, it makes complete sense for her to want to join the Rebellion. And I think it was at a good time as well. Omega got to spend the rest of her childhood being raised in a more peaceful, safe environment, before making the decision a few years down the line to go her own way. This is her leaving the nest and I think it was tackled incredibly well. You can see how she has taken on attributes from all of her brothers, and judging by her style choice, Phee as well. We see Omega using the support of her brothers to carve her own path and I love that.

Personally, I can’t really see a more fitting development in her story than this. And I’m reluctant to actually call it an ending because for her, this feels more like the beginning of a new chapter. I honestly wouldn’t be surprised if we saw her again later down the road.

Hunter

Now those who follow me may be aware that Hunter was never my favourite member of the Batch. I didn’t dislike him, but I never really connected with him in the same way that I connected with all of the other characters. Saying that, it doesn’t mean I haven’t given a lot of thought to him and his character.

Hunter always had a lot on his shoulders. He was the leader of the Batch and that meant keeping a rag-tag group of defective clones in line, but it also left him with the belief that if anything were to happen to his squad, it would be his responsibility. So, with Crosshair and Omega stuck with the Empire, and Tech dead, Hunter had a lot to carry. At the beginning of Season 3 we saw that he had become more reckless and irrational, not really thinking about plans and wanting to jump straight into things. It was Wrecker who had to step in and make sure Hunter didn’t do anything stupid. Hunter felt like he lost control and that took a lot out of him, especially since this is something I think he could feel creeping up on him throughout Season 2, even if he tried to fight it. The Batch had started to make decisions without him, and Omega was forming close attachments to other people, which was digging a knife into Hunter’s fear of losing his squad. So S3 saw him trying everything he could to reunite the Batch, because he couldn’t bear to lose anyone else.

And he achieved that. But what I also deeply appreciate is that we see Hunter accepting that Omega wants to go her own way. This was something he didn’t want happening for a long time, but once he accepted that she was capable of looking after herself, and once he accepted that he could never keep her tied in place forever, he supported Omega in her decision to join the Rebellion. Yes, he will always worry about her. He even tells her that she will always be their kid. But he knows that it’s time for her to carve her own path, and that means for him, finally letting go and accepting that Clone Force 99 will never be what it once was. 

Wrecker

Wrecker is an interesting one for me because he’s one of the few characters where I can’t really see a big step for his character in the final episode. For many of the others there is some form of acceptance, or big step in their lives, but for Wrecker I don’t really see that. And unfortunately, I think that comes from Wrecker never really being the focus of any strong character development throughout the history of the show. That’s not to say there wasn’t any growth at all, but when we look at how far everyone else has come in their stories, Wrecker always feels like he never got the same treatment in this show. The biggest growth I saw was when he stepped in to help Hunter when he could see the sergeant was spiralling.

So, while I’m happy he lived and has gone on to enjoy a longer, more peaceful life than we ever expected for the Batch, it makes me sad that we never really saw anything big for Wrecker in this ending. No big acceptance, no huge sacrifice. We don’t even get to see him say goodbye to Omega when she leaves. I love that Wrecker got a happy ending, but I always wish that we had gotten the opportunity to see more of a character arc with him over the course of the entire show.

Crosshair

I accepted a while ago that if any of the Batch members were to survive, Crosshair would be one of them because I didn’t expect the writers to kill him off after everything that he had been through. And thankfully they didn’t! I love that after everything, Crosshair has managed to find peace. Maybe not completely, but enough that he has the chance to live a life that doesn’t involve him being a soldier. 

Throughout S2 and S3 we saw Crosshair come to terms with the fact that he was disposable to the Empire and that they didn’t care about him as much as he had made himself believe. And one of the things Crosshair fought with the most was his own identity as a soldier. For so long, he believed that that was all he was, all he could be, so that’s why it has been so amazing finally seeing Crosshair acknowledge that he doesn’t need to be a soldier to still live a life he deserves; his purpose is and always has been more than that.

Saying that, I want to address the hand thing because I am still unsure of where I sit with it. Following his escape from Tantiss, we see Crosshair has developed hand tremors as a result of his PTSD, and a decent chunk of the season has been dedicated to him learning how to live with them. The biggest reason for this affecting Crosshair so much was that it impacted his ability to be a sniper, which is what Crosshair believed to be his main purpose: he didn’t know what to do without the ability to use his hand. And we were given some incredibly sweet scenes between him and Omega as she helped him work out the best way to manage the tremors, for example, them meditating together.

But then that brings me onto my main issue, which is, why remove the hand? One of the reasons I keep seeing is that it removes Crosshair’s ability to be a sniper, but we had already seen that. That’s the issue that the tremors were causing. Crosshair had already been struggling with that ability as a result of what happened to him on Tantiss, so cutting his hand off as a way of preventing his sniping ability seems a bit unnecessary. Now admittedly, the soldier who cut his hand off didn’t know that he had hand tremors, so logistically it makes sense, but as a story tool it seems a bit bizarre to me. Personally, I think it would’ve been more interesting to pursue the idea of Crosshair learning to manage his tremors through meditation etc. and adapting to a life that has less of a focus on sniping. 

Another reason I have seen for the hand is that it symbolises Crosshair finally becoming free from the Empire and what they did to him on Tantiss. Him no longer having the tremors indicates that he is no longer burdened by the Empire and his time there. But that doesn’t really work for me either. For one, Crosshair will never truly be separated from what happened to him there; even if he lost the shaking, he would still have a number of psychological issues as a result of what he went though, so I can’t see it as a way of symbolising a true separation. Which is once again why I think that following the story beat of him managing the tremors would have been a more interesting path for them to go down with his character.

Saying that, I’m still happy with where Crosshair’s story went. He is arguably the most complex character in the Batch and I’m so glad we have been able to see him develop the way he has. Him living a long, quiet life is something that I’m happy he has gotten, and I truly don’t think that him dying would have brought nearly as satisfying a conclusion as Crosshair finally finding a new place in the world.

Tech

Oh boy… this is going to be an interesting chunk of this essay. So errm… it turns out Tech is actually dead, which is… kinda shit. 

Back when we saw him fall at the end of S2, I said that one of the reasons that I didn’t believe that Tech was really dead was because if he was, I would’ve found the writing kinda cheap. I said repeatedly throughout that season that I didn’t want all of his character development to simply be an emotional manipulation tactic to make us even more sad when he died… which is what it turned out to be. It doesn’t surprise me that Tech sacrificed himself, but it makes me mad that ultimately his death never really had any real impact on anything. I mean, they hardly even addressed it in the final season!

I get that animated Star Wars is known for rarely addressing characters after their deaths, but The Clone Wars focuses on so many characters that if we gave that much attention to every character that died, then we would never progress the plot. However, unlike TCW, The Bad Batch primarily focuses on a smaller group of clones and therefore not only has the space to explore the impacts that death would have on the squad, but really should find it a necessary part of the storytelling. The lack of attention given to Tech throughout this season has been beyond frustrating to me. He deserved better.

And I can’t write a section about Tech’s ending without addressing the CX-2 situation. Were we all delusional for believing that Tech was alive? No. Now before people come at me for saying that, I want to explain why that is the conclusion I have come to. You would have every right to label us delusional if there was absolutely no proof behind the claims that we made, but when the writers give us a character that both speaks and acts like Tech, what did they expect us to think? There were too many parallels between Tech and CX-2 for it to be coincidental and I still stand by the fact that we had reason to believe that they were the same person.

Now, looking at the other CX soldiers we see in the finale, they all seem to parallel the OG members of the Batch: there’s a larger one who primarily focuses on hand-to-hand combat, someone who favours blades, a sniper, and a more tech-savvy one. And I’m sure there is a reason for that, symbolically or practically, but if the fact that they all resemble the Batch is important, then why was so much focus put primarily on CX-2? There was no way we weren’t going to think that they would reveal him to be Tech.

Overall, I’m annoyed. Tech was such a brilliant character and I am so frustrated that not only did he get a death that I felt was kind of cheap, but he didn’t get nearly the respect he should have been given in the final season. Now, I’m not using this as a way to bash the writers, and I definitely don’t think that anyone should use it as an excuse to be bullies, but unfortunately, I can’t be satisfied with the way Tech’s story ended, and I’m not sure I ever will.

Echo

Last but certainly not least, Echo. To say that Echo means a lot to me is an understatement, and I was genuinely terrified that I might have to say goodbye to one of my comfort characters. But thankfully, our boy made it!

Following Season 1, we all wanted for Echo to get some more development. It never felt like he had truly been used to his full potential. And thankfully, Season 2 began to give us that. Yes, we ended up saying goodbye to Echo for half a season, but we saw some incredible growth in his character, and him choosing to join the rebellion made too much sense not to happen. Unfortunately, this also meant that we didn’t get to see Echo for the majority of the final season, but I am beyond grateful that what they gave us in these last few episodes has been some of the best Echo content that we have ever seen. Watching him grow and find where he belongs has been a pleasure to watch, He really is an ARC trooper through and through. Particularly in these last few episodes, seeing how much he has grown to be like Fives, and watching him carry on his brother’s legacy, has been so incredible, No matter what anyone says, I believe that he truly is one of the greatest, and most important characters that we’ve ever gotten out of animated Star Wars.

However, I do have one gripe with Echo’s ending, and it’s the fact that it doesn’t actually feel like a conclusion. If anything, I have more questions about Echo now than I did before the last episode. Echo going to the Rebellion is an absolute given; he still has stuff to help Rex with. But the fact that there is absolutely no mention of him in the epilogue has just made me wonder where he is. Omega mentions Crosshair and Wrecker, and we only see Hunter, so we know that Echo isn’t with them. But we also know that at that point in the story, Echo also isn’t with Rex (assuming we’re in Rebels era). So where is he? What is he doing? Is he actually dead at that point??? I really hope we see more of Echo in the future because if this really is the last time we see his character, it’s too open ended for me to really be satisfied with it.

But if I’m being honest, I really don’t think that this is the last time that we are going to see him. And especially with Omega joining the Rebellion, I wouldn’t be surprised if we saw another clone-centric show following these characters in the future.

Concluding Thoughts

All in all, my thoughts are still a bit jumbled. I still don’t know how I truly feel about everything, but hopefully this post at least gives some insight into how I think each character’s endings were handled. Will I change my mind at some point? Probably. But for now, this is where I stand.

At its core, I think the ending we got makes sense for a lot of the characters, and I’m glad that they didn’t all just die at the end. Sure, there are choices that I’m not happy with, but seeing that some of the Batch go on to live long lives is something that I’m very happy to see. It doesn’t happen enough in animated SW, so I’m glad we got to experience it.

[cosmicjoke]

Just adding this on, but this isn't an attempt on my part or an encouragement to harass these people, though I'm sure everyone reading this already knows that. Just a means of letting others know who's behind at least some of the harassment lately.

Alright, well, here comes the call-out post that I promised anon. Have fun with it, I guess. It's about to get long, folks. A group of @tsuki-no-ura followers, who's been obviously vague posting about me for months at this point, specifically targeting every topic I discuss on my blog by making counterarguments to it on their blog, even though I never directed any of my analysis posts or anything else at them, nor has anything I've ever written been in direct response to anything they've written, is certainly behind at least some of the harassment. And other than the times I've tried having conversations with tsuki in the past, when I used to follow them, and wanted to discuss their posts with them, which almost always went ignored, I haven't at all addressed them or made reference to them, either implied or specifically, in any of my analysis posts. I only made reference to them a few weeks back when I found out that they'd essentially said my defense of Levi's violence was tantamount to Nazism, which I wasn't going to let stand. That's the only time I've ever directly referenced them. And yet, every time I make an analysis post, a counterargument to it magically appears on their blog the same day or a few days later, something that was brought to my attention by a mutual of mine. I had no idea until a couple weeks ago that this was happening, because I stopped following them more than a year ago, and only just recently blocked them. But they're obviously stalking me. And, inevitably, every time they do this, a slew of anon hate messages get sent, both to me and various other blogs that I follow, or that follow me. This isn't a coincidence:

@clearavenuelover, @66honeybadgers, and I'm sure various other of their groupies, are the ones almost assuredly largely behind the anonymous attacks on Levi blogs over the last, several months. They start out with their passive-aggressive bullshit, and eventually, of course, it turns to outright hostility, because that's just who these people are. @clearavenuelover purposefully tagged me in one of tsuki's posts, and so obviously they're aware of their followers harassing other Levi fan blogs. This is the link to the post they tagged me and other Levi fan blogs in: https://www.tumblr.com/tsuki-no-ura/739123803956854784/okay-so-here-i-come-with-my-discourse-causing

And yet more evidence that these people all congregate in the same circles and circle-jerk each other over how they think they're "winning" some non-existent contest against me and other Levi fan blogs.

And look who liked this answer as soon as it was put up:

And here @66honeybadgers is again, name-dropping tsuki-no-ura while they continue to harass me:

And this is clearly the same douche-bag that asked me a few weeks back if I considered myself a "Levi expert", and has now, over the last two days, continued to harass me for daring to express my opinion about Levi on my own blog, dropping the "friendly" act and showing their outright hostility:

This is clear harassment from a very specific corner of the fandom, mainly, surprise, surprise, eruri shippers, or even just Erwin stans who want to make everything about him, and get angry at anyone who dares to express any different view from the ones they hold, to the point of actively seeking out and stalking our blogs, hate reading our posts, going into our inboxs and sending us anonymous hate messages, trying to cram their opinions down our throats and then getting upset when we don't listen or accept their views. And then they want to go around acting like they're all the victims. What a joke these people are. Anyway, I just thought I should make this post so that actual Levi fan blogs can know to avoid and block these assholes. I can't say if they're behind ALL of the harassment, but they're certainly behind some of it, and it's good to expose them because they're cowards, and once they've been exposed, they won't have the fucking balls to continue.

[rwbyrg]

Hello!

I would like to ask if there's already a post a long the lines of "Why Rosegarden is a good ship" or reasons to ship RG? If none would it be alright to ask for your insights?

It's my first time being interested in them but I just can't wrap it around my head for now. I would love to read about them!

Thank you in advance ^^

Hi Anon!

I have not yet made any posts specifically with these questions in mind, no. Just a small, unfinished, series about why I believe the ship is likely to be canon. I am happy to offer some insight, but I don't know that I'm going to give you the answers you're looking for. 😅

First and foremost, the questions you're asking aren't really ones that can be answered objectively. What makes a ship "good" or "bad" is largely subjective, as there are as many ways to view a ship as there are people viewing it. I could make an argument about how I think it is - objectively speaking - a well written pairing that follows the typical beats and tropes (with delightful subversions) of a good romance arc, that also parallels how other canon ships within RWBY have been established... but at the end of the day, if you're not a fan of what RG is about, then there's not much I can say to change your mind.

Which brings me to your second question. The best reasons to ship RG are going to be the same reasons for why anyone should ship anything: ship it if you want to, ship it if it resonates with you, and ship it if you enjoy it.

If their characters, interactions, themes, parallels, allusions, tropes, symbolisms, foils, designs, messages, etc., aren't your cup of tea, it's completely okay if you pick something else on the menu! So long as you don't like. verbally harass people that do like it or fill the tag w the same discourse that we are all very tired of seeing.

I don't know if that is a sufficient answer to your question, so I'll take a chance and also provide some of my personal reasons as to why I think it's "good" and why I ship it. While there are many reasons I can't all include, the main things are just how much they mirror each other:

From their complementary character designs (red vs. green, silver vs. gold, moon vs. sun, etc.),

To shared fairytale allusions (Little Prince and the Rose, Dorothy and Princess Ozma/Tip, Warrior in the Woods, etc.),

To the narrative parallels (both being the youngest of the group when they joined respectively; how both of their attachments to each other keep being put into focus; to their shared themes around choice and identity: Ruby having chosen adventure but feeling as if she has no choice but to keep moving forward, while Oscar was chosen by adventure but chooses to do what he can despite his circumstances; Oscar not knowing who he is because of the merge and asking: "I'm just going to be another one of his lives, aren't I?", versus Ruby not wanting to be who she is after chasing the the ghost of an unachievable ideal, but being asked "what if you could be anyone?"; how they're both just kids thrown into war and unfair responsibility before they even have a chance to figure out the kinds of people they want to be, etc.),

to perhaps, most importantly, the show of mutual support between the two of them.

Ruby supports everyone as best she can. She is always giving to and supporting others as a show companionship and leadership. But thanks to V9 and also E4 of RWBY Beyond, we know this was not sustainable or sufficiently reciprocated.

She was let down by Weiss who constantly managed to hit her right in her insecurities; let down by Blake who - even while trying to uplift her - just ended up adding more pressure by treating Ruby like a role model; to Yang and Qrow who both tried to support her as best they could, but kept comparing her to Summer in the process; to Penny having so much of her own lack of experience, stressors, and very immediate worries going on that she couldn't offer Ruby the support she needed even if she wanted to; to Jaune flipping his lid at her and pointing the blame even when he himself was guilty and knew he was out of line; to Ozpin, Qrow, Maria, Tai, Summer, Cordovin, Ironwood, etc., all being adults who could have taken responsibility or done the right thing, but fumbled or failed leaving her to pick up the pieces in their wake. But Oscar? We see it from Oscar's introduction that he - like their shared fairytale allusions - is in awe from the moment he meets her. But after one conversation about the weight of her grief, trauma, and the responsibilities she is carrying - a conversation she has not had with anyone else up to this point - he immediately sees how heavy Ruby's burdens are. Saying, as early as V5: "This must be really hard on her too". And while it is subtle, he never stops looking after her as best he can as the volumes go onward ("Looks like you're needed elsewhere."/"You're sure?"/"Yeah, I've got it."). However, it's only in V9 that her sister Yang is asking "why didn't she just talk to us?". It is only in V9 when her partner Weiss admits: "Maybe it's because she didn't feel like she could". It is only V9 when Ruby finally lays her burdens out to someone else again, this time to the Blacksmith, after almost having given up completely.

For a character who's 116 episode long arc has been about carrying the weight of responsibility far beyond her limits, never asking for anything in return no matter how difficult it gets... to meet another character that instantly notices her struggles and makes a conscious effort to help where all others have failed? To have one conversation and say "that looks heavy, let me help you carry that" without her asking or waiting for an answer? It's just one of the most beautiful acts of care I can think of. The themes and the parallels all resonate very strongly with me on a personal level, making it - in my humble opinion - a brilliant, and very stable foundation for a relationship, and for a story.

Thank you for your question, I hope I was able to offer some of the insight you were looking for. 💕

[vrsos]

What

Vernon Roche needs to get around more. This event seeks to remedy that.

There are two options you can pick from, a more traditional version with three prompt choices, and one with a specified type of ship.

You don't have to follow them in the order of which they are numbered. You may also create your own prompts and if you have ideas of your own that you would like to execute, do edit the cards as you deem please.

When

The participation period is from Sat, 23 March to Mon, 22 April 2024.

AO3 COLLECTION

LIMERENTAL | Dijkstra | Letho | Isengrim | Saskia & Iorveth

SASSAFFRASSA | Foltest | Lambert | Isengrim | Dijkstra

JUSTLEAF | Female OC | Eskel & Lambert | Iorveth | Temeria

ONE | Get Your Card Click this link to get to the templates and cards.

Alternatively you may message the blog with details of your pairings or prompts of choice, and we can generate a card for you. It may take up to 3 days for you to get a response.

TWO | Create Once your creation is finished, be sure to tag this blog @vrsos so that your post can be reblogged. Do tag responsibly.

THREE | Join the Collection An AO3 collection will be created in the near future. If you provide a link to the work in your account, it will be added to the collection.

Rules

For the purposes of this event, the characters involved have to be sentient. A ship with Roche and his hat will not count, BUT if his hat comes to life, it’s fine.

The relationship between the characters must be romantic, sexual or both.

For ships that involve 3 or more parties, it will count as long as 1 of the characters (excluding Roche) fulfills the criteria.

You may at any point in the event, swap out Roche for Roach the horse, simply because I think it would be hilarious. Works created for Roach can be centered around platonic relationships.

The content you create must be original. Evidence of plagiarism will result in a blacklist.

Be a decent person. If you don’t like a ship, skip over it and move on. Anyone who harrasses another creator or leaves negative comments about their choice of pairing, will be blacklisted.

[helenvader]

Get to know your fic writer!

I have emerged from my writing hiatus, but I'm horribly stuck, so this game might be refreshing. :) I am not the author, I stumbled across it and told myself why not.

Do you prefer writing one-shots or multi-chaptered fics?

Do you plan each chapter ahead or write as you go?

Describe the creative process of writing a chapter/fic

Where do you find inspiration for new ideas?

Do you like constructive criticism?

Do you have your work beta'd? How important is this to your process?

How do you choose which POV to write from?

Do you prefer the beginning, middle, or end of a story?

Do you comment on stories you read?

Cltr+f "blinks" on your WIP & copy paste the first sentence/paragraph that comes up

Link your three favorite fics right now

how does receiving or not receiving feedback/support impact you?

what’s a common writing tip that you almost always follow?

how do you write emotional scenes? Do you ever feel what the characters feel? Do you draw from personal experiences?

How do you write smut scenes? Do you get very visual or detailed? How important is it to be realistic?

How many fic ideas are you nurturing right now? Share one of them?

What do you do when writing becomes difficult? (maybe a lack of inspiration or writers block)

Do you title your fics before, during, or after the writing process? How do you come up with titles?

What is the most-used tag on your ao3?

Have you noticed any patterns in your fics? Words/expressions that appear a lot, themes, common settings, etc?

Would you ever collaborate with another writer for a story?

Are there certain types of writing you won’t do? (style, pov, genre, tropes, etc)

Best writing advice for other writers?

Worst writing advice anyone ever gave you?

What fic do you wish you got more of a response on?

Which of your fics would you call your wildest ride?

What is your most and least favorite part of writing?

On average, how much writing do you get done in a day?

What’s your revision or editing process like?

Do you share rough drafts or do you wait until it’s all polished?

Do you start with the characters or the plot when writing?

Name three of your favorite fanfic writers.

Do you want to be published some day?

Five years from now, where do you see yourself as a writer?

What is one essential thing to remember when writing a villain? 

How do you write kissing scenes?

How do you choose where to end a chapter?

Would you ever write commissions?

Share a snippet from a WIP

If someone were to make fanart of your work, what fic or scene would you hope to see?

Do you tend to reread fics or are you a one-and-done kind of person?

What’s the last fic you read? Do you recommend it?

Do you take a sadistic joy in whumping your characters, or are you more the "If you hurt them I would kill everyone and then myself" kind of person?

What mistakes do you keep making no matter how many times your beta corrects you?

Do you want to break your readers‘ heart or make them laugh?

How would you describe your style? (Character/emotion/action-driven, etc)

How many times do you usually revise your fic/chapter before posting?

What do you look for in a beta?

Do you ever get rude reviews and how do you deal with them?

How long is your longest fic?

What’s your total AO3 word count?

Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

How do you spend your time when it comes to fanfiction? Are you primarily a fic reader, writer, or a perfect 50/50 split of both?

What’s your favorite part about the fanfiction writing process?

Of the characters you write for, which is your favorite? Has that choice been swayed at all by your followers/readers’ reactions to certain ones?

What’s something about your writing that you pride yourself on?

Do you prefer editing as you write, or waiting until it’s finished? 

What part of the writing process do you enjoy the most? (Brainstorming, outlining, writing, editing, etc) 

Does anyone in your personal life know you write fic? if not, would you tell anyone?

Have you had a writer you admire comment on your fic? What was that like?

Why do you continue writing fics?

Thoughts on cliffhangers?

Something you hate to see in smut.

Something you love to see in smut.

Tell us about what you’re most looking forward to writing – in your current project, or a future project

How do you deal with writing pressure (ie. pressure to update, negative comments, deadlines, etc.)?

Do you prefer prompts and challenges, or completely independent ideas?

What, if anything, do you do for inspiration?

What work of yours, if any, are you the most embarrassed about existing?

When asked, are you embarrassed or enthusiastic to tell people that you write?

When it comes to more complicated narratives, how do you keep track of outlines, characters, development, timeline, ect.?

What order do you write in? front of book to back? chronological? favorite scenes first? something else?

What do you think makes your writing stand out from other works?

You’ve posted a fic anonymously. How would someone be able to guess that you’d written it?

What scene in [Fanfic Name] took the longest to write? What was difficult about it? 

Did you have any ideas that didn’t make the final cut of [Fanfic Name]? 

Do you have a favorite scene you’ve written from [Fanfic Name] story/chapter? 

[matthyeu]

your attention ― sqr.

pairing ⇢ shen quanrui (ricky) x gn!reader 

genre ⇢ enemies to lovers, tension, not really angst but i’ll tag it as that for the sake of my masterlist, a little suggestive at the end but not really?? I JUST DON’T KNOW HOW TO TAG THIS

warnings ⇢ a bit of swearing

word count ⇢ 1.3k

synopsis ⇢ you need answers as to why your teasing game with ricky began.

“are you sure you really hate each other? maybe you both are just trying to get each other’s attention?”

you clenched your teeth at the suggestion your friends had made the other day about your relationship with a certain blond narcissist. how could they even suggest such a vile thing? trying to get the attention of him was only something you would wish upon your worst enemy, which wasn’t really threatening at all considering ricky was already a great lover of himself. 

who knew someone could be so irritating…so cunning…so absolutely unbearable. usually, you were one who was able to control your hatred towards people, not often projecting it for the world to see. with ricky, however, there was a different kind of feeling swelling in you. a feeling set off the first time he made a snarky remark in your direction. 

from then, you never held back from returning his comments with equally cheeky responses. whenever ricky did something obscene, you always made sure to follow up with something to give him a taste of his own medicine. 

all the choices you made in your hateful relationship with ricky were influenced by his actions. if anyone was obsessed and trying to gain attention, it was him. and if so, it was working. 

there was no “romantic tension” between the two of you as your friends had suggested. never in your right mind would you think of ricky as a romantic interest. who would even want that prick so close in their lives? 

however, that was only how you felt. the more you thought about it, the more you wondered if it was different for ricky. after all, he was the one who ticked you off enough to get himself wound up on your list of people you wished would get stranded on a deserted island with nothing for survival. 

you feared your friends could be right about his intentions, and you couldn’t live with knowing that possibility. 

it was why you were waiting on the outskirts of a park you frequented for the person in question to arrive. you never thought a day would come where you willingly would interact with ricky outside of your usual bickering that came in the passing, but your friends’ collective theory burned in the back of your mind. 

“it’s so unlike you to call me out here willingly. i thought you threw away my number the moment i gave it to you. you really should have texted sooner.” 

of course he would greet you like that. it would not be him if the first thing coming out of his mouth in your presence wasn’t an insult. 

“i really shouldn’t have. i had to dig through my endless pile of backpack junk to find a small slip of paper with digits written on it,” you clarified, not wanting him to think you had him saved as a contact this whole time, “i just needed to ease my own thoughts and make sure of some things.” 

ricky raised an eyebrow, now also leaning on the fence and trying to bend his knees to your height. you couldn’t bear to look at him, knowing this was just another one of his little actions to annoy you…or get your attention? 

you shut your eyes in an attempt to shake the thought away, but it stayed, which pushed you in the direction you needed for answers. “why do you hate me?” 

“who ever said i hate you?” ricky asked, his tone painting it as if he hadn’t been terrorizing you for the past few months. 

this was the point where you had to let it all out, all your frustrations you had directed towards this boy. if you hadn’t been in a public park, you may have started yelling in his face. instead, you opted for a passive-aggressive rant of your emotions. 

“you don’t have to explicitly say you hate me. everything you do screams that you have something against me, and of course, i have something against you too. i usually try my best to not let my distaste for anyone show too much, but it’s really damn hard if someone is constantly asking to be hated. 

you make fun of the way i dress, so i make fun of the way you have to dye your hair that shiny blond to blind people less of your wretched true hair color. you ‘accidentally’ spill juice over my favorite shirt, so i ‘accidentally’ push you and your new white shoes into a puddle after a rainy day. 

everything i do is because you do it to be first, and frankly, i don’t know why you despise me so much. i always knew you were horrible, but never did i think it was this bad where you would constantly be bothering me. it’s getting out of hand. 

my friends keep questioning whatever we have going on, saying it’s all a ploy to try to get each other’s attention. that’s not what i’m doing. is that what you’re doing? because if so, it sure is fucking working because you got all my attention from all the shit you’ve been up to.” 

once you finished your entire monologue, you turned back to him to see his reaction to your extended expression of emotions. however, you were only met with the same boy you were telling off a few inches from your face. 

“oh darling, is it really working?” what. 

you couldn’t believe what you were seeing and hearing. firstly, ricky asked if his attempts were working. did that mean this whole thing really was a plan to try to get your attention? secondly, what the fuck did he just call you?

“what the hell.” that was all you managed to say as your whole body began to heat up. you were sure every inch of it would soon be hotter, evident in the way your body usually turned red wheneer that happened. 

for a moment, all you did was look ricky in the eye, too prideful to back away from him, so you let him stay at that moment. your position was not one you thought you would ever find yourself, especially with ricky of all people. 

“are you alright?” he asked before leaning into your now red ears. “dar~ling."

when you couldn’t answer, ricky burst out laughing instead, finally pulling away from the position you two had been in. 

“you really thought that was the reason?” oh how you wished you could knock all the air out of him so he couldn’t continue laughing. “it’s just funny to be at ends with you all the time. your reactions and follow ups to everything i do are the most interesting i’ve ever had, so it’s just fun to tease you.” 

you scrunched your nose, cursing yourself that you fell for yet another one of ricky’s jokes. you had let your guard down. 

seeing your change in expression, ricky couldn’t help but wonder aloud, “is that what you were hoping? are you sure you’re not trying to get my attention now?” 

you rolled your eyes at him, already beginning to walk away. “i got my answers. you can continue doing whatever it is you want.”

though, before you could completely walk away from him, he said something else that made you pause in your tracks. 

“okay, maybe along the way it became that, teasing you to see if it would get your attention. would it get your attention better if i just invite you out to a café, no catch or anything?” 

you smirked at his invitation, turning around with your arms crossed. there may not be any catch on his side, but there was certainly one on yours. 

“it would really catch my attention if you happened to also pay for whatever i ordered at the café.” 

“deal.” 

[runnning-outof-time]

Free the Slave | Tommy Shelby x Reader

Request: no - written for @little-diable ‘s 14k Follower Celebration

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Reader (AU)

Summary: (Y/N) becomes blinded by opportunity when mysterious preacher, Thomas Shelby, comes into her town that she doesn't see the bigger picture of what's going on at first. But when she’s shown it, she becomes even more intrigued.

Warnings: smoking, discussion of an attempted hanging, impersonation of a religious figure

Word Count: 3832

A/N: I’m…not exactly sure what this is. I struggled to write it because it’s so different from anything I’ve tried to write before, so I appreciate the challenge you posed, Chi (which congrats by the way 14 thousand followers is unreal!!) This is also the story that this moodboard was inspired by…I hope it lived up to the expectations. Enjoy! :)

A/N 2: the storyline in this is loosely based off of the show Damnation (which I really need to finish)…I pulled some plot points from it. It’s also inspired by KALEO’s song Free the Slave - I pulled a lot of the lyrics from the song and incorporated them into the story.

PLEASE LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK!

Comment/Message me if you’d like to be tagged in future stories similar to this one!

"Dark days are coming," Thomas Shelby spoke in a firm, ominous tone as he looked out at the people who had gathered before him, "whether you want them to or not. They're coming for you; coming for everyone in this room. You will have to make the choice on whether you want to fight or take shelter and hide. But before you choose, remember this: he who takes shelter is often forgotten about...it is the man who fights for what he believes in that gets to tell his tale," he paused then, hearing sounds of agreement coming from the crowd.

Hearing these reactions spurred him on. This was what he craved; the response from those who so easily subscribed to his word. He held a confident expression as he looked out at the congregation, which was still buzzing over the words that he said. He knew that he had them in the palm of his hand.

"Those dark days are almost here!" his voice cut through the talk of the crowd, bringing the attention back on him, "it will soon be time for us to stand up and fight for what we believe. The day of reckoning is almost here. So I ask all of you...is your conscience clear?" he ended by raising his eyebrows as he asked the question, panning across the crowd one more time. "Think on that," he left the crowd with a parting sentence, leaving his sermon open for the next time he'd step up on the pulpit and speak.

He stepped away from it and was immediately stopped by members of the crowd who were eager to talk about what had just been said. Tommy didn't say much. Instead he nodded along as he listened to the excited conversations; something inside of him churning as he realized just how into his word these people were. He'd never met a more receptive crowd in all of his travels.

A woman standing in the corner of the room caught his eye as he 'listened' to another person drone on about their take on his sermon. He could care less about how they received it. All that mattered to him was that they listened. But this woman...she interested him.

And she stuck around; waiting until all of the other churchgoers spoke to the man who'd just delivered a moving sermon before she decided to approach him herself. "Preacher Shelby," she started off as she stopped in front of him.

"Hello," he greeted her with a nod of his head.

"I was really moved by what you said in your sermon today," she said to him, and unlike all of the other conversations Tommy had stood through before this one, he listened, "people around here are too afraid to be upfront and confront their fate. What you said was right...we can't just let it overtake us. We must do something about it."

"I'm glad to hear that you found meaning in my sermon," Tommy started, a sense of poise in his voice, "too often people hear the truth and want to run away from it."

"I won't run from it," she told him in an assured tone, her words making a look of intrigue form on his face. There was something about this woman. "Preacher Shelby, I think I can help you," she said then, tilting her chin slightly upwards to show the confidence that she had.

"You think so?" he questioned her, his eyebrows raised. She only nodded, biting at her cheek to contain the grin that was threatening to form on her lips. "What's your name then?" he asked her, his lips parted slightly as he awaited her response.

"It's (Y/N)," she happily shared with him, "(Y/N) (Y/L/N)."

"Well, (Y/N)..." he started off, giving her a once over before continuing, "I look forward to speaking with you in the future."

"As I with you, Preacher Shelby," she allowed her grin to surface, and it stayed present on her face as she stepped backwards, leaving the conversation so that she could turn and exit the meeting house.

Tommy watched her leave, even more so intrigued now than he was before. He didn't get too long to look at her fleeting figure though as another man had approached him and wanted to get into the deeper meanings of what he'd just spoken about...oh if that man knew that there weren't any to begin with.

It took twenty minutes until he was finally able to leave the meeting house. His car was the only one left in the lot, which made the slip of paper sitting on the driver's seat catch him completely off guard. He instantly reached for his revolver that was tucked away inside his jacket, brandishing it and doing a sweep over the land; making sure nobody was waiting to ambush him.

He opened the car door once he found that the perimeter was clear, grabbing the paper and opening it. There were two sentences written on it: meet me by the riverside later on today...I have things to tell you. — (Y/N). Tommy pursed his lips together as he read the note over again. What things could she have to tell me? he wondered to himself, looking up again to make sure that he was still alone and hadn't been drawn into a trap. The land around him was still empty; no trap had been set, which meant that this woman actually wanted to talk with him. And he was interested.

He got into the vehicle after stuffing the note into his jacket pocket and started it before lighting himself a cigarette. He then took a long drag and exhaled the smoke slowly before putting the car into drive and leaving the lot.

——

(Y/N) was already sitting on one of the rocks positioned by the river when Tommy's car pulled up to where she told him to meet her. She watched as he shut off the engine and exited the vehicle. "I'm pleased that you showed up," she stated as he walked over to where she was sitting.

"I'm interested in what you had to tell me," he said to her, his statement holding truth. He was curious about her.

"Have a seat," she told him, moving over on the rock so that there was enough room for him to sit.

He nodded before sitting in the empty space. He looked at her then, and when she said nothing, he began speaking, "what is it that you wanted to tell me?" he asked, cutting right to the chase.

"I need your help," she kept her first statement vague.

"With what?" he took the bait, his eyebrows furrowing together as he asked the question.

"With what they've decided to do to a man in town," her answer was still vague.

"What are they doing with him?" he asked another question, his patience slowly wearing thin. She asked him to come out here...he shouldn't be the one prying for answers.

(Y/N) took a deep breath, ready to explain everything now that she saw he was genuinely interested in what she had to say. "You may or may not know that there's a strike happening in town. The men are protesting the low wages and terrible conditions. A man named Harvey was asked to come back...the bosses told him that they'd give him an increased pay if he broke the strike and returned. He's hesitant, but he has to...he's got two young children to feed and another on the way. His family couldn't keep living on nothing. He was desperate."

"The point of this is...?" Tommy trailed off, a slight amount of confusion present in his voice. Why was she telling him this?

"They're going to hang him, Preacher Shelby," she dropped the bomb, her voice dire, "he's an honest man, and yet they're going to hang him. They say he isn't guilty, but that someone still has to pay. And they won't be pleased until it happens because they want to make a statement...to show everyone what happens if you stray from the cause."

"Why're you sharing this information with me?" he asked her, still trying to figure out where he fit into this situation. Sure, it shocked him to hear that this innocent man was going to be hanged for trying to provide for his family, but at the same time he'd personally taken down men for far lesser offenses.

"Because they'll listen to you," she wasted no time in answering him, her eyes showing how much emotion she had invested into this predicament.

"How can you be sure that they will?" he asked her another question.

"I saw how they listened to you today, as you spoke about the dark days that are upon us. I saw how they lined up to speak to you afterwards. They were moved by your words. What you say holds weight in their minds. They'll surely listen if you tell them that what they're doing is unjust. You just need to get them to see sense," she continued with her pleas, making a strong case for why he should stop them.

Tommy took a deep breath, fingers itching to pull the pack of cigarettes out of his jacket so that he could let the smoke clear his mind. He had little care about these workers' movement...their struggle wasn't affecting him, so why should he go and stick his neck out for a man he'd never met? But yet (Y/N) pleas were weighing on his mind. He wondered for a moment if that was because they solidified the fact that his plan was working, or if it was simply because of the woman who was making them. He'd met few like her in all of his travels.

"Say you'll help me, Preacher Shelby," (Y/N) spoke again after a few silent moments had passed. Her voice had gotten even more desperate in the time that had passed without a decision being made. She hated that she was stooping this low to a man who she'd just met earlier that day, but she had exhausted all of her other options. "Say you'll help this honest man and his family."

"What'll be in it for me?" he asked her then, tilting his chin up slightly as he asked the question that had been burning a hole in his mind since she made her case. It had been hard for him not to ask this earlier...everyone was motivated by something after all.

"Anything," she blurted out without second thought, "I'll give you anything you'd want if you can help this man."

Tommy clicked his tongue at her words, shaking his head slightly. Stupid girl, he thought to himself, making foolish deals with people she hardly knows. "It isn't smart of you to put the word 'anything' out on the table, love," he told her, "someone might just hold you to it," his words were said as a warning, hoping to get her to realize what she'd done.

"I'm desperate," she didn't take it back.

"I can see," he pointed out.

"Will you help me, Preacher Shelby?" she asked him again, no care for his ominous comments present in her words.

She's persistent...I'll give her that, he thought to himself as he thought her statements over. It was unlike his choices in the past, but something was telling him to help her. "I'll help you," he made up his mind, his words making her grab onto his hand and squeeze it out of appreciation.

"Thank you so much, Preacher Shelby. You have no idea what kind of service you is doing for this man and his family," she said to him, sharing her praise for his decision, "thank you," she uttered her thanks and squeezed his hand one last time before letting it go and fighting the embarrassment that was bubbling up in her from making such a brash decision to grab him.

"When is this happening?" he asked her, now wanting more details about the event he'd agreed to stop.

"I...I'm not sure yet," she hesitantly answered him, sheepishness present in the apologetic smile she sent him. She didn't think she'd get this far.

Great, Tommy thought to himself, wanting to bring his hand to his face in frustration, I've agreed to this and she has no bloody clue of the finer details.

"I could get you the information though!" she jumped to tell him before he could back out of the deal. "I mean it, I can find everything out and tell you as soon as I have it," she added, her desperation present once again.

"Ok," he nodded, making her sigh in relief. She was happy to hear that he was still interested. "I'm staying at the inn; room 273. Come there when you find any information," he told her then, hoping that she wouldn't question the fact that he didn't have a permanent residence in the town.

"I will," she nodded as well, "thank you so much, Preacher Shelby," she expressed her gratitude once again.

"Thank me when it's over," he told her, his voice unintentionally holding a grim tone.

——

(Y/N) rushed down the hall of the inn, intently looking at each of the number plaques until she found the one she was looking for. She'd visited this room only a few days ago, but today it felt like she couldn’t get to it soon enough.

She knocked on the door the instant she got to it, and after trying four times, it opened. "Preacher Shelby," she panted, having not quite caught her breath yet, "thank you," she added once she trusted her voice again.

"For?" he asked with furrowed eyebrows, slightly surprised by seeing her at his door.

"You told me to thank you when it's over," she reminded him of their conversation by the riverside, "it's over, so thank you."

Tommy nodded as what they spoke about came back to him. "There's no need to thank me, love...they backed down quickly once I reminded them that judgment would be brought upon them and they would be condemned for hanging an innocent man," he gave her a rundown of how things unfolded.

"So you'll forgive them, Father?"

"Why?" Her question surprised him.

"Because they know not what they do...they're only working for their cause. My goal was to make sure that my brother stayed alive. I didn't want them to be condemned," she said to him, her stomach doing flips at the idea.

"Your brother?"

"That man was my brother," she told him, nodding slightly to accentuate her point. "You stopped them from hanging him. He was able to go back to his family because of what you said."

"Condemnation is up to God to decide," Tommy told her, "have a good day, (Y/N)," he moved to wrap up the conversation, starting to close the door between them.

(Y/N) stopped it before it could latch. "Wait, Preacher Shelby," she said, sticking her arm between the door and the frame.

"What?" Tommy asked as he opened the door again.

"I want to follow your cause...to help out in any way that I can," she said to him, her eyes locked onto his as she spoke.

Tommy furrowed his brows at her statement, letting it sink in before he stuck his neck out into the hallway so that he could look both ways; checking to see if it was clear. Upon finding it empty, he grabbed her forearm and ushered her into the room. (Y/N) gasped at the suddenness, but didn't try to pull away. Instead she followed him in, letting him shut the door behind her before he moved to lean against the chest of drawers sitting on the opposite side of the room. Nothing was said as he grabbed his pack of cigarettes and took one from it, rolling it across his bottom lip before bringing a lighter up to strike it.

(Y/N) watched as he took a drag and exhaled the smoke slowly, letting it billow out around his face. The way he looked at her from across the room made her shudder involuntarily. It seemed as though he was sizing her up, and he was now surrounded by a darker presence, one that she'd never aliken to a man of God. It confused her slightly, but overall made her more intrigued by him.

"Did you hear what I said before, Preacher Shelby?" she asked him, breaking the silence that had fallen between them. "I said that I want to be invested in your cause...to support you fully. I offered you anything in return for helping my brother, and that offer still stands, although I don't think I could ever be able to repay you for it."

"You don't want to do that, (Y/N)," he told her, speaking in a low voice that caused another shudder to course through her. She saw that he was now gripping the top of the dresser, his knuckles white.

"Why not?" she asked, playing the innocent part to continue to - hopefully - get more answers out of him.

"Because I'm not the man you think I am," he started vague, looking her over once before he continued, "I'm no preacher, and I'm certainly not one who's cause you should invest your time into."

"Why shouldn't I?" she asked another question, still not deterred by his ominous answers.

"I'm a bad man, (Y/N)," he admitted, pushing himself away from the dresser so that he could take a few steps in her direction.

"You saved my brother's life. You must not be so bad," she pointed out, not backing down from him even though he was becoming more daunting with each step he took in her direction. She wasn't afraid though. He almost wanted to laugh at how innocent she sounded.

"Words weren't what got your brother spared...it was my actions that did. I threatened those men; told them that they'd face a worse demise than the man they'd accused if they went forward with it," he told her of how things really went down, moving closer to her as he spoke.

"I don't care how you did it," she said to him, holding her ground.

"You should," he responded, standing toe to toe with her now.

"I don't," she insisted, taking a moment to look him over. She could see his striking blue eyes now. The ice in them was evident and staring into them did not reveal what he was thinking. It did make her more entranced by him though; she’d never seen eyes that blue in her life. "I'm tired of living this life...I'm tired of having no say. You accepted my invite, listened to me, and then brought justice where it was needed. That stands for something. I want you to free the slave in me; to free me from this hell that I've been tangled up in," she said then, her eyes staying locked with his as she watched them flit down to her lips before trailing back up. Seeing that made a fire ignite inside of her, "you don't scare me, Mr. Shelby," she said to him, dropping the religious title but still addressing him formally.

"I don't?" he asked her, his eyebrows raised as he held his intent gaze on her.

"No," she shook her head ever so slightly, a grin ghosting on her lips, "you excite me," she admitted then, her eyes locked with his, watching for how he'd react to her confession.

A grin teetered on his lips as he heard what she had to say. "Excite you?" he questioned, humming to himself before he continued, "I do bad things, (Y/N)...it'd be wise of you to rethink what you've said," he warned her.

"I said I'd give you anything," she reminded him, holding her ground even though she felt like she was going to combust on the inside. These things he was saying were meant to ward her off, but they only made her want him more.

She'd had her eyes on him from the moment she entered the meeting house he was speaking at. No man she'd met in the past had ever come close to the way he was making her feel at that moment. Her learning of his true persona made him even more enticing; now she was just waiting for him to make a move, because it seemed as though he was sizing her up in the way that she'd been doing to him.

His eyes roamed her face once more before he finally spoke again, his words cutting the tension like a knife, "so then tell me, (Y/N)...where's your savior now, eh?" he asked her, his eyebrows raising as he waited intently for her response.

"He's right in front of me," she wasted no time in telling him before she couldn't resist herself any longer and went forward with reaching over to take hold of the sides of his neck so that she could collide their lips together in a haste kiss.

It didn't take long for Tommy to take over, moving her back so that she was pressed against the door, his hands gripping onto her hips as he kissed her with the same amount of intensity that she was putting into her efforts. Her hands roamed up to his head, knocking the peaked cap off so that she could grip onto to the longer stands of his cropped haircut. They kissed until their lungs were burning, and (Y/N) was the first to pull back for air, giving him the opportunity to press a few kisses to her jaw.

"Is there something other than preacher that I can call you?" she panted out, bringing her knee up to brush against his thigh, her actions making him groan in response.

"Tommy," he shared his name in between the kisses he'd been pressing against her skin.

"Tommy..." she tried it out for herself, loving how it rolled off of her lips, "I said I'd give you anything, Tommy...just free the slave in me, please," she finished her statement with a satisfied sigh before his lips found hers again.

"Be careful what you ask for, love," he cautioned her, but his words fell on deaf ears as she was already too far gone to heed to the warning.

It was too late to turn back now. There wasn't anything that he could say or do that would make her stray from him. She realized that she was getting involved with a man who was surely closer to the devil than he was to God, and that notion alone excited her. She was invested, and he was going to free the slave in her...starting with making her feel things she'd never felt in her life.

Tagged: @mgcldydrms @the-anxious-youth @cloudofdisney @look-at-the-soul @elenavampire21 @mrsalwayswrite @julkaamazing @evita-shelby @lilyrachelcassidy @notyour-valentine @shelbydelrey @december16-1991 @onlydeadcells @peakyswritings @just-a-blackhole @watercolorskyy @strayrockette @peakyduchesss @alexxavicry @captivatedbycillianmurphy @yummycastiel @dark-academia-slut @tommystargirl @stevie75 @lyarr24 @signorellisantichrist @zablife @anotherblinder @midnightmagpiemama @cillmequick @rangerelik @dandelionprints @letal-y-poetica @itscheybaby @gypsy-girl-08 @insanitybyanothername @depxiety @raincoffeeandfandoms @dragons-are-my-favorite @acewritesfics @forgottenpeakywriter @cilliansangel @cljordan-imperium @areyenotfondofmelobster @little-diable

MASTERLIST

Listen to the song Free the Slave by KALEO HERE.

[andreafmn]

well hello there!! i read 'In the heat of the moment' AND IT WAS INCREDIBLE. I LOVED IT 😭😭

i came here to make a request, but if you feel uncomfortable doing it you can just skip it !!! 🧸

ok picture this. neteyam and lo'ak had been pining after you for a while, competing between them to see who is the best 'suitor' for you. but both of them are such skxawngs and cowards so they always leave you alone and needy. so, tired of his sons being fools, jake decides to take the matter into his own hands and teaches them how to fuck u 😵‍💫🤌🏻

ok I'm out of my mind here, i hope you would consider to write thiss. you're incredible!! thanks for u writing 😋 (btw sorry for my broken english, it's not my first lenguaje)

Word Count: 5.2K

Story Description: (Y/N)'s heart is being pulled in two directions. On the one hand, having Neteyam as her mate seems like an obvious and practical decision. But on the other, choosing Lo'ak guarantees a life of exhilarating adventure. Still, the only thing they have in common is how they leave her high and dry on multiple occasions. Until Jake Sully becomes tired of his sons' behaviors and gives (Y/N) what she wants.

A/N: If you didn't know, now you know. I take forever to write because life and the brain get in the way. But I still try my hardest to release them as fast as I can.😅 though I hope you enjoy and that I did your request honor, anon. It was very fun to write. My content will always be free, but if you’re feeling particularly generous, you can leave a tip on any of my posts to support me and my love of writing🥺👉👈. Hope you enjoy, and all constructive criticism is encouraged.

Warnings: SMUT(+18, minors DNI), p in v sex, public sex (voyeur), semi-public sex, fingering, not mentioned cheating

All characters are of age/over 18

TikTok • Instagram • Business | MASTERLIST

If you’d like to be tagged in any story or make a request: click here Make sure you have my notifications on so you know every time I post!

For the Rest of Time

If there was anything that (Y/N) had an excess of, it was attention. No matter where she was, eyes followed her. Whether it was older clan members hoping she’d be the mate of one of their children, other girls envious of her natural allure, or boys who wanted merely a second of her time. 

The Sully boys were not immune to this. 

Since they were children, Neteyam and Lo’ak Sully had grown attached to the girl. Wherever she was, the duo was surely close behind. Always promising one day one of them would be her mate.

Though she always brushed them off, as she grew older the proposals became more serious. No longer were they kids pretending to play house, they had to think about their future and the future of the tribe. Their decisions were not a game anymore. Especially when it came to matters of the heart… and the body. 

It was true that the Na’vi mate for life. Their mind, body, and soul are intertwined with one person in this life and the beyond. One person for eternity. This meant that in the fight between Lo’ak and Neteyam Sully, only one could prevail. And it did not help that (Y/N) could not decide which. 

There was Lo’ak. The boyish and reckless younger brother that took life a little too unseriously. He was the easy choice. The younger Sully didn’t have the fate of the clan riding on his shoulders and it allowed him to be carefree. Which meant that she could lead an easier life with him. Little to no expectations but a whole lot of adventure and fun. 

With him, she would be allowed to make mistakes and walk down a path without expectators. (Y/N) wouldn’t have the pressure of being the next tsahik, of being perfect. 

Then there was Neteyam. The perfect soldier, the confident leader, the future Olo’eyktan of the Omatikaya clan was everything she wanted and more. He was the prudent choice. Being with him would give her standing and respect merely by being next to him. He was gracious and responsible, caring and respectful. Neteyam was everything any parent would have wanted for their child. 

He had been her first kiss too. Being younger and inexperienced, they didn’t understand much of the stirrings that were waking inside them. But they did know that the fluttering in their hearts meant something, that it meant they felt something for each other. 

Neteyam had taken the lead, cupping her face gingerly and placing his lips softly on hers. It had been short and sweet but everything she had imagined. Their excited tails tangled together and their hearts raced. At that moment, she had been sure that Neteyam would be it for her. 

But, as they grew, and she started spending more time with Lo’ak when Neteyam was busy with his training, the same stirrings started to form with him. He knew how to make her feel light, to enjoy every moment as it happened with no regard for the future. 

The first time they kissed, they had burst out in a chain of laughter as they bumped noses, then teeth, and after when (Y/N) accidentally split his lip with her canine. It had been just as sloppy and carefree as they were when together. 

Both boys stood at opposite ends of the spectrum and it had her reeling. If she made the wrong decision, her life could turn out completely different. 

The brothers knew of the other’s intentions with (Y/N) though. It wasn’t hard to tell. The way they both gravitated toward her, fighting each other to spend the most time with her. 

Still, one thing they shared was how much of an unknowing tease they each were to her. In more ways than one. The brothers were each, in their own way, leading the girl on. On too many occasions, they started something they never knew how to finish. 

“Neteyam!” (Y/N) exclaimed as the older Sully wrapped his arms tightly around her waist from behind. “You can’t do that.”

“You know you always have to be aware of your surroundings, ma (Y/N),” he chuckled close to her ears. “Although, with me around, you never have to worry about anything or anyone getting close enough to you.” 

The sound of his voice reverberated through her body, sending sparks coursing through her veins. She could feel his muscles clench against her back, his arms — strong and defined — protectively tight against her. His warm breath grazed her skin, his mouth only centimeters away from her flickering ears. His tail wrapped around her legs, providing no escape from his embrace. 

Yet, what had her panting and warming the pit of her stomach was what she could feel pressed against her backside. 

Through the fabric of their loincloths, (Y/N) feel the hardness of his length pushing against her. Her breath hitched in her throat as she noticed just how warm his skin felt against hers. It seeped through her skin, making her ache almost unbearably. 

“You know that, right, syulang?” Neteyam whispered against her ears, his lips ghosting over the skin. “I would never let anyone hurt you.” 

“Am I under threat at the moment?” 

Her hands skimmed the length of his arms, her fingers tracing every inch of blue skin. She learned every line, every white spot, every vein on it. It was the most intricate work of art she had laid her eyes on. 

“No,” he chuckled softly. “Because I am here.”

“My hero,” she smiled. She leaned into his touch, wondering just how far they could push each other. Neteyam groaned against her ear, closing his eyes as her hips pressed onto his erection. (Y/N) could only smile at his reaction. “I know I will always be safe with you.” 

They stood pressed against each for a moment, testing just who would break first. Their arms laced together, their skin kissing, their hearts racing. Maybe that was the night they would give in to each other, maybe that was the night their bodies for their wishes. 

“Neteyam!” Eyapaxi, one of his friends, called. They jumped away from each other like their skin had turned to fire. “Yo, Neteyam! Your dad is looking for you!”

“I’ve got to go,” he turned to her, disappointment furrowing his brow. “I’m sorry.” 

“It’s okay,” she smiled softly. “Go. Your dad’s waiting.” 

He kissed her lips quickly and disappeared in a jog into the foliage. And she was left, with wetness pooling between her legs and a hunger building inside her. 

It wasn’t the first nor the last time Neteyam had left her with wanton need. He would touch her, kiss her, hold her, tease her… but never more. And she wanted more. 

His brother followed suit in leaving her high and dry. Because if Neteyam did something, it was highly probable that Lo’ak was close behind. 

He pecked her face teasingly, his hands gripping the sides of her face gingerly and his own face adorned with a goofy smile. They shared laughter as Lo’ak used his lips to map her face — forehead then cheeks, eyes then nose, the corners of her mouth then her chin. 

“Lo’ak,” she chuckled. “Don’t slobber my face.” 

“I’m not,” he laughed in response. “Just showing you what I can do with my lips.”

“Oh, is that all they can do?” 

The boy only grinned in response. His kisses grew deeper, harsher against her skin. He traveled down her face, attaching his lips to her neck. Searching. 

But it didn’t take long for him to find the treasure he was looking for. He knew her as well as his brother did. He knew just where that spot on her neck was that would make her say,

“Lo’ak,” she gasped. Her head fell to the side, allowing him better access to the skin of her neck. “What’re you doing? Anyone could see us.” 

“Are you really worried that anyone could see us?” Lo’ak whispered against her ear. “Or are you worried Neteyam will?” 

“You should be the one worried about that,” she purred in response. “If Nete catches you with your hands on me I’m sure he’ll more than likely fight you.” 

“Let him try,” he mumbled against her ear. “He can’t touch me as long as I’m with you. Has to prove just how perfect of a guy he is.” 

“So honorable of you,” (Y/N) chuckled. But it was quickly drowned by a moan that escaped her lips. “Don’t start something you can’t finish, Lo’ak. Please.” 

“I know I can finish it,” he growled. His lips continued their attack on her neck, sucking and nipping at her blue skin as his hands raised to explore her breasts under her necklace. “Do you think you could handle it, though?” 

“Oh, I know I could.” 

She turned suddenly, crashing her lips onto his, savoring the taste of his mouth. Their hands gripped at each other's bodies, exploring the expanse of their skins. Maybe that would be the night they could take that next step. Just maybe it would be Lo’ak that would one day claim her as his mate. 

“LO’AK!” Neytiri’s voice rang out through the trees. “LO’AK, COME HOME THIS INSTANT!” 

“What did you do?” (Y/N) gritted her teeth, sucking in a breath. 

“May have ridden my ikran past a place I shouldn’t have,” he confessed. “I guess I should go then.”

“Yeah, I think so too.” 

“Next time,” he said before kissing her cheek and disappearing toward his angry mother’s voice. 

“Skxawng,” she muttered under her breath with a chuckle. Because a laugh was all she could muster as she was left with a wetness between her legs and a tight coil in the pit of her stomach threatening to burst. 

More moments like these followed as neither brother ever had the courage to go any further. With every excuse possible, whether intentional or not, she was always left in a state of arousal with nothing but herself to take care of. It wasn’t what her body yearned for, but it was what she had at the moment. 

She couldn’t blame just the brothers. It was on her as well that her heart couldn’t make up its mind about who she wanted. Her body yearned and ached for them both, her heart pattered at the same beat for them as well. It was complicated and confusing, but they didn’t make it any easier. 

With their constant promises and unfulfilled wishes, it was hard for her to go on. Everything they did, everything they said, only aided in jumbling her thoughts and her feelings. She needed easier. She wanted Eywa to reveal to her what the right decision would be. To reveal which was the path her future had been carved for. 

Maybe it was delusion. Or maybe it was faith. But (Y/N) desperately needed someone else to decide what her fate should be. Because she had no idea what the correct answer was. She loved Neteyam and she loved Lo’ak, each in their own way, but just as strong. 

And so did they. 

As much as the brothers wanted their situation to magically resolve itself, it wasn’t going to. Their competitiveness would never allow either of them to concede. If there was anything both of the boys had in common, it was their stubbornness. They were hard-headed and always had an undeniable need to best the other. Neteyam couldn’t let his little brother have (Y/N)and vice versa. 

Yet, the one that seemed to be caught in the sibling crossfire was (Y/N). Often, she was left hot and bothered after an encounter with either of the boys. Even when it was the three of them, they seemed more interested in proving to each other which of them was the perfect suitor for her rather than proving it to her. 

Much like that night. 

The three of them had settled at a clearing they frequented. It was an area not many knew of and it gave them plenty of privacy to discuss their futures out loud. Or much rather, allowed Neteyam and Lo’ak to engage in an avid discussion regarding who would become (Y/N)’s mate in the near future. 

As she sat on a nearby rock, the brothers engaged in a hearty discussion about the same topic they loved to fight about the most. (Y/N). It had started amicably. A couple of jokes and painless jabs at each other, but had quickly turned into a kind of heated conversation. 

“Come on, little bro. You know you could never be man enough for (Y/N),” Neteyam quipped at his brother. “You don’t have the right package to satisfy her.” 

“And you do? Riding around on a Pa’li all day cannot be good for your… nether regions. Wouldn’t surprise me if you couldn’t even get it up.” 

“Oh, it works just fine. Doesn’t it, (Y/N)?” The question was directed to her, but it wasn’t for her. It was a way to show Lo’ak just how far he’d gotten with her. And though he wanted for his little brother to be the only one affected, it sent a wave of warmth to her core. The memory alone of the many times she had been witness of just how well it did work, flooded her. “And I know it would leave her perfectly content. Can’t say the same for you though. Might just be a little in more than your age, bro.” 

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that, Neteyam. Ain’t that right, (Y/N)?” Once more, a question that only worked to keep the warmth between her legs growing wetter. As moments flashed before her eyes, her body reacted. “She knows just how well I know her and her body, and what I can do with mine. And, unlike you, I have enough time to spare for her.” 

“You really think time here is an issue? Though, I guess if you only last a couple of minutes, anyone has enough time.” 

“A couple of minutes are better than a few seconds. And something tells me that’s all you can last. What with all the energy you waste during the day.” 

As the brothers kept bickering with each other, reminding the other just how close they had gotten to (Y/N) both physically and emotionally, they were only growing the girl’s arousal. Each moment they inconspicuously brought up trying to tear the other down worked only to build the already intense fire that had been born in the pit of her stomach. 

Once that match had been struck, it was near impossible to smother that flame. Her breathing had become ragged as warmth grew inside her body, her skin growing dark as blood rushed through her veins. She knew it wasn’t the time nor the place – not when the three of them were there – but she couldn’t help the flooding between her legs as desire overtook her. Sure, she had a conflicted heart, but her body was anything but. 

In the midst of the discussion, none of the people present noted the figure that lingered in the shadows. But soon enough, they would all have a night they would never forget. 

***

Jake Sully had been in search of his sons for the better part of the afternoon. The moment for Neteyam to choose his mate was approaching and it was time for him to make up his mind. Jake and Neytiri could only provide him with what options were most suitable for him, but ultimately they wanted him to choose someone he loved. 

It had not gone unnoticed his affinity for (Y/N). The way his eyes lit up whenever he spoke about her, the way he’d become elated whenever she was around regardless of his mood, the way he looked at her. He’d seen that stare before. A longing gaze that was laced with need. 

But he knew of Lo’ak’s infatuation for the girl as well. Everyone knew how the Sully brothers both longed for (Y/N). How, when they had all come of age, they’d been fighting and bickering about who would end up with her. How they were both chasing her but neither had made the first step. 

At least no first step to claiming her. The older Sully knew of every other action they had done – nothing was truly secret in the village. He knew of every moment they had winded her up and left her high and dry. He knew what they whispered in the dark about her, what they imagined they could do to the girl. Yet, it seemed they were more engrossed in bickering with each other than actually taking her. 

He knew just how frustrated she was. Every time she’d leave one of his sons, he could smell it on her. Her scent danced its way into his nostrils, igniting something in him that hadn’t been set alight in more than a decade. It was an animalistic instinct that filled his entire being. 

Much like that night, he knew that if he couldn’t find his sons, they were more than likely with (Y/N). He’d asked around the village for anyone that had a clue as to where the boys could be. He visited every area they frequented. He even checked where the ikrans rested, but both Neteyam’s and Lo’ak’s were there. Every search came up futile. 

There was only one spot he had yet to verify. The clearing none of them thought Jake knew existed. But after one too many times of his kids and (Y/N) disappearing, Jake had followed them once and encountered the area. 

He made his way down the secluded path. The light from his steps disappeared as he walked further into the forest. He was careful with his walk, not wanting to alert them of his presence too quickly. 

As he got closer, Jake could faintly hear the sound of his sons’ voices bickering about their favorite topic. It made the man chuckle slightly, knowing the conversation would ultimately end the same way it did. Unless he did something about it. 

Jake lingered back once he reached the clearing, taking in the situation he was presented with. 

His sons were recalling certain moments, implying just how far they had gotten physically with (Y/N). Between kisses and touches, they boasted about how intimate they each had been with her. They were focused on making each other feel small and had completely ignored the third person present. 

(Y/N) was breathing heavily. Her hands roamed her neck in an attempt to cool herself down. She clenched her thighs and bit her bottom lip, her tail swishing in a frenzy. 

Even from that far away, he could smell her. He could tell she was needy. Her scent was evident in that. Still, his sons were too focused on fighting each other that they could not see what they were doing to the girl. They didn’t know what she needed. 

At that moment, something took over him. Call it lust, call it a trigger, call it his animal instinct. But he slyly moved closer to (Y/N), making sure his presence would be a surprise until the last second. 

Before she could understand what was happening, Jake pressed himself against her and snaked his arms around her body. One of his hands landed on her throat, whilst the other slithered past her loincloth. 

Between her legs, he found precisely what he had imagined. She was warm and wet, needing any type of touch. Her breath hitched in her throat as soon as his hand made contact with the bundle of nerves that lived at the top of her folds. 

He could tell she was nervous, not knowing who it was behind her, but she melted into the touch she so 

needed. 

“Shhh,” he cooed into her ear. “Just enjoy yourself, baby girl.” 

She recognized the voice instantly. It was hard not to. She’d heard that voice every day of her life, she knew just who it belonged to. 

(Y/N) should have jumped away at the first moment. She should have put some distance between her and Jake and alerted the brothers to their father’s presence and actions. 

Instead, she lost herself in the way his fingers circled her clit. He rolled the bud between his digits, using her own wetness to glide over her. She swallowed the sound that wanted to stream out, not wanting Neteyam or Lo’ak to look over at her. 

As their voices drowned out in her head as it grew hazy, she believed she would be able to have what she had been yearning for without anyone noticing. 

But as Jake kept stimulating her and building her arousal, she knew it would become harder and harder to hold back. She dug her nails into the arm that held her still by her neck, her mouth falling open as she let out deep breaths. 

There was a tightening in the pit of her stomach that was growing, clawing its way around her body. It took over her lungs, it took over her vocal cords, it took over her warmth, and it took over her arousal. 

“Are you that desperate, baby girl?” Jake chuckled against her ear. “You’re close. I can tell, sweetheart. Don’t hold back. Let them know.” 

(Y/N) panted, feeling the pressure growing inside her. She wanted to keep quiet. She wanted to leave the situation satisfied and unscathed. But it was impossible. Once her climax burst, a loud moan escaped her throat. 

Lo’ak and Neteyam’s heads snapped to the sound, unsure why (Y/N) had let out such a sound. 

“What the FUCK?!” Lo’ak screamed. 

“What are you doing, dad?” Neteyam added. “(Y/N), you okay?” 

The girl couldn’t answer. Jake hadn’t stopped his movement as she came down from her orgasm. Her eyes were tightly shut, her chest rising and falling at the quickness of her breath. 

“I’m doing what you boys have not been able to do,” Jake grinned. “Haven’t you noticed just how needy you always leave our sweet (Y/N)?” 

“But, dad…”

“Tell me, Neteyam, do you know what’s the most important area to pay attention to on a woman’s body?” The boy kept quiet. “Lo’ak, do you know what you have to do to make her cum?” Another silent response. “Do either of you know what it takes to give her earth-shattering pleasure?” 

“No,” the boys softly muttered. 

“Then you’re gonna sit there and keep quiet,” Jake commanded. “Tonight you’ll learn just what you have to do. Maybe then you’ll be able to decide who the better mate for (Y/N) is. Because it, unfortunately, can’t be me.” 

He turned her head, easily maneuvering her body, taking her lips in his. In the suddenness, (Y/N) let out a gasp that pushed her mouth open. Jake used that surprise to slip his tongue in. He held the lead in the kiss, her inexperience evident at that moment. 

She let out soft whines. The roughness of the kiss took her aback, but she couldn’t help the way her body was feeling. There was a thrilling excitement to having her first time with the Jake Sully. Her Olo’eyktan, Toruk Makto, the father of the men she loved. It was nothing as she had imagined, but it was exhilarating nonetheless. 

“Tell me what you want, baby girl,” he murmured against her lips. “Do you want this quickly, or the slow and lengthy way?” 

“Quickly,” she pleaded. “I need to feel you now.” 

A deep laugh left Jake’s throat, making his chest rumble. He attached his lips to (Y/N)’s neck at the same time her slipped two digits into her entrance. The hasty invasion of his fingers made the girl gasp a breath mixed with pain and pleasure. 

He was slow at first, letting her body adjust to the stretch. “I know it hurts, baby girl,” he told her. “But you wanted quick and I need to at least spread you enough.” 

She couldn’t talk, too enthralled in the feeling of having something inside her. So, she simply nodded. She let out a whimper every time he thrust his fingers into her, but they slowly transformed into moans as her body grew used to the way the digits spread her open. (Y/N)’s arm flew back, finding the hair on Jake’s nape, using it as leverage to push him deeper into her skin. Much like his sons, he had found that spot that made her want to scream out. The same sons they had completely forgotten about. 

As his speed grew and he pistoned deeper into her, he curled the ends of his fingers to stimulate that spongy area that held the most amount of nerve endings. It drew more and more sounds from her throat, a melody that encouraged Jake to keep going. 

She could feel herself growing close already, knowing what was coming. But she had not anticipated for the man to add his thumb into the mix, rolling her swollen clit with the digit. It had her coming undone in his arms one more time, his name falling from her lips. 

“You did so good, baby girl,” Jake boasted. “Are you ready for your reward?” After she softly nodded, he continued. “Turn to face me, then. Straddle my lap.” 

(Y/N) did as told as she turned her body. A shade of purple flooded her face as she stared into Jake’s eyes for the first time that night. He smiled kindly at her as he brushed stay hairs from her face. Under the light of the bioluminescent flora of Pandora, she looked entrancing, an esoteric vision in his eyes. 

His lips met hers once more, this one softer but just as filled with passion. The hand that had been on her throat now cradled her cheek, his thumb caressing the skin of her cheekbone. It was a comforting and caring touch that appeased them both. 

With his free hand, he guided her body where he wanted her. She placed a leg on either side of him, her knees pillowed by the plush moss on the rock. Jake sat comfortably under her, pushing his loincloth aside and revealing his length. 

The girl couldn’t help the gasp that left her mouth as she gawked at his member. It was bigger than she could have ever imagined, even in girth. A surprising sight, just like everything had been at that point. 

“Don’t worry, baby girl. It’ll fit,” he grinned. “Do you trust me?” 

“Yes,” she breathed. “I trust you.” 

She wrapped her arms around his neck, their chests pressed together as she stabilized herself with his body. She spent every second staring into Jake’s yellow eyes, finding the way the light danced in the amber of his pupils a far more interesting sight than anything else around. 

He reached under her, grasping his cock with his hand, lining himself up with her entrance. He guided her down, slowly until he was sheathed completely inside her. Her warmth and tightness enveloped him, embracing all that he was. She let out a loud mewl, laced with hurt and delight as he felt him impale her. 

It took her a second for her body to start moving. The stretch was almost unbearable and incomparable to the spread his fingers gave her. Still, as uncomfortable as she might have felt in the beginning, she couldn’t help the rush of pleasure that overtook her once her insides got used to the feeling of him. 

With the aid of his hands, (Y/N) started to bounce on Jake’s lap. With her arms still firmly grasped around his neck, she allowed her hips to move instinctively. She gyrated them and sank on him as she started the chase of her release – of his release. Even if she had no idea what she was doing, she knew it felt good. 

And she could tell it felt good for Jake as well. As his throat expelled guttural moans, his own hips raised to meet hers. The sound of skin slapping onto skin echoed through the clearing, reaching the twitching ears of Neteyam and Lo’ak – the forgotten boys. 

Still sitting in the spots they had been from the beginning, the Sully boys’ eyes were trained on the scene unfolding in front of them. As much as they wanted to turn their heads and pretend it wasn’t happening, they couldn’t stop the way their bodies reacted. Each of them fought against their urges as best as they could, but it was too much. Before they knew it, they were palming themselves through their loincloths, the pressure that was building threatening to burst. 

Each of the boys let their imaginations run wild, dreaming it was them under (Y/N). In their heads, it was their hands roaming her body. It was their lengths buried deep inside her, feeling her wetness and her warmth. It was their noses breathing in her scent. It was their tails wrapped around the other’s bodies. 

But it was Jake the one that was enjoying (Y/N)’s body, taking her first time from anyone else. He was the one that was kissing her lips now, kissing her jaw and her neck. He was the one that could feel her tightening around him, he was the one who’d be able to claim the first release of seed inside her. The only claim he’d ever have over her. 

“I’m close, baby girl,” he grumbled against her ears. “I can tell you are as well.” 

She nodded promptly, taking her bottom lip between her canines as she felt the tight coil in her stomach for a third time. (Y/N) couldn’t last much longer, her body sensitive from the past two climaxes. A couple of calculated thrusts and she was letting out a yell of ecstasy as she released against his length.

Jake kept pistoning into her as she rode out her end, chasing his own. But as she clenched once more around him, he felt himself burst inside her, his seed mixing with her own release. 

(Y/N) slumped against him as exhaustion overtook her. A mix of overwhelming pleasure and tiredness rushed through her body. As Jake exited her, she felt a harrowing emptiness, and the fatigue was magnified. 

He cradled her body closer, brushing her hair out of her face and allowing her body to rest. He smiled down at her resting face, admiring how her eyes fluttered closed. He was satisfied and so was she. That’s all he could’ve asked for. 

“Now, boys,” Jake grinned. “Instead of fighting each other about who would be the better mate for (Y/N), I think it’s time you showed her. Do I make myself clear?” 

“Yes, sir,” they choked out as they tried to conceal their own releases with their hands. 

“I know it will be hard to ever best what I’ve done,” he chuckled. “But it’s about time your actions started matching your words. At the end of the day, only one of you will have her for the rest of time. Me, I had her tonight.”

Taglist: @uwunuggetchan @ellabellabus07 @sweetllamaparadise @crazy4books1 @jake-sullys-whore @saltedcoffeescotch Thought y'all might enjoy this 😉

[clatoera]

Always Remember We're Burned For Better Epilogue: I Vow I Will Always Be Yours, For We Survived the Great War

Here we are. The end of an era. I have..so much to say.

First of all..if you do not like the canon epilogue you will not like this. If you do not like the choices Katniss makes you will not make the choices they make.

Secondly...This fic took me exactly forty weeks to write. That is intentional, as forty weeks is the length of an average pregnancy is forty weeks. This is my baby. You have all travelled with me from the middle of my third year until the middle of my residency interview season. I hope you will continue to follow for what comes next, but this is my baby. Today I release her into the world for the last time, and I am incredibly sad about it. Thank you for loving her with me.

Third.. I hope along this journey you have grown to empathize with the four careers of the first Hunger Games Book. I hope you see them as the children they were, I hope you have even grown to care about them. I am a careers apologist (one of the OGs thank you very much) and I hope you have all opened your hearts to them, as well.

Finally.. thank you. I will never be able to thank you all enough for your endless support and comments and likes and reblogs and asks. Thank you to you all. I of course want to give shoutouts as usual. There are so many people beyond this list. Who I don't know well, or I don't talk to enough to want to bother them with a tag (like you @dukeysquid I dont want to bother you). But you are ALL seen. You are all loved.

I cant give one to the og, who has to keep her socials clean, but you know who you are. You are the first person I ever told about this fic, and have been around for allll the changes. Thank you friend.

@mollywog a TRUE og who has stuck around even though this fic is far far from her usual andher cup of tea. She's a real one. I love her. I thank you, friend.

@cyansadness another OG friend. I don't even know what you're into these days..but thank you for listening to the earlier iterations.

@bodyelectric77 a NEW friend, who has given me such insight on Enobaria and the older careers. Thank you for taking a chance on this fic which is not in your usual wheelhouse.

@crookedlyniceperson I am so sad for my last set of memes, but so thankful for the memes that brought us together. Thank you, and I cannot believe the insane AU in our DMs that I'm going to bring up after this immediately in the DMs. Thank you.

@clarascrabarmy ANOTHER OG who I always feel like i'm bothering, but I could COUNT ON YOU to read these when I was dropping them at 4 am when I was on night shift. I love you, and I thank you.

@lwveless my little college baby I dont know if you're even around but I wanted to give you love for loving Marvel with me.

@kentwells a TRUE BACKBONE of this fic. A sounding board of all my insanity. I want you ALL to know that the outcome of Glimmer and Marvel (Namely them not being back together) is entirely her fault <3 It was her idea and it is her fault. I love you. I love you. I love you.

Ultimately, I cannot thank @ohhowwehavefallen enough. In the last nine months you have become one of my legitimate besties. You have supported me here and in my actual life beyond anything I can put into words here. Our constant, non stop Clato aus and talks literally keep me going on my bad days. I love you. I thank you. And of NOTE: She is entirely responsible for the wedding rites of District Two. I struggled so much creating them, it took me forever to figure out and I owe the answer to you. I owe this fic to you. I love you. Thank you bestie.

Fun facts:

The kids at the end are not named because it is hard to name them but I have ideas <3

There are jokes for most of my friends here

The sequel is called Picket Fences, Sharp as Knives (High Infidelity, Taylor Swift)

Alright.

AO3

tumblr masterpost

Title from The Great War, Taylor Swift.

The End.

Thirteen months after the end of the war

“Clove, stand still.”  Glimmer clicks her tongue, hands tugging tighter the fabric at the small of Clove’s back for emphasis. “If you fidget I can’t get these buttons. I don’t know what I was thinking when I added them, knowing Cato’s probably just going to rip them off like a heathen–”

“Oh no he won’t, Glimmer, you have no idea how much he’s going to love it.” Clove assured, taking in the length of her body in the mirror. It was the first time she had seen the dress too, and unsurprisingly Glimmer did far surpass any expectation she had. “You missed your calling with design, seriously, this is insane. You made this?”

The ivory crepe fabric was fit like a second skin through her thighs, where it fell freely to the floor, even fanning out a little behind her. The trail end of the train had little windows of lace, with the entire trim a continuous border of hand placed lace appliqués. The top of the dress was similarly overlain with lace, a few pieces trailing up at her hips before coming to cover the entire top half of the dress. The thin v-shaped straps were made of the intentionally placed lace, and though the entire back of the dress was open from the middle of her back upwards, a couple appliqués seem to float along the top of the fabric. Even the open sides are overlapped with the ivory design. The most unexpected aspect may be the deep cut of the sweetheart neckline, and the large strip of open skin from her neck to midway down her sternum.

“Of course I made it Clove! It’s just for you! I even used the lace from that dress, like you wanted. I was worried I didn’t have enough but with the open neckline I made it work.” Glimmer hooks the last button with the use of her littlest finger nail, pushes herself to standing. “It’s going to be the only wedding dress I ever make, though. It’s an honor but I was so afraid of messing it up. Besides…everyone else is dead, already married, or not going to be.” 

Clove turns to the side, catching the back of the dress in the mirror so she can fully appreciate it. She could not, no matter even if she wanted, wipe the smile that stretched across her face. “I know you think the deep plunge is a lot, but I don’t want to ruin it with blood–”

“I know, I know, you District Two freaks have a fucking blood ritual.” Glimmer bristles, taking her hand to wipe at Clove’s side, to swipe away some of the golden glitter from her own dress that transferred in the hustle and bustle of getting dressed. “You know in District One we just exchange jewelry like normal people.”

“We do that too.” Clove teases, bringing her left hand up to wiggle her fingers in front of Glimmer’s face. There was certainly no lack of the jewelry aspect either, with a flashy, oval shaped diamond with the equally shining gold band that had come to live on Clove’s left hand. “And it’s not a District Two tradition, Glimmer, it’s a District Two Victor tradition. We are the only ones that are left– we’re also the only two victors who have ever married each other. We have to do it.”

Glimmer grabs at Clove’s left hand, running her thumb over the diamond with a reverence only a girl from One, especially one with no marriage prospects of her own, would manage. “I just want to know how he got it. The diamond mines in one have been closed from the war, this should be impossible to get. I’ll never get my hands on one of these, and my cousin worked in gemstone acquisition. I should theoretically have a whole closet full.”  

If she can smile any bigger, she somehow manages. Clove twists at the ring on her finger, exceptionally excited to add another band underneath in just a short hour. “He’s had it for years. From before the war, back before the Quarter Quell....he had it since the seventy fourth games.” 

“I don’t think anyone loves anyone else more than he loves you.” There is a wistful edge to her voice that Glimmer tries her best to tamper, though the loss of love still does not sting any less even now, almost exactly one year after the end of the war. “It’s extraordinary.” 

Clove grabs Glimmer by her wrists, wrapping the woman’s arms around her waist so they were half hugging, still facing the mirror. Glimmer rests her chin on top of Clove’s shoulder, careful not to disrupt the soft, free flowing curls that were still cooling at her shoulders. “Thank you, Glimmer.” 

Clove takes a moment to soak in Glimmer, too. She would have laughed, and maybe stabbed, anyone who told her two or three years ago that Glimmer Belcourt from District One would be standing here getting her ready for her wedding. And yet, here she was. 

Looking at their reflection in the mirror she could see there was finally a little bit more to Glimmer, far more like the girl she met in the capitol, and not like the starved skeleton of a girl she found in district thirteen. Her hair was perfectly curled and incredibly shiny. Her skin had the healthiest, most intrinsic glow to it, with the most beautiful pink flush in her cheeks. Even the gold shimmery ball gown– yes, ball gown– that she wore only added to the warm tones in her skin. Oh Glimmer, how she did indeed shine once again. 

“Glimmer? Why did you pick a glittery ball gown for a wedding in my backyard?” Clove raises a dark eyebrow, craning her neck to make eye contact with Glimmer directly rather than with their reflections. “It is summer, isn’t all that tulle going to weight you down.”

Glimmer cracks a smile– a genuine, gorgeous smile that Clove had not seen since a time before the war, a time before Glimmer’s heart was broken, a time long ago on a rooftop in the capitol– and gives half a shrug. “I don’t think I'm going to get many opportunities after this. I always wanted to wear one.”  She steps back, giving a little spin for Clove to truly appreciate her hard work on her own dress. It was solid gold, glitter covering every spot of the tulle underneath. The dress sat just off her shoulder like a princess, and truthfully the dress moved around her like something of a fairy tale. “Cash always got to wear big princess dresses in her interviews and parties and stuff after she won. I was so jealous, and when I won I was so so excited to get my turn. Cash was always in pink and I was hoping I’d get the same..they skipped the ballgown stage with me and went right to the– yeah. I just…always wanted to wear one. They never let me be pretty, it was always sexy and sultry and glamorous. I just wanted to be pretty.  And today is my last chance… Thank you, Clove. For letting me have this.”

Clove’s hand slips down to grab Glimmer’s and gives the softest squeeze. “You look so, so pretty. You look beautiful.” 

“You look beautiful, Clove. Thank you for letting me be part of this. Even though I am your only friend–” Glimmer teases, smile never leaving her face, revealing that it is truly just a joke.

“Oh way to ruin me trying to be nice,” Clove taunts, but turns to face the mirror once again. “Thank you, too, Glimmer. For all of it. The dress. Being here. Buttoning me in.”

“Of course! Now, I think I'm about done…oh! Do you need lipstick, I know you’ll just get it all over him, but–”

“Blood ritual, Glimmer.”

“Right. Freaks. Okay!” Glimmer reaches down to fan Clove’s dress out behind her, gently running her hand over Clove’s bare arm. “Okay. You look beautiful. Enobaria should be in soon to do your hair… I’ll see you out there.” She pauses, taking a moment to appreciate her months of hard work, finally coming to a head on Clove’s body. She lets out a content little sigh, approving of her work, approving of the little victor girl in front of her. “I’m just… really really happy for you, Clove.” She squeezes her arm one last time before slipping out the door, a flurry of gold and glitter.

Clove takes her final moment alone to look at herself in the mirror. She looks more adult than she ever has in her entire life, in a tight white dress, long dark curls free around her shoulders. It is different than any other time she has been dressed like this in her life. There is no Capitol makeup obscuring her freckles, no intricate twists and pins in her hair.  Notably, of course, are the faded scars along her shoulders, elbows, wrists. In a different world her scars would be wiped away, her skin unblemished and holding no evidence of the horrors she endured. Now her skin bears the proof of her survival. 

She had begged Glimmer to give her sleeves to cover them. Glimmer in return had insisted there just wasn’t enough lace for sleeves, and even if it were untrue, maybe now Clove could see that she was right to deny her request. 

Her moment alone is only brief, when the bedroom door in her usually untouched Victor’s Village house flies open again. This time, another blonde flurry of tulle rushes in, this one only half the size of the last. 

Cora rushes in, in her little white dress. It’s gorgeous, too, with layers and layers of tulle with beautiful hand beading on the edges that make her look like she wears snow covered rose petals. Glimmer clearly spent excessive time on this dress, too.

“What else am I going to do with my time?” Glimmer had asked when Clove insisted she didn’t need to go to all these lengths for them. 

Clove turns from the mirror to look at her sister in law, and with the girl’s ever increasing height she doesn't even need to kneel to hug her any longer.  “Oh you look like a princess, Cora.” She pulls her into her arms, leaning down to kiss the top of her perfect, ringlet curls. “An absolute princess.” She does crouch down just a little, holding Cora’s angelic little face in either of her hands to look at her from eye level. 

“Cato’s jeeeeealous I get to see you and he can’t.” Cora gives her a mischievous smile, one that Clove had seen on Cato hundreds of times and hopefully would see hundreds more. “You look soooo pretty Clove..” Cora reaches her hand out and gently touches the lace on Clove’s hip. “This is so sparkly.”

Clove puts her hand on top of Cora’s, squeezing so gently. “Glimmer really knows what she’s doing, huh?” 

At the mention of the blonde woman Cora somehow lights up even more. When Cora met Glimmer it was like the stars aligned for them both. Glimmer, who needed to see this beautiful little girl grow up safe, loved, and far from the grasp of the games and the capitol and Snow’s best clients. Cora, who thinks she has a real life princess in her family, to teach her all the things Clove never got to learn as an orphan girl. “She has a pretty princess dress, too, Clove.”

“You should tell her that, she’ll love to hear it.” Clove straightened herself, afraid to wrinkle the tight fabric of her gown. “Thank you for coming over to see me, since everyone’s probably having so much fun over with Cato.”

Cora gives a little half shrug, bouncing forward onto her toes before rocking back onto her little mary jane heels. “Marvel is lying on the couch saying he’s sick, and he won’t get up. Finnick is telling him to rally.. What does ‘rally’ mean, Clove?”

Clove’s eyes go wide, and she would not be shocked if alarm is written on her face. That is not something she was anticipating explaining to Cora for at least seven or eight more years. “You know, you should ask Cato when you go back, that sounds like a boy thing.” 

The little girl accepts that answer, and nods enthusiastically. “Okay! Oh! Clove! I have a present for you!”

“A present for me?” Clove kneels down to her height again, disregarding the fear over wrinkles and creases in the fabric. There was so much more in life than the perfect press of a dress. “That's so sweet, Cora, you didn’t have to do that–”

“It’s yours though!” Cora digs into the little pocket of her dress, fishing out a little silver pile that she holds out in the palm of her hand towards Clove. “You told me to keep it safe, see? Do you wanna wear it?”

It takes all in Clove not to grab the necklace out of her hand, to snatch it and keep it safe as soon as she recognizes what it is. She doesn’t have to, because Cora unclips it for her and gestures like she wants to secure it around her neck for her. With a nod, Clove pulls her hair out of the way, and blinks hard, willing away tears that would otherwise ruin the minimal makeup she was amenable to wearing. Clove runs the tip of her fingers over the script C, the sterling silver chain tarnished and worn, emblematic of over twenty years of wear. 

Clove pulls her in, both hands around her little shoulders as her hand comes to cradle the back of her head. “Thank you, Cora Jade. Thank you so much for keeping it safe for me.” She kisses the side of her temple as the door flies open once again. 

“Clove lets get this- oh! Cora. Cato is looking for you.” Enobaria warns before she steps into the room. “Something about getting to sample the cookies–”

“Bye Clove!” 

The little girl nearly runs out the door and out the door before Clove can process it, and she is left staring at the doorway where Enobaria enters.

“God damn, look at you Enobaria” Clove calls out, pursing her lips and looking her mentor up and down. Enobaria rolls her eyes but leans on the door frame. She’s opted for a well tailored black velvet suit, except that her skin is completely bare underneath the jacket that is held together with a single gold button. Her natural curls frame her face, tamed only by the gold victor’s crown around the center of her forehead. “You look hot.”

“Yeah, well, were you expecting me to be in a ballgown like Glitter, she looks ridiculous. I didn’t know we were playing dress up today.” Enobaria flashes her a coy grin, a grin that is no longer serrated like a shark, but restored to her natural, blunt smile after the war. No need to upkeep a defense when the threat is eliminated. 

“Oh be nice, she feels pretty, Baria. Let her feel pretty.” Clove warns, holding her hands out to take the bundle of flowers that Enobaria brings her in her left hand. “And it’s Glimmer, You really should know her name if you’re going to continue to sleep with her sister.”

“Chill, I know her name. And I'm kidding, I had to talk Cash out of feathers this morning. You’re welcome.” Enobaria’s eyes roam from her toes to the tip of her head and she gives just the slightest nod of approval. “You look like such a grown up.”

“I’ve been an adult for a minute, Baria.” Clove reminds her, but does turn her head to catch her appearance in the mirror once again. She feels almost vain for the way she keeps looking at herself, but if there is ever a moment to feel that, it’s now. “I feel like I wore a lot of dresses on the tour that showed a lot of skin, too-”

“And you were a child, then. A little girl playing dress up, even if you didn’t think so. Now, you look like such a woman. You are just beautiful” Enobaria comes behind Clove, and brushes her hair back off of her lace capped shoulders. She looks at their shared reflection a little longer, and Enobaria can’t help but imagine Clove’s mother would have looked all the same. 

“Noone uses that word very often for me, but you all keep saying it today.” Clove shifts the flowers in her hands– she isn’t entirely sure what they are but they are red and white and there is no rose in sight– and swallows her pride as she locks eyes with Enobaria. “You told me I was going to thank you, one day. Back when you told me you were pulling us from the same games. You said I’d thank you one day, and I guess that day is today. Thank you. For not letting us kill each other, or die together. Thank you for keeping me alive my entire life. In so many ways, I wouldn’t be here right now, if you hadn’t been there.” 

“Keep telling me I'm right, I like to hear you admit it.” Enobaria teases, but gently squeezes both of her arms. “I’m proud of you, Clove. Do I wish it were literally anyone but Cato, yes, but I'm still proud of you.” Before Clove can refute, she turns her away from the mirror and to face her. “I’m kidding. I’m not kidding about the fact that we all know you should have chosen something other than white to wear considering what you did on national television–”

“Enobaria!”

“I’m proud of you. I mean it. Now. Lift your chin.” Enobaria nudges the tip of her chin up with her knuckle, before reaching to lift the golden band of metal from inside her suit pocket. 

She centers Clove’s head, before gently and intentionally placing her well earned Victor’s crown along the top of her head. Once it is settled she pulls her loose curls to the front, untucking pieces from behind her ear. Once she is happy, she places her hands on Clove’s shoulders and twists her to face the mirror. “There. You’re ready. The last Victor of District Two..”

It had been a debate, how many of the traditions to follow. District Two had enough Victors that they had their own marriage traditions. It was questionable, if in a world without games did it really make sense to wear the crowns and say the lines? Ultimately they decided, yes. Because before they were here, before they were considered rebels, before they were even victors…they were partners. Partners who gave their entire lives to end up here. 

“Thank you.” Clove emphasizes again, nodding at herself in the mirror. The dress, the flowers, the crown… he’ll love it. “I think i’m ready.”

“Perfect. I’ll see you down there then. If you change your mind just say the word, we can sneak out the front.” Enobaria promises, stepping back, giving her one final look over before turning to leave. “Good luck.”

“Wait!” Clove freezes, suddenly overly aware of the pounding in her chest, the deafening sound of her own heartbeat in her ears. She has not done any of this alone, and she will not start now. “Will you walk with me?”

Enobaria pauses, and cocks her head as if she’s debating it before cracking a smile and holding out her hand. “Thought you’d never ask, kid”

Clove is unsure if she blacks out in the following moments or if time skips on her, but the next thing she knows is she is on the other end of a short aisle from Cato. 

Cato. Identical crown on his head, perfectly tailored black tuxedo clinging in all the right ways. She notices the white button down underneath is unbuttoned most of the way down his chest, and if she weren’t so aware of the blood pounding in her ears she’d make fun of him for it. 

She wants to kiss that absolutely infuriating smirk off his face, and she’s about to. When Clove looks up and catches his eyes with her own she is sure her heart stopped. She’s vaguely aware of Enobaria to her right, holding her arm and guiding her the twenty or so steps, but all Clove really can recognize is him.

She doesn’t absorb their friends line either side of the short aisle, in perfectly floral lined chairs. Johanna making a face, or Annie and Finnick waving with their baby. She doesn’t notice that Glimmer is sitting directly beside Marvel, her dress acting practically as a blanket over Marvel’s hands. Cashmere and Gloss are there, somewhere amongst the florals. She does not notice Cato’s mother in the front or little Cora in her lap. There are others– kids they went to the academy with, friends of his parents– but none of them matter, not now. 

All Clove knows is that the second she’s in reach of him, he grabs her by the forearms and pulls her into a burning, heated kiss with a hand on her face. Clove half heartedly tosses the flowers in her hands in the general direction of Glimmer, and grabs firmly on the unbuttoned edges of his shirt to pull him into her. 

“Hey! Not yet.” Brutus interrupts from his place at the head of the altar and the laughs of their friends pull them out of their locked embrace. 

Even when they pull away, his hands are still on her hips, holding her flush against him. “Hi.” He whispers, a boyish smile spread across his face, a joy in his eyes that she isn’t sure she’s ever seen. 

“Hi.” Clove whispers back, a heat in her face that she is all too aware of as she catches the way his eyes are trailing down the front of her dress and her body. 

Brutus must repeat himself once or twice before finally reaching out and breaking the reverie in which they stare at each other by nudging Cato’s shoulder. 

“For the third time…” He starts, and the distinct howling laugh of Johanna firmly plants them in reality. “I never thought I would be officiating a backyard victor wedding a year after a war ended the Hunger Games.” Brutus explains, before giving a jerk of his head to signal Clove to take a step back away from Cato, who is still holding her body against his. She obliges begrudgingly, knowing the moments they have left apart are counting down by the second. 

As Brutus begins to read from a long book of District Two traditions, Clove feels Cato tighten his grip on both of her hands. “You look incredible.” He mouths, and Clove can’t help but feel the blush rising to her face again.

“Like the lace?” She mouths in response, and sees the recognition fall over his face as his features soften just enough for Clove and Clove alone to notice.  

“Like I was saying.” Brutus raises his voice, once again snapping the two of them back into the moment beyond just themselves. “ In District Two, we are not known for verbal displays of love. We do not have deep professions of love through vows. This tradition is rooted deep in the history of District Two Victors. We are raised and trained in bloodshed. We are also aware of the vulnerability of allowing someone to raise a weapon against us, and trust them so entirely not to cut too deeply. This is particularly special for these two, for many many reasons. As all of us know, they are the only two District Two Victors to marry each other, and they will be the only ones to ever do so. What is most special, of course, is that these two were raised to be partners. I remember the day we paired them up, this giant monster of a boy and this feisty, scary little girl. They hated each other and then when they didn’t hate each other was when it became a problem for Enobaria, myself, and the other trainers. We made them too good of partners, because here we are today. What you’re about to witness is the blood oath of Victors. It is tradition to use their weapon of choice. Cato, will be first.”

Their hands fall as Enobaria comes and first, places the hilt of a sword in his hand, before slipping the handle of a knife into hers. Vaguely, Clove can hear Glimmer go “oh my god an actual blood ritual’ from her place in the front row of chairs, followed by a whispered “fuck I hate blood” immediately after from Marvel. 

Clove takes a step back, making room for the duration of the silver blade of the sword between them, and tilts her chin up to give him space. She does not flinch when the sharp tip slices through the top layer of her skin overlying her heart, she does not unlock her eyes from his when she feels the sticky warmth of blood pooling and dripping down the front of her chest. It’s not deep, but it’s enough to sting. Her eyes are locked on his, never once breaking when she feels his thumb wiping through the blood on her chest.  She feels like prey and a prize at the same time, with the dark look in his eyes locked on her. He breaks their locked gaze to look down at her hand, where he slides a solid gold ring onto her left hand, resting securely above the diamond she already wears. 

She does not even wait for instruction that she is next. She steps forward and the knife in her hand closes the space between them, and Clove cannot help but flick her wrist into the shape of a C as she slices into the skin directly over his heart. She hesitates, for only a moment, watching the blood run down the plane of his chest, before she too runs her thumb over the blood. Clove cannot get her hands to work fast enough as she grabs his left hand in both of hers, and works as fast as she can to get the gold band on his hand, to claim him as hers, hers, hers forever. 

Brutus is talking again, but it doesn’t matter. He’s got her by the waist, and she’s holding his face in her hands. She brings her bloodied thumb to his lips, smearing his own blood along his lower lip as he does the same to her. 

“I love you.” He whispers first, pressing his forehead against hers, pulling her body against his, taking careful care to only touch the bare skin of her back with his bloodied finger, not daring to stain the lace she wears. 

“I love you.” Clove responds, and is somewhat aware of Brutus in the background formally announcing them as married in the rites of victors. Cato Hadley and his wife Clove Kentwell Hadley.

 Her thumb hovers over his lip, before she threads her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck. “You’re my partner.”

“You’re mine.” Is all Cato gets out in response before he crushes his lips into hers. 

The taste of blood and each other is familiar and enchanting and all exciting all at once. 

It tastes like victory. 

Pictures, dinner, all of it passes in a blur. 

It’s nearly night now, and drinks are long past flowing. Cato’s mother has taken Cora to Clove’s house for the night, allowing the adult behavior to come out in full force. 

Clove is pressed into his side, his arm around her hips, hand firmly grasping the top of her thigh, when the sun starts to go down and Marvel makes a point to gather everyone’s attention.  

“Hey guys, you all unfortunately know who I am. Noone asked me to speak, in fact Cato explicitly begged me not to this morning, and Clove threatened that if I did she’d cut off my-”

“Anyway!’ Glimmer interrupts, taking the champagne glass from his hand and holding it at her side and out of his reach. “I also was told not to do this. But I planned this whole thing, and so I think I can say whatever I want. Besides, you owe us this, because we did keep watch while the two of you fucked in the middle of the Hunger Games. Also, the world was convinced for a little while that all four of us were-”

Marvel interrupts before she can continue to ramble on.“Originally, we were going to do this separately. I was going to talk about Cato, she was going to talk about Clove. I’m sure no one's expecting Glimmer and I to be doing this together..this is quite literally as close as we’ve physically been to each other in months.” Marvel begins, and turns his attention directly to Cato and Clove. 

“What are they doing?” Clove gets out through clenched teeth, pseudo-rage flashing in her eyes. Maybe it was the drinks, maybe it was the pure joy she felt, but she couldn’t find it in her to actually be angry with them. 

“Embarrassing themselves.” Cato pulls her closer, and leans them back in their chairs. “What's the worst they could say?”

“Noone expected us to be friends! We all could have so easily ended up in the same games, all of us dead.” Glimmer begins, a giggle escaping her that had Clove not been with her all day, she would have assumed to have been nervous. But no, that was the giggle of a drunk girl, who had been drinking mimosas since sunrise, that is about to recount something horrendous. “But by all accounts..things worked out for us. The stars aligned, fate stepped in..whatever you want to say. And I know Clove didn’t like me the day I met her. I can’t blame her, I looked at her and said we should have a double wedding and look where we are! They’re married and me and Marvel here can’t look at each other for more than five minutes without one of us leaving in tears–”

“He was drunk crying about her this morning. He had three shots and went down, going on and on about how he threw away the love of his life.” Cato leans over to whisper to his wife, who whips her head over to look at him with wide, amused eyes. “Finnick was literally holding his head in his lap like..stroking his hair. It wasn’t even eight a.m. yet.”

“I heard about that… You need to teach your seven year old sister what rally means, by the way.” Clove admits, poking him in the knee playfully. 

“Well one of us wasn’t stupid enough to throw away the best thing we’d ever have.” Marvel gets out, and Clove gasps so loudly at his repetition of the words Cato just whispered that everyone whips their head around to look at her this time. “Anyway! Clove also found me exceptionally annoying, and it’s okay, everyone does!”

“But what Clove has never heard about, is this story. We met Cato during his tour, of course, and he was this cocky kid. We thought he was just a standard District Two victor, nothing special.” Glimmer goes on, this time bringing the glass she confiscated from Marvel to her own lips and draining it. Clearly, the slip from Marvel left her flustered, too. “But, then it was the seventy third games. And Cato would not shut up about how good this girl was. He never looked away from her on screen. He stole all the sponsors talking about how incredible she was. He thought he was being so nonchalant and sly about it…but we all knew.”

“And I remember getting a knock on my door in the middle of the night. It was Glimmer, but I was positive it was someone saying Clove died and that Cato was coming to kill us all. Because I knew, if Clove had died, every single one of us, our tributes, and anyone else he could get his hands on, we're going to be dead.”

“And then it was down to the final few. I remember him sitting on that on that couch, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, rubbing his hands together so so nervous. And she threw this knife and she missed and I saw the color drain from his face. The fear in his eyes when he thought you were going to die, Clove, I wish I could say that was the only time I had ever seen it.” Glimmer shakes her head, the curls in her hair starting to slowly fall and frizz around her face like a little halo. “But then she won. And most of us were there when it happened, most of us remember the way he jumped up. And Clove, without thinking, he pumped his fist in the air and he said “that's my girl.” And we had all known. But the look on his face..I’ll never forget it. That boy was so deeply in love, and today I am so sure he still is.” 

Marvel clears his throat, and it is clear from the way his face drops that there is a serious turn about to be taken. “I mentioned that we were originally going to speak only for one of them. But, it is a disservice to the way they love each other to do that. I went through the worst experience of my entire life with Clove, in the capitol, and Glimmer similarly can speak for what she went through with Cato. We’re so uniquely privileged to have seen the way you both love each other so deeply. Most of you know, or unfortunately were part of, the horrific things we went through in the Capitol. Clove…she had it worse than maybe anyone. We all know that Clove is incredibly stubborn, and incredibly strong. What I am unfortunately aware of, myself, is the extent of what was done to her. It is not my story to tell. But I know that all those fuckers wanted was to get her to scream, and she refused. She wasn’t going to give them that. The only thing Clove ever asked for, wanted, and she’s going to kill me for exposing this, but the only time I ever saw her cry in those entire months of torture…was Cato. It was towards the very end, and I was scared, truly scared, to know they had brought her to the point of crying for him even alone in her cell... because I thought that meant we were all going to die if even Clove was at her breaking point. There is a deep, deep, incredible trust and love between them, beyond anything I have ever seen.”

At some point Glimmer had started crying, because it is through heavy tears that she concludes her aspect. “We are so lucky, to be witnesses not only to today, but to the way you two love. Through multiple Hunger Games and forced separation and a war..there’s never been a moment where I thought of you as separate. You are always Cato and Clove. Please don’t kill me for saying this, but I mean it, when I say you are my best friends. I do not think I would be alive without the two of you feeding me and pushing to keep going. I’m also really really excited for you two to have babies for me to be Auntie Glimmer to, I’m already in my fairy godmother dress, so if you two could like…hurry up with that and maybe give me a girl in like…nine months I’d really love that, thank you. We love you guys.”

Marvel’s hand experimentally finds the small of Glimmer’s back, and she doesn’t flinch away. He grabs a champagne glass off a table and raises it infront of him. “To Cato. And To Clove.”

Glimmer interrupts with a smile on her face that juxtaposes the tears running over her cheeks “to Cato and Clove.”

When Cato turns his head to look at Clove, who’s curled into him, he notices the way her eyelashes are clumped and wet. “Are you crying?”

“Shut up.”  Clove warns, wiping at her eyes with the heel of her hand, before she more properly turns her body to fully lay against his side. 

Enobaria takes the moment, then, to stand up while the attention is still drawn all while drawing the attention away from Glimmer and Marvel, who seem to be heading towards the bar set-up together. She’s also clearly enjoyed her night, her jacket now unbuttoned (and missing the single button), the fashion tape underneath holding it closed, but more notable was the pink lipstick faintly visible along her neck and collarbones. 

“I..couldn’t pass up the opportunity to embarrass you.” She starts gesturing towards Clove. “As everyone here knows, I raised Clove. We can say I was a mentor to her, but in reality, I helped raise her. I met her when I was twelve, and she was two. Her mother was my mentor, and we all know that her mother is not here with us now. I only feel so inclined to do this, because of the fact her mother isn’t here to do so. I remember Clove as this tiny tiny toddler, about the same height as now. I remember the day her bitch of a grandmother dropped her off at my house to teach her how to throw knives. What she didn’t know until right now is I really had no idea, and actually had to ask Cashmere and Gloss how to teach her. But hey, clearly, I made her a victor anyway. And then… there was Cato. This little infuriating prick of a kid, who broke her clavicle the day they met. I knew he was going to be a pest in my life, ever since. They were the best partners though. They knew each others moves, their strengths, and their weaknesses. They were good and then when they were teeangers exactly how good of partners they were became all of our problem. Clove..she was traumatized. A dead teenage mother will do that to you. I was not worried about her…repeating…that statistic. Until fucking Cato Hadley won the games and came home a cocky Victo.  And then…I caught her sneaking out of his house the day he got home. I about killed her. I went home, and I called Cash, BEGGING her to help me figure out how to keep her from getting pregnant too. Cato, Clove, remember to thank Cashmere for all the years of risk free sex, later.” 

“Maybe she should also be thanking Cashmere for all the risk free sex, look at her right now?” Clove murmurs, and the shaking of Cato’s chest underneath her is all she needs to know he is holding back a laugh. 

“I was ready to kill Cato, because I was sure he was going to distract her from her last year of training. But to his credit, and I hate saying that, he pushed her harder than even I did. I remember telling him to back off, and when he didn’t, I was so hopeful Clove was going to get over him. Clearly..I had no such luck.” Enobaria gives a smile that is so soft without her filed teeth that it nearly does not look like her. “When she was in the games, and Cato and I went through the fear of losing her together…I decided he was okay. If she was going to pick one, at least he was a victor, too. And as much as I hate to say it..he loved her then, too. When they went into the quell..I knew they were not going to come out without each other. I wanted to kill them, and I do mean that literally, when I saw them covered in that blood and going into the cornucopia, but then…everything went to hell. I was in the dark about them the entire war. I did not know if they were alive, I did not know if they were dead, though I assumed that they were. I’ll never forget when one day, when she appeared on that stupid video and she looked..off. One of the worst moments of my life was when I heard her scream for him in the background of that video. Because I knew…I knew he was not there. I did not know if he was alive, but I did know that if he was, he was going to get to her and get her home. And he did. I cannot believe I am about to say this, but I am so happy to see you marry each other. I am also very glad it is now and not because you were seventeen year old teen parents. Above all else…I am so proud of you both. Cato…Clove..you are both my victors.” 

At the conclusion of her speech, Clove pushes herself up just in time to meet Enobaria half way as she leans across the little table to hug her. “Thank you, Enobaria.”

One of the biggest joys of their wedding is to watch their friends enjoy themselves. 

“Annie!” Clove grins, throwing her arms open to offer the redheaded woman a hug. “Thank you for making it, I  know it has to be hard with the–where is that baby of yours?”

“Oh, Glimmer has him.” Finnick explains, taking his turn to hug Clove as well. He nods his head to the corner of the room, where Glimmer is seated at a little table, gently rocking the three month old baby to sleep. “She also gave us the whole Aunt Glimmer Fairy godmother talk this morning.”

Glimmer is in fact swaying in her chair, clearly singing some song to the boy. The longing in her face is evident, even from across the room, from the way she offers her finger to the baby in her arms to how she holds his bronze covered head intentionally above the glitter of her dress so as to not irritate his baby skin. 

“I think she should just have one herself.” Annie remarks, leaning her head against Finnick’s chest. “I think she’s meant for it.”

“Yeah, well, she’s missing half that equation.” Cato recalls, pulling Clove’s back to his now entirely bare chest, his shirt having lost the rest of the buttons throughout the night. 

“I don’t think she will be for long.” Finnick suggests as Marvel settles himself in the seat directly next to Glimmer, reaching out to tickle the bottom of the baby’s pajama covered foot. Glimmer gives him a smile before redirecting her attention to the baby, but Marvel, oh Marvel never looks away from the expressions on Glimmer’s face.  

Johanna finds them as they’re sitting next to the cake, in their own little world, spooning bites of the confection into each other's mouths.

“Okay, Lovebirds, where are all the hot people for me to go home with?” She remarks, slamming herself down in a seat across from the two of them. 

“Nice to see you too, Jo.” Clove murmurs, wiping icing off the corner of her mouth gracefully. “I dunno, I bet Glimmer would be down.”

“Are you serious? Her and Marvel literally snuck off into your house fifteen minutes ago. I don’t want to get in bed with them.”  Johanna scoffs, shaking her head. “I thought Cato would have a hot brother or something here..”

“Wait Glimmer and Marvel did what?” Cato interrupts, holding up a hand to stop her from continuing with her subject change. “In our house?”

“Well, in Clovey Girl’s house I think. Marvel had a plate full of cake and a bottle of the good stuff in his hand too, like the kind of shit Haymitch used to hoard at the games…speaking of Haymitch! You didn’t even invite them? Miss Mockingjay I understand, but after all Peeta went through with us..” Johanna clicks her tongue disapprovingly. “Cold even for you two.”

“We did invite them, Johanna.” Cato defends, reaching behind them and getting another slice of cake for him and his wife– oh he could say it in public now— to share. 

“Katniss is still on District Twelve house arrest. Peeta didn’t want to come without her. He did make the cake though. That kid can bake.” Clove swipes her finger through the ivory icing, before dolloping it on Cato’s nose. “We tried.”

“Ugh, you two are so gross. I’m going back to the bar.” She pushes herself to a standing position, surveying the room before straightening her dress. “....congratulations, I guess.”

“Thanks, Johanna.” Cato calls as she walks away, before pulling Clove fully onto his lap. 

“We did it.” He teases her, pressing kisses along the juncture of her neck and shoulder, “You’re my wife, Clovey.”

“I’ve technically been your wife for years.” She turns so she faces him, her arm languidly draped over his shoulder. Clove strokes his cheek with her thumb, and flashes him a wicked grin. “Now it’s just public.” 

“Are we ever going to tell anyone we did this before?” Cato’s hands come to rest on her hips, squeezing, promising of what is to come later in the evening as he leans forward and once again starts kissing from her jaw down her neck. 

She lets out a delighted gasp at the feeling of his lips on her.  “Absolutely not. This is for them. That? That was for us.”

I gave my blood, sweat, and tears for this. 

It is worth saying that life blooms through the cracks of a broken nation, love takes root in the rubble and ash. It is life itself, it is love embodied, that is a true pioneer species rising like a  phoenix amongst ash riddled towns.

It is the passage of time that lets life and love flourish in the new panem. 

It is friends in District One. Marvel who remembers the way cold aches in the very core of Clove’s body, and always has extra blankets casually lying out for her to take without ever needing to ask.

On a beach in district four, It is Glimmer and Finnick, watching her blonde little girl and his bronze haired little boy playing along the shore, with no care in the world other than their mission to find whole sand dollars and laughing in delight as hermit crabs scurry across their toes. Two children who, along with their siblings and friends, are free. Their childlike innocence intact, their bodies forever their own. 

It is Johanna in District Seven, who finds that she had more in common with career victors than she thought. Or maybe, Cato and Marvel just make her feel like a fucking genius when it comes to women, and thats good enough for her. 

In District Twelve it is a baker and an ex-revolutionary, who are never quite expecting for literal career killers to show up to a tiny little bakery on the edge of the seam. They come looking for cinnamon rolls and maybe tease Peeta a little too much about the status of his relationship. Peeta never turns them away (even if Katniss does pretend not to be in the shop that day, sometimes).

And in District Two. 

It is in the combined efforts of Brutus and Enobaria, in establishing a recreation center for the surviving children of Two. It is far from the training empire it once was, let there be no mistake, but it gives a playground to the ghosts of the victors they once were. It serves as a memorial of sorts to the nearly one hundred and forty tributes who did not come home to District Two.

Cato and Clove, above all else, are happy. 

These days, Clove does not have much use for throwing knives. 

The ache in her body, the sharp pain in her wrists simply isn’t worth it anymore. 

Clove Kentwell Hadley still never misses, but she is so much more than a girl with perfect aim. 

Clove is the friend of the only surviving victors, she is the sister to the most affectionate Hadley she knows. 

They are Aunt Cove and Uncle Cayo to the identical little daughters of their best friends, who wrap their tiny arms around their necks and smother them in honey blonde curls and pure, unfiltered adoration. 

She is half of the best dinner parties– Clove makes the best food, but Glimmer plans the best parties. (It’s a bold statement to call them parties when it’s the four of them and the only other career victors, but Glimmer won’t have it any other way). 

And she is loved. So, so, so loved, by the only man she’s ever trusted, wanted, and needed. 

Clove is no longer just the girl who never misses. 

In fact, three years after the end of the war, the only time Cato finds Clove throwing a knife is in their kitchen. 

Her only goal? 

Trying to earn the brilliant, infectious laugh of their blue eyed, blonde haired infant son in her arms. 

This is the life of a victor. 

The end. 

[midsummer-semantics]

Character Study: Tommy Hagan as Iago from Othello

To begin with, there’s just not enough analysis of Tommy, which is probably mostly due to his complete disappearance in S2. We (fic writers) use him a lot as a plot device for Steve’s King persona or the beginning of his bi-awakening, but Tommy’s presence in the show alone is arguably more sinister than most people give him credit for. He’s still a plot device for Steve, but the same way that Iago is a plot device for Othello.

For those who hear “Iago” and think of the bird in Aladdin, that’s totally valid because the Shakespeare character is 100% the influence for that bird, so if that connection helps the rest of this make sense, hang on to it.

Iago (the character and the bird) gets by on feeding Othello information. His job at the beginning of the play is the banner holder, he follows Othello around with his flag. He wanted second in command, but that job went to Cassio instead. This is kind of where Iago’s character development begins: he was snubbed for second in command, and decides quickly that he needs to do away with Cassio, feeding Othello lies until he believes Iago is a better choice.

In the same vein, Tommy has inserted himself as Steve’s right-hand man. That’s what we see from the literal beginning, Tommy following along with Steve as this second-in-command type of person. We don’t really know if there was a Cassio-esque change over with Steve since he just kind of “pops up out of the pool fully formed” (thank you @peter-pantomime for that), but Iago traveled to Venice with Othello to begin with, was always kind of there regardless, so it’s safe to say that Tommy was too. However, like with Iago, Tommy seems to be the real thoughts behind the operation while Steve is the voice that everyone hears. Tommy is, for all intents and purposes, the bird on Steve’s shoulder. Tommy is the puppet master that gives Steve just enough leeway to think he’s the one calling the shots. This is seen in particular with the spray paint incident, since it’s Tommy who’s literally shown with the spray paint can in his hand in the alley, and can be assumed to be the one who tagged the marquee, but Steve is the one who (however unintentionally) takes responsibility for it by doubling down on the accusation.

On that note, the other person Iago goes after is Desdemona, Othello’s wife. Immediately after Othello and Des are married, Iago is the one who tells her father, painting it as this desecration of his pure (white) daughter by this dark (black) [for lack of a better word] creature. It’s Iago’s idea to frame Desdemona as an adultress that ultimately ends in her death.

If we look at those ideas with Tommy, from the get go he (and Carol) are rude and distancing of Nancy, and while Steve is walking this tightrope of wanting to be seen as the top dog while also being whatever Nancy needs him to be, Tommy (and Carol) are causing problems on purpose. Don’t get me wrong, Jonathan and the secret camera incident don’t help, but ultimately it’s Tommy who whispers the thoughts into Steve’s brain about Nancy being a cheater (she was, at least emotionally, but that’s neither here nor there for this comparison) that ultimately leads to the first big breakup. The “death” of Desdemona plays out in the S1 breakup of Steve and Nancy, especially since their reconciliation is never solidified given Nancy’s withdrawal quickly after.

But what the heck is the motive for any of it?

We (Shakespeare people) know Iago has this weird desire for power without seeming to want anything to do with actually wielding it at the forefront. He seems perfectly content to have power over others in the most conniving of ways, but never an “I want to be king” sort of way. Tommy has that same energy, following Steve until it stops being convenient and then moving on to Billy when he “usurps the throne.”

But it’s this weird, intentional isolating of Steve for Tommy’s benefit that mirrors Iago’s intentions with Othello so well. This whole “if I can’t have him, nobody can” sort of attitude that leads both Iago and Tommy to push back against anyone who gets too close to their focus of attention. It’s a jealousy aspect, not in the sense that Tommy/Iago want to be Steve/Othello, but that they’re the only one allowed to be in that position of proximity to them. Tommy/Iago’s entire thing is shifting attention away from themselves while maintaining all of the power. Iago does it with Cassio, using him as the scapegoat in his plan against Desdemona, two birds with one stone. Tommy does it with Jonathan, using him to convince Steve that Nancy really is the slut he accuses her of being. Basically, the moment Steve sees (or thinks he sees) Jonathan with Nancy in her bedroom and misreads the situation just enough to convince him of her cheating is the equivalent to the handkerchief in Othello.

It also sort of begs the question of whether Iago or Tommy have done this in the past. Is Nancy the first girl Tommy’s actively caused an issue with, or does he do this regularly? Is it because Nancy is the first person Tommy doesn’t feel like he can manipulate, thereby labeling her a threat to his power the same way Iago does with Desdemona? 

There’s a surface-level (heterosexual) reading of Othello that makes it seem like Iago wants Desdemona for himself, which sure, the fact he’s already married to Emilia while contriving this entire scheme intended to break up Othello and Desdemona can be read as a parallel to Tommy’s relationship with Carol and focus on ending Steve and Nancy’s relationship. But going back to the “If I can’t have him, nobody can” idea, it’s more likely that Tommy and Iago are dealing with this unrequited love situation with their respective male subjects that results in not only a desire for power but this obsessive need to isolate them so that the only person they feel they can rely on is already perched on their shoulder at all times.

Spoiler alert, though, Iago dies, and while Tommy just kind of disappears into the ether, that final scene where Steve finally stands up for himself and cuts ties with Tommy is not entirely unlike Othello finally realizing who Iago really is and killing him himself. The death of the friendship reads like the death of the partnership in both cases. Tommy only just makes it one step further than Iago by attaching himself to the next person in line which is Billy, but there’s no telling if Tommy wouldn’t have done the same manipulative technique with him given the chance. It's also an interesting character development parallel for Steve since him standing up to Tommy can be viewed as the "death" of his King Steve persona more than Billy's introduction can, and Othello's last stand before his death is to make sure Iago goes down as well.

Obviously none of this is good, but Tommy doesn’t really get the credit he deserves for being, for all intents and purposes, a poster child for the Shakespearean villain. All of his sinisterness exists in the background, but it’s definitely there.

[theragnarokd]

[i deny anything to do with this. dirk writing fanfiction, modern no sburb au, rated T so far, lots of self loathing and judginess]

It was the end of the evening shift. He did a lot of closing nowadays, night blurring into dawn: there wasn’t anyone to drag him out. Not anymore. On the counter, there was a finished drink, the customer’s name written on it in sharpie. His coworker must have ducked out just before calling out their name. He picks it up. It’s not until he calls out the name that it registers: “Enkidu!” From the back of the coffee shop, a familiar figure approaches, and Gilgamesh’s heart clenched. For a desperate moment, he dared to hope.

Dirk exhales, rereading the paragraphs for typos. Then he saves it into the folder titled Oubliette, and opens a different text file. His SBaHJ reverse-mpreg vore isn’t going to write itself, and Dirk can’t disappoint his readership.

Even as the thought forms, his inbox dings. His heart speeds up at the view of the sweetest words known to man or machine:

[AO3] Comment on SBaHJ: the Romeomance

Of course he immediately opens the notification.

centaursTesticle left the following comment:

My admiration, as always, is yours. I would be happy to read more in this GRIPPING tale

Dirk permits himself a small smile. This guy has been commenting on Dirk’s fics, first in a binge and now on every new installment he updated. Dirk mentally fist-bumps him before opening his WIP folder, where the relevant fic document lives. It’s a good day.

It is not a good night.

Dirk should go the fuck to sleep. Or at least to shower. He washed the dishes earlier and his shirt has more unmentionable fluids on it than his latest fic update, which is saying something.

Instead, he goes to Romeomance’s page and hits refresh.

Not even a tick on the visit count.

This is stupid. Dirk is being a useless idiot. If people can’t appreciate his subtle satire and how it corresponds with the tone of the original comics and movies, that’s on them, and not on him.

There’s a newer fanfic than his with twice the hitcount, not even looking at kudos.

Well, so what? People like what they like. As long as Dirk is happy with the stuff he writes – and while he’s always aware of places he could improve, he rather is happy with it – what does it matter what response some other person’s fic gets?

The title is a lower-case quote from a song that was in the top 40s ten years ago. The tags include Enemies to Lovers, Only One Bed, and Slow Burn. (The fic isn’t even 10K, and it’s marked as complete, so Dirk is a teensy bit skeptical of how slow that burn is.)

Dirk clicks in. Maybe he can learn a thing or two.

The first two paragraphs make a fairly clever allusion to the famous stairs monologue. It’s a surprisingly fresh outlook on a piece of canon that’s been worn to palimpsest and back by fanon. It could be a good fic. Dirk might enjoy it. Better, Dirk might learn how to write something that isn’t worthless drivel–

He closes the tab.

This would be an excellent time to go shower.

He opens the tab again. He reads through the story grimly, marking how the dialogue sounds lively and not like two finger puppets squeaking at one another. Yes, okay, it’s a stylistic choice for Dirk. That, and he can’t fucking write dialogue to save his life.

By the time Dirk reaches the author’s notes at the end, the only argument he can make against deleting all his own fic is that it can serve as a cautionary tale.

The end notes thank two beta readers. Dirk runs his fics past Roxy when he can swing it, but for the most part, he hasn’t managed to attract a beta reader in years. Maybe that’s why everything he writes gargles balls.

There’s also a link to the author’s entry in the Every Little Bid Helps fanfic auction. Dirk clicks on the link mostly out of self preservation: if he rereads this fic, he really will orphan his account. That would be sad for that centaursTesticle guy, wouldn’t it? Think of the testicles. The centaur ones.

[fantasyfictionfables]

BG3 Tav Backstory Bash

This is a challenge to help people flesh out their Tav’s backstory by exploring their past. It is organized into four sections with seven prompts. You can treat this as a monthly challenge or a general project. You can write headcanons, fics, or share art based on the prompts! You can interpret the prompts however you want. If you want to share use the tag #bg3backstorybash

Thank you @elspethdekarios for tagging me!

I´ve seen most of my choices have already been tagged, so I´ll tag the remaining ones that come to mind.

@galesdevoteewife @necromosss @theletteraesc @gufu-vire

I have not worked through all of the prompts, so do not forget to take a look at @kelandrin's original post where all prompts can be found.

Athena Dekarios née Asteriadis

High Half-Elf • Paladin-Cleric• Acolyte of Lathander • Neutral Good

Parents

Father: Amicus Asteriadis

Human artist and craftsman who was unpredictable in his violent tendencies and preference for sticking to himself. He moved to Baldur´s Gate as a young man once he found out his love - Athena´s mother - was planning on running away to the city.

Mother: Keylana Alastrarra

High-born Elf from the noble house of Alastrarra in Cormanthyr. She fell in love with Amicus, while he was performing in the city. Her parents disapproved, so she ran away to Baldur´s Gate in the hopes of a future with him. She became a merchant, but quickly let herself become corrupted. Knowing no responsibility, erratic behavior grew and she ended up taking lovers. Having grown up with money - which she no longer had - she was in the habit of spending too much; leading to terrible conflicts with her husband. (Who was a mere craftsman and very thrifty.)

Birth

Athena was the firstborn and came 8 years before her brother. Her birth was easy, unlike the pregnancy which had been heavy with nausea. She knew her mother had sung to her as a baby and toddler, even having gone so far as to invent her own lullaby for her, but later on their bond became severed and Athena was incapable of forming a bond with her mother. Her father was the one always there for her, despite his violent behavior and emotional abuse towards her. The abuse she had to suffer built the foundation for her strong personality later on, making it difficult for her to trust others.

First word

Plain old "Dada" followed by "bread".

When they first walked

Once Athena started walking at the age of 11 months, nothing was safe. She was particularly interested in books - but not necessarily in looking at them, but rather to use them as countertop for her baking experiments. She was scolded more than once for playing with flour on a green covered book, which she later found out was a book about plants and their different uses.

Tantrum

Athena would never forget that one tantrum she threw as a toddler, where she was on a flea market and saw a mountain lion plush toy. She wanted it so badly that she cried bitter tears, begged and threw herself to the ground. It was the same day she had been too trusting when faced with a big dog, who nearly bit her hand off. To her astonishment, she got the Mountain Lion plush toy. (And still feels bad for having acted out as a toddler.)

First sickness

Measles

Friends

Never really had friends, due to her mistrustful nature and difficulty in forming bonds. She was the awkward know-it-all who did her own thing. Later on Jaheira becomes her best friend.

Siblings

Has a younger brother - Evan - which she basically raised due to neglectful parents. They both know they are there for each other when necessary, but barely maintain contact. He owns a tavern in Waterdeep.

Getting into trouble

Despite her parents´ boasting about her to outsiders, she remains the black sheep of the family due to her reluctance in complying with her father´s demands and open hostility towards her mother´s behavior. She ran away often as a teen, once her parents had separated shortly after her brother´s birth.

Birthday Eleasis 13th

Learning something new

As a Priestess of Lathander she is on a constant journey of self-improvement, which includes learning. May it be combat, medicine or a new spell - she is always gaining new knowledge.

Trauma

One of her mother´s lovers sexually harassed her,

and a boy from the neighborhood tried to assault her. (It didn´t end well for him, but it made her even more cautious.)

First love

She fell in love with Jidam - a classmate who had longer brown hair and striking blue eyes - when she was thirteen years old. He mistreated her and made her the laughingstock of their year, but her devotion never faltered. A girl she thought her friend ended up getting involved with him.

Rebellion

Moved out as a teen and sought refuge in Lathander´s Temple in Waterdeep where she became an Acolyte.

Reckless behavior

Athena never was one for recklessness. Her difficult childhood and devotion to Lathander gifted her with wisdom beyond her years.

Peer pressure

Athena was known for her defiance of the masses and did not cave to peer pressure. The only time she fell for peer pressure she ended up stealing something from a big shop around the corner. Feeling bad afterwards, she donated everything stolen; keeping only four books which made her difficult younger years bearable.

Growing pains

Growing pains plagued her during her teens - usually at night. She could feel it in her bones but never complained.

Taking responsibility

All the responsibility seemed to be on her shoulders from an early age on. First the mediator between parents, then the bodyguard of her mother when lovers turned too unpleasant, afterwards a mother to her brother.

Serious relationships

She only had one partner before Gale and was engaged to him.

Stephanus was a very analytical and stoic man, who had difficulties showing affection, lusted after other women and was an egoistical lover. He was averse to building a family, and Lathander was not pleased to see his Chosen in a union with such a man, leading to a conversation between the god and Athena. She eventually broke up.

Work

She used to serve Lathander in the Spires of the Morning. Later on she became a Paladin of Lathander, serving as a member of the Order of Aster.

Once she returns to Waterdeep with Gale, she becomes a Priestess of Lathander - she also teaches and practices midwifery in that function.

Aging

Due to her nature as a half-elf and being blessed by Lathander, as well as married to the Chosen of Mystra, who could prolong life, she could technically live forever.

Starting a family

Athena and Gale end up being the parents of three children - two boys and a girl.

[mazerunner-rarepairs]

Maze Runner Rarepair Bingo: Rules and FAQ

Which ships qualify as rareships?

All ships with less than 150 fics where they are the main ship posted to ao3.

Qualify: Brenderesa, Soniet, Minally, Nally, Trenda, Nalby + all other possible ships you can think of!

Don't qualify: Thomesa, Thomally, Newtmas, Thominho, Minewt, Thominewt

When does the event take place?

The bingo runs throughout the month of May - May 1st to May 31st.

Read on for rules & FAQ 🔽

Rules

When posting, tag this blog and add the tumblr tag #rareshipbingo2024. Indicate which square your submission fills.

Fic and Artwork needs to be original, that means created for the event.

Any submission types are welcome for the Rarepair Bingo. fanart, fic, fanvids, moodboards, podfics - knock yourselves out!

The AO3 board however can only be filled with fic.

All topics are allowed, the one important thing is to tag your works appropriately. With darker themes err on the side of caution. If you're unsure, feel free to reach out.

If you post nsfw fics to tumblr, make sure you put the text under a read more break (just type :readmore: and hit enter).

You must be 18+ to submit explicit content.

I will be marking all nsfw submissions with the community label for sexually explicit content, so those who don't want to see nsfw submissions make sure to enable community labels.

This event allows all kind of content regarding maturity and topic - I expect followers and participants to practise good fandom culture and adhere to the don't like don't read principle. No bashing ships or tropes you personally don't like.

Unnecessarily hateful comments are to be deleted without response after you notify me, the mod, about them. (Just message this blog)

Upload your fics to the AO3 collection .

Addition made on May 5th: platonic ships are also allowed! For more info see this post.

Clarification: the rarepair needs to be the main focus of the fic. pairings that don't qualify as rareships can appear in your work, but only as a side ship. if you're unsure about this rule feel free to contact me.

FAQ

Is there a minimum word count for fics? No.

Are poly ships allowed? Yes.

Can one submission count for multiple squares from the same board? No. You have to decide which square you want to "use" your submission on, even if it combines prompts.

Can one submission fount for 2 squares on different boards? Yes! Eg if you write a fic for the square "poetry" and it's also the first fic for a ship, it can count for both the poetry square and the "write the first fic for a ship".

Can I submit WIPS? Yes.

Can I submit new chapters of a current WIP? Yes. If you have a rareship fic that you've been dying to continue, feel free to use the bingo as a motivator!

When is the reblogging perios? May 1-31st.

How does the Extra Rare Advanced AO3 Bord (For The Very Insane) work?

All the AO3 squares are to be filled in regards to the AO3 tag before April 22 - today.

Example: if you want to write a Rachel/Miyoko fic, and someone coincidentally would post one before the start of the bingo, your Rachel/Miyoko fic would still count for the "Be the first to write a ship" square.

Similarly, and using the same example as before, if 2 bingo participants decided they wanted to write Rachel/Miyoko, the person who posts their submission second would still get to fill the "Be the first to write a ship" square.

This applies to all AO3 squares:

If your fic is longer than all the fics posted before April 22, it fills the "Write the longest existing fic for a ship" square.

If before April 22nd there was no "General Audiences" rated fic for the rareship of your choice, your fic fills the "Be the first to write a rating no one has written for the ship before" square.

If you need help using the AO3 filtering system to figure out if you would be the first to write for a ship or for any of the other AO3 squares, drop this blog an ask and I'll help you out! I know not everyone is familiar with AO3 and I want this event to be open to everyone, including AO3 newcomers.

-

If any questions remain, don't hesistate to get in touch!

This post may be edited if further questions arise.